Dark Rival

by Brenda Joyce

  “Should I give myself up?” Allie asked in real dread. So many would be hurt and would die because of her! “Moffat wants me alive.”

  “Are ye mad?” Royce cried, turning white. He grasped her with both hands and shook her, once. “Ailios, dinna speak ever o’ givin’ up to Moffat again.”

  Allie wet her lips, which were terribly dry. “I was hoping you’d say no.”

  He shook his head. “Ye willna fight today,” he said softly, dangerously, his grasp tightening.

  Allie was about to protest, but no words spewed. Instead she thought about his death at Moffat’s hands in the future—and how he’d almost died the other night at Carrick, distracted by her attempts to fight the demons. She needed to admit that her efforts were paltry, no, pitiful. “I won’t fight,” she said hoarsely.

  He seemed surprised. “Good. An’ ye’ll stay where I put ye, until I tell ye otherwise.”

  Allie was in disbelief. “I’m a Healer. People will get hurt today, likely people will die. I have to heal, Royce. It’s what I do!”

  “How can ye be movin’ about Dunroch while arrows an’ rocks are flying over the walls? When the deamhanain are inside the castle, lookin’ fer ye?” Royce said to her grimly.

  “I can’t wait until the battle ends to heal those who are critical,” Allie cried, meaning it. “I’ll be careful, I swear!”

  “Fer once, just this once, ye’ll listen to me. I canna fight with ye running around the keep to tend the wounded, the perfect prey. Yer selflessness is admirable, Ailios, but ye’ll stay where I put ye. Ye’ll heal when the day is done.”

  Allie stared in surprise and he stared back, determined. “Are you telling me that I should hide?”

  “Nay. Ye’ll stay close to me during the battle so I can defend ye if need be.”

  ROYCE HAD CLIMBED up to the curtain tower closest to the foremost gatehouse, as the north wall defended the moat and the drawbridge. The south walls were not breachable, as they perched on the cliffs dropping hundreds of feet to the Atlantic Ocean below. Allie had asked if she could come up and he’d nodded. She stood beside him, wearing a boy’s mail shirt, her hip against his thigh. Every tower and every rampart was occupied by archers, knights, bowmen and the huge, deadly-looking crossbows that fired bolts the size of swords. Barrels of boiling liquids were being brought up. Allie stared to the north, filled with sick anxiety and dread.

  This was all because of her. Why was this happening? Why, out of the blue, had Moffat come after her in South Hampton that night?

  She glanced at Royce. At least they were in this together. As invincible as he seemed, his death in the future had proven his mortality. If anything happened to him, she’d be close by to heal him—no matter what.

  Allie hoped Royce didn’t want to die in the fifteenth century, too.

  His gaze slid to her and locked with hers. “I won’t be dyin’ today.”

  Allie took his hand. His gray eyes flickered with surprise but he didn’t pull away. “No, you won’t. Claire has some healing power, too, doesn’t she?”

  “Some. I saw her heal Malcolm with my own eyes when he was fatally wounded by Moray. She dinna heal him completely, Ailios, but she saved his life by stoppin’ his bleeding.”

  “It’s better than nothing. She can help.”

  “Ailios, her powers are nothin’ like yours. An’ Claire’s a warrior. She fights with Malcolm, although I dinna ken how he fights with his woman at his side.”

  Allie was impressed. But Claire looked really strong—as if she could seriously kick some ass.

  Allie turned to stare to the north; Royce gently tugged his hand free. She let him. If the circumstances weren’t so dire, she’d be thrilled that he’d held her hand, even if for a minute.

  The isle of Mull was really charming, Allie thought. Other areas were majestic—like Carrick. Facing her, gentle, forested hills rolled into a vivid blue sky dotted with cotton-puff clouds. As she stared, the black cloud so close now that her gut roiled and the hairs on her nape stood up, she saw a herd of deer emerge from the closest ridge, three does and a buck taking flight across the rocky road leading to the barbican.

  “They’re here,” Royce said flatly.

  For one more moment, Allie did not move.

  From that tree line, the demon army emerged.

  A line of giant men, clad in armor and mail, helmets glistening in the sun, their bows on their backs, marched down the ridge toward Dunroch’s walls. The foremost men carried large crimson and black pennants.

  Allie fought for composure.

  More men, pack horses, equipment and machines followed—battering rams with iron heads, catapults like those in the courtyard below, and oddly, plank wood fencing, and carts carrying tall ladders.

  “T’is nay fencing,” Royce said grimly. “T’is shields fer their archers an’ the men who will try to scale the walls.” Royce glanced around them. “No deamhanain are inside Dunroch yet.”

  “Why don’t they leap inside whenever they want to?” Allie asked, her mouth so dry that swallowing hurt.

  Royce turned a brilliant gaze upon her. “Alba is in chaos now, but it isn’t anarchy—yet. We all answer to the King an’ Queen. Moffat is a great lord an’ bishop, Ailios, an’ he canna declare war as he wishes on the King’s men. He canna attack Malcolm or me as he pleases. In a way, there’s a truce between us. There’d be anarchy if a deamhan dared to invade a Master’s home at will, for the Master would have revenge. This,” he said harshly, “is the beginning of anarchy in Alba.”

  Allie shivered. “Yeah, and it’s because of me.”

  He took her elbow. “Ye serve good, Innocence an’ the Brotherhood. Any Master would defend ye with his life. Let us go down.”

  Allie stared as the first horsemen appeared behind the army of giants and equipment.

  All the demons were mounted.

  So much death wafted from the horsemen.

  And the aura of the entire army burned in red.

  And suddenly, Allie’s gaze went to one of the horsemen on the far right, mounted on a dark beast. The rider was far away, but Allie knew he didn’t wear armor because he did not gleam in the sun. For one moment, she couldn’t look away, and she felt the demon’s terrible, hypnotic pull.

  Hallo a Ailios.

  She felt his smile.

  Come to me, Ailios.

  Allie’s heart slammed—but she couldn’t look away.

  “Ailios,” Royce said sharply, turning her toward him.

  Her relief was crushing. She had not a doubt she’d been staring at Moffat and that he’d greeted her with telepathy, trying to mesmerize her. “Let’s go,” Allie whispered nervously. He had almost succeeded.

  “Today he dies,” Royce said.

  THE BATTLE STARTED and the world as she knew it changed.

  In one instant, the peace and calm of the day was shattered. Allie stood with Royce in the middle ward, between both gatehouse towers. Flaming arrows whistled, landing not just on the ramparts where most of the men were positioned, but in the ward not far from where she and Royce stood. Allie tensed as rocks and boulders exploded, shards flying dangerously close to them. Men began crying out in agony, shot by arrows or hit by the rocks. A man on fire fell from the walls, landing in the bailey, just across from where she stood with Royce. Shouts of rage began, as the defenders fired arrows and bolts from the crossbows at the attackers, hurling flaming liquids down upon them.

  But the wounded increased in number, with every slew of incoming arrows and projectiles. Royce grasped her arm more tightly, as if he knew that it was almost impossible for her not to rush to the stairs and go up to help the wounded. Allie braced herself. She had to stay put for now. Nothing had ever been so hard.

  Suddenly a sword-size bolt flew over the crenellations, impaling three men in a row. On the bolt, they fell to their death in the ward.

  “I can’t do this,” Allie screamed, shoving at Royce. “I can save two of those men!”

  He pulled her into
his embrace and locked her there, against his chest. “Stay still. They’ve breached the moat. Giants are scaling the walls—human ones.”

  Allie went motionless, staring up at him. “How do you know?”

  “I’m listenin’ to Malcolm,” he said.

  He was reading Malcolm’s mind. Malcolm and Claire were fighting the invaders from the largest tower, which guarded the drawbridge. Allie tuned in to the three men and realized they were all dead. She told herself not to cry—not now, not yet.

  Later, when it was over, she would pray for all the sacrifice and bless their souls, and then she would grieve for the human dead.

  She focused on the castle around them, but she didn’t feel evil inside, not yet.

  “He’s waitin’,” Royce said, “for the right moment.”

  Allie couldn’t imagine when that would be. The arrows, bolt and catapults kept coming. She could now hear the front gates being rammed. Worse, Malcolm’s men were shouting more urgently and furiously on the ramparts. With dread, she looked up and saw two giants crawling over the crenellations. They were instantly slain by Malcolm and Claire and two other huge warriors, using both swords and energy. One was dark and swarthy, the other bronzed and golden. Allie seized Royce’s sleeve—the two additional men had the brilliant powerful auras that only Masters could have.

  He had followed her gaze. “Aye, Malcolm has summoned help.”

  A slew of giants now began breaching the crenellations. Malcolm, Claire and the two new Masters instantly hurled them back with blasts of energy, but as they dropped, more giants appeared. Allie saw Aidan appear beside them, sword in hand, now dressed like a medieval Highlander in a tunic, mail and boots, his legs bare. She watched him viciously slay four of the giants, making him as much a Terminator as Royce. He no longer appeared affable at all.

  Wood screamed, shrieked, exploded.

  Allie, now encircled in Royce’s arms, her back to his chest, tensed in dread as the gates were breached and the giants rushed in.

  “Ye stay here,” Royce said grimly. “Ye stay against this wall.” He seized her shoulders. “Moffat will try to come now that I fight. Ye ken? I’ll keep one eye on ye.”

  Allie nodded, but she didn’t want him distracted. She seized his face in both hands. “Don’t you dare keep one eye on me! I won’t move. You fight with both eyes on the demons, damn it!”

  In answer, Royce handed her a small, deadly dagger and drew both swords, and before Allie could blink, he was striding into the horde, viciously determined, a golden warrior. He entered the fray like a lethal machine, his arms moving at stunning speed, like rotating blades, and the giants fell, one after another, as he strode through their midst. He had become a two-handed killing machine.

  The entire inner ward had become a battlefield. Just feet from where she stood, Masters and Highlanders fought the giants.

  The pale sand-colored dirt ran with blood.

  Bodies lay everywhere—the dying and the dead.

  How could she simply stand there and watch, doing nothing?

  Allie saw that Royce was on a roll. He certainly seemed invincible now. The huge urge to heal overwhelmed her and she moved just two steps from the wall. There, she knelt beside a very young man, stabbed through his side, half of his tunic covered in blood. The boy’s eyes were closed, but he was alive.

  Allie sent her white healing light over him and through him. She focused, the terrible uproar of the battle vanishing, and it was only her and the young defender and her white healing power. She didn’t move, aware of his severed flesh knitting, of a severed muscle healing. She felt his heart beating normally. She was rewarded when his eyes opened and he blinked at her in surprise. Then he smiled. “Lady, thank ye.”

  Allie glanced into the melee. Royce was half covered in blood but he was focused and unhurt. Every giant who turned toward him—or that he attacked—fell to his blades. In spite of how horrible such a battle was, the sight of him thrilled and reassured her. He was power and courage, and today, the gods smiled upon him.

  The giants kept on coming through the gatehouse, however, never mind that the men above were pouring hot oil on them and shooting them with flaming arrows. A little heat wouldn’t stop them, Allie thought grimly. But they were human, and enough wounds would eventually kill their bodies.

  She glanced up at the ramparts; most of the battle had moved down into the ward. She was pretty sure that wasn’t a good sign. Claire and Malcolm remained above, though, fighting those still trying to scale the castle walls.

  Allie turned away. Another man lay unconscious a few feet away from where she knelt. He’d suffered a blow from one of the catapulted rocks and had fallen from the ramparts above. Allie scrambled over to him and began healing him instantly.

  “Ailios.”

  At the silken, seductive, deathly tone, Allie froze. Slowly she looked up at Moffat.

  He smiled at her. He truly had the perfect beauty of a golden angel—but he was the harbinger of death. His eyes gleamed with a demonic lust that was so very sexual Allie’s tension skyrocketed. In that instant, she knew he’d entrance and seduce her before he was through with her—and that he’d take more than pleasure from her. He’d take power, leaving her the victim of a pleasure crime. “Aye,” he murmured.

  Allie felt a chill sweep over her—and it was partly sensual.

  “You’ll never be able to resist me, Ailios. I’ll wait while you finish healing him.” He chuckled.

  In that instant, Allie believed him. His powers of enchantment were terribly strong and she had to somehow keep a shield of white light about herself. Worse, she knew that if he seized her, he’d leap into another time and place with her. He only stood a foot away, towering over her, and that was dangerously close. She had to put more distance between them—but she was so afraid to move now. If she moved, she was certain he’d reach down and grab her. She didn’t even dare look toward Royce.

  Sweat ran down her body in streams of fear as she tried to think, on her hands and knees, near the wounded man.

  “You don’t wish to finish the healing?” he murmured, his blue eyes hot and bright.

  It was hard to think clearly when the lord of so much mayhem and death stood staring down at her, contemplating all the ways he’d use her. There was so much fear her chest hurt. Allie knew she had to move. She erupted, crawling backward as fast as she could.

  His pointy shoes followed her.

  Before she could leap to her feet, her heels hit the wall. She looked up in horror.

  He knelt so they were almost face-to-face, his features perfect. “You’re so much like your mother,” he breathed.

  His breath tickled her skin. How did he know her mother? “Fuck off.”

  Her inarticulate response clearly amused him. “Don’t you want to see her, Ailios?”

  Allie’s heart slammed. “She’s dead.”

  “Really? Since when?” His cruelly beautiful smile played.

  She could hear herself panting. “I will never heal demons.”

  His soft laughter came. “Maybe, maybe not. I have vast powers, beauty, and I believe that in the end, you will serve me well.” His gaze slid to her mouth. It dropped lower, to her breasts and cleavage, daringly revealed in the tiny top.

  “I’ll die before healing demons,” she said and she spat at his face. “And you’ll have to rape me to get me in bed.”

  He wiped the spittle aside. “I’ll enjoy that even more than seduction. If you wish to scream in sexual pain, it can be arranged.”

  Allie knew he meant it. She realized she was shaking as she slowly sat, still on her knees, her back now against the wall. There was no damned place to go.

  He reached for her.

  But she had been waiting for his move.

  In spite of his magnetic pull, she thrust the dagger through his palm.

  He growled, eyes widening in surprise, and he hesitated a fraction of a second.

  Allie ducked and rolled beneath his outstretched arm.


  Her hair leapt into his hand.

  She howled from the pain. But even briefly blinded by it, there was panic. Could his grasp on her hair be enough to take her through time with him?

  And from the corner of her eye, she saw the blade.

  A swirl of silver light.

  Royce.

  It sliced through her hair and she was free. Allie leapt away.

  Royce stood facing Moffat, smiling coldly.

  Simultaneously, Moffat and Royce blasted one another with energy, but it was a stand-off. Moffat seized his sword with his bleeding hand, drawing it free of its scabbard. He thrust—as did Royce. The two blades locked.

  So afraid the future would be repeated in the past, Allie looked at Royce, his blood-drenched leine sticking to his entire body like a second skin, delineating every muscle he had. His face was a mask of savage pleasure. He wasn’t afraid—he relished the violent encounter.

  “A Ailios,” he said softly.

  And he stepped back and thrust, forcing Moffat back to the wall. The blades shrieked and screamed, metal hissed and burned, filled with their power. Suddenly Royce drew his shortsword, so swiftly Allie was certain he’d mortally wound the other man.

  Somehow Moffat drew his own small blade and parried.

  Allie looked at her dagger, which lay on the ground not far from where the two men were furiously engaged. They seemed to be evenly matched, the one exception being the wound she had inflicted on Moffat’s right hand. In spite of all the fighting he had done that day, Royce was not wounded, and Allie prayed that gave him the advantage.

  The men withdrew and attacked again, each using two swords now. As they did so, Allie darted past them and seized the dagger. She was going to stick it right into Moffat’s heart the next chance she got.

  Royce and Moffat were braced swords against swords once more, pitting holy strength against demonic power. Allie estimated she was but two steps away from her target. She needed an opening….