by Brenda Joyce
She stepped outside into a blushing dawn. Royce was sitting on the stairs leading up to the ramparts, waiting for her. Her heart turned over hard as their gazes met. As she walked over to him, he stood.
She saw the question in his eyes.
“I’m fine. It took some time to get the gods’ attention—and to send everyone on their way.”
“It took all night,” he said flatly, his gaze still searching. “Did ye try to heal every lost soul?”
“Were you listening to me?”
“A bit.”
“They all needed me, Royce.”
He shocked her by reaching out and putting his arm around her. “Will ye rest now?”
She leaned into his magnificent body, then gave in and turned, wrapping her arms around him, her cheek against the flat, hard lower edge of his chest. He hesitated and then his arms engulfed her. Allie stood still, breathing in his power, his essence, his scent, and relishing being in his arms.
“Does anyone ever pray for ye, Ailios?” he asked softly.
She nuzzled his chest, the linen rough beneath her cheek. “Who on earth would do that?”
His grip tightened.
Allie felt his heart pick up a new, stronger rhythm. “I wasn’t put here for myself, Royce. Like you, I was put here to help others.”
He was silent.
Allie thought about the intimacy of the moment. They were alone together and she was in his arms, in a silent dawn filled with the light of both the rising sun and the full moon, and his concern was just as evident now as it had been earlier. I am no longer alone, she thought, and she smiled against his chest.
They had been through so much in such a short time. They had survived so much together. They weren’t quite lovers and they were far more than friends. And no matter what mode he was in, Allie knew she could count on him.
“Tell me about the future,” he said hoarsely.
“What?” she asked, surprised, pulling back to look up at him.
He made a derisive sound, releasing her. He folded his arms across his chest and stared tightly down at her.
Allie felt her heart race. “You want to know about the time we spent together?”
His expression threatened to crack. “Aye.”
She was stunned and thrilled. “Let’s sit,” she said. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
ROYCE SIMPLY STOOD, his arms folded almost defensively across his chest.
So Allie sat on the steps he’d vacated. “What do you want to know?”
His gaze was intense. “Everything.”
Allie realized he wanted every single detail of their time together—even the time in bed. Her heart lurched, and her body became terribly hollow. “Where do you want me to start?” she asked slowly.
“How did I find ye?”
Allie wet her lips, his gaze unwavering upon her. “It was as if you knew I was there, at Carrick. I was waiting for you in the hall with a glass of wine. I didn’t know you were from the future—I was expecting my golden warrior from this time, the same man who had appeared to help me fight the demons in South Hampton the night before. You drove into the courtyard in a black Ferrari and the moment you got out of the car, you looked into the window at me—as if you could see me, which you couldn’t possibly.”
His nostrils flared. “I’d ken ye were there. I’d sense yer white power—yer purity, yer beauty…yer heat.”
She inhaled, desire pooling. “You knew I was there, all right. You came into the hall like a man coming home to his bride.”
Royce stared, his gaze now silver. “I dinna think I’d forget the date.”
Allie was bewildered.
“I left ye in my home on September 6, 2007. I wouldn’t forget such a day, ever.”
She stood and hugged herself now, terribly serious—and acutely aware of the tension throbbing between them. It was so easy to feel his pounding pulse. “Now I understand, because when you came in, you greeted me without a pause.”
“And ye were pleased to see me?”
She nodded, smiling briefly. “I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait to see you, to make sure you were real and to be in your arms—and in your bed,” she said softly.
His eyes blazed. “Ye dinna ken I was my future self?”
“I was confused—but your aura was the same. Still, you had such short hair—you looked older—but I knew it was you.”
“And?” he demanded when she paused.
“You asked me if I wanted supper. I said no. You dismissed the housekeeper. I asked you if you had a brother and you said no. And then I asked if you had rescued me the night before.”
He stood so still he might have been a marble statue, but he was hardly made of stone. His aura blazed with red desire, and his leine billowed, exposing that desire.
She whispered, “You said you rescued me, but not the night before. You said you’d helped me over five hundred years ago.”
Royce didn’t move.
She felt moisture dripping between her thighs. “You took my glass of wine away and told me I talk too much.” Allie trembled. “And you told me you’d waited five hundred and seventy-seven years for me.”
He made a harsh sound. “And?” he demanded.
“You took me in your arms—you kissed me with your tongue in my throat—and then I was against the wall, and you lifted my thigh and your trousers ripped,” she managed.
He stared and she stared back. “How much pleasure,” he finally said, “did I give ye?”
“So much,” she whispered. “More than any man ever. We had sex in the hall, there against the wall, and then you took me to your bed, and we made love all night.” Her heart raced madly now. “I must have come a dozen times. So did you.”
He breathed hard.
“And in the middle of the night,” she said, “you held me and smiled and we talked about the Masters and the Brotherhood.”
His eyes went wide. “I talked to ye while we were in bed?”
She nodded. “For quite some time.”
He turned away from her, as if shaken.
Allie tried to find some composure. It wasn’t easy when she was now so acutely tuned in to his lust, which seemed to match hers completely. “You were very talkative—compared to now. And you weren’t afraid to smile, either.”
He faced her, eyes wide and searching. “T’is the truth!” he exclaimed.
She nodded. “Surely I’m not the first woman you’ve had a conversation with during sex?”
“The bed is for sleep or sex, nay for speeches.”
Allie felt bug-eyed. “You’ve never cuddled and chatted with a woman in bed before?”
“Never,” he snapped. Then, cheeks flushed, he asked, “Did I tell ye I love ye, too?”
Allie went still.
And he knew. His color diminished. “I dinna say the words.”
It was hard to confirm the terrible truth. “No, you didn’t, not even while dying. But you didn’t have to. Because I saw the love in your eyes.”
He shook his head fiercely. “I couldna become such a fool in old age!”
Allie didn’t like this. “For God’s sake, Royce, falling in love is wonderful, not foolish.”
“Aye—for an ordinary man.”
It took Allie a moment to respond. “Malcolm has Claire.”
“And I pray every day she willna suffer for it. Every day, I pray Malcolm willna regret his choice.”
In that moment, she felt his thoughts go to a featureless woman with titian hair. “This is about Brigdhe!”
His eyes blazed. “I took vows. I follow the Code. There’s no room in my life for foolish sentiment.”
Allie shook her head. “Earlier I realized you’re afraid for me because of what happened to her. But I am not her! I am stronger! And if this is why you are trying to avoid a relationship—”
He cut her off. “Yer nay my wife—or my love—and ye’ll never be either,” he said savagely.
&n
bsp; Allie recoiled, hurt to the quick. He had loved his wife. And even though Allie felt terrible for what Brigdhe had been through, and even though that had been eight centuries ago, she couldn’t stand how much he had loved her—and that he refused to open his heart to her now.
“Ye’ll never have my heart,” he said.
She covered her aching chest with her hand. Did he know how cruel he was being?
Then he said harshly, “Yer a Healer, Ailios, an’ ye belong to the world, not to any one man.”
She trembled. Even she knew that was her Fate.
With that, he whirled, leaving her alone in the dawn.
IONA SPARKLED in the midmorning sun, its gleaming beaches as pale as pearls.
Allie stepped from the galley without help, trembling with excitement. She’d spent the few hours since dawn torn between despair over Royce’s determination to avoid her, and her own determination to break through the walls he’d erected around his heart. She had despaired over the apparent depth of his love for his dead wife, too. Apparently Brigdhe was a rival after all, even as a ghost.
But then they had taken their leave of Claire and Malcolm, boarding a single-masted galley, and they had been rowed the few miles to the small island. Royce was not on her mind, as she took in the rolling green hills behind the beaches. Even the ocean sparkled like sapphires that day.
Allie stared toward a walled compound, within which were several medieval buildings, including a church. She knew from her previous tours to the island that a medieval abbey had once stood there, as had a Benedictine monastery. In fact, the chapel bells began ringing as she focused on the compound to determine which it was. She felt the soft, serene, giving presence of women, and realized she faced the abbey.
She slowly turned. Up the pale dirt road was another fortified compound, this one far larger. So much power came from behind those solid walls that she became breathless. Testosterone and strength wafted from the fortress, so strong that she paused, aware of a new tension, gathering within her, tightening her, calling to her womanhood. Masters were there, and she was acutely aware of it.
The Ancients were nearby, too.
She felt their power and their majesty most of all.
“Ailios? Come.”
Royce stood on the pier, waiting for her. She smiled at him, another rush of excitement consuming her. “I have been drawn to this island many times! I’ve felt so much holiness here—and I always thought I could feel people, power. I’d hear voices and then I’d laugh at that and tell myself the island was haunted.”
Royce met her gaze. “Ye sensed us in other times.”
“Damn right I did,” Allie cried. Happy, she seized his hand. “Let’s go. And smile—it doesn’t hurt.”
He pulled his hand from hers, his mouth remaining in a rigid line. Allie felt some of her joy vanish, her excitement fade. He’d been deadly serious since boarding the galley. His tension was huge, none of it sexual. His aura roiled, as if with distress that bordered on anguish. She wished she could read his mind so she could understand what was tormenting him now.
She was fairly certain it had something to do with their conversation about the future. As they started up the road, the men leaving the galley at anchor by the pier, she said, “It’s a beautiful day. What’s wrong?”
He glanced at her, his strides swift enough that she had to break into a trot to keep up with him. “There’s nothin’ wrong. I have affairs to attend with MacNeil. I dinna ken what he wishes of me now.”
“You seem sad.”
He gave her a dark look. “I dinna have time to be sad. We’ll stay an hour or two, then we’ll return to Carrick.” And he outdistanced her.
Allie followed, aware that on some level he was hurting. She hesitated, then gave in to her urge. She showered him with her healing white light.
He whirled, his aura sucking up the white light like a sponge. “What do ye think to do?” he demanded.
“Let me try to ease the pain, Royce,” she said quietly, coming up to him. She reached for him.
He swatted her hand away. “Ye can ease my pain with yer body, not with yer power,” he said furiously. “My pain is between my legs—nowhere else!”
“Of course,” she said, not meaning it. “I want to heal you and you turn the discussion to sex.”
He leaned close. “I dinna need healing,” he said, hard. “An’ when ye change yer mind about love, ye can ease my pain anytime.” He walked away from her, jerking open the heavy, studded door set in the monastery’s thick walls. It wasn’t locked or bolted, but of course, no demon would ever set foot on the island. It was too holy.
Allie hesitated, telling herself not to be hurt. He still grieved for his lost love, and he still carried that crushing guilt, although he would never admit it. She wondered what kind of woman his wife had been. She had to have been some kind of saint.
She was competing for Royce’s heart with a saintly ghost. That was just great.
Allie walked after him, and as she did, some wounded anger began. No matter what he said, he was hurt and he needed her. She flung a bolt of white healing light at him, through him.
He whirled, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Try to tell me that doesn’t feel good!” she cried, closing the door behind her.
He breathed hard. “Ye do so again, I’ll lock ye in Carrick’s tower.”
“You would never treat me that way.” Allie had no doubt.
He flushed. “Dinna try yer healin’ on me again,” he warned.
“Do you feel better?” she asked.
“I feel fine,” he snapped. “An’ yer power has naught to do with it.”
Allie decided not to argue. And then it didn’t matter. Her eyes widened as she saw three heavenly hunks crossing a path beyond them, each one golden and gorgeous, clad in Highland garb. Her glance moved from broad shoulders to bare thighs and then up to three nearly perfect faces. The Masters started, looking her way. Interested smiles followed, as did bright, gleaming gazes.
Royce made a sound.
Allie didn’t have to look at him to know he was aggravated. She laughed. “Ooh la la. Introduce me.”
“I think not,” he snapped. Then, “Ye prefer blondes, do ye not?”
“Very much,” she said with another laugh. The three Masters veered her way. Allie knew they were checking her out in her tiny pink tee and supertight jeans. She smiled invitingly at them all.
Royce took her arm and hauled her up the road. “Brian wasn’t blond.”
“Brian was just a nice guy.”
“Who never pleased ye in bed.”
“True.” She twisted to take one last look at all that eye candy. “Who are they?”
“Doesna matter. Ye won’t see them again. They’re leaving.”
Allie sighed with mock disappointment. “Jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous? Ye dinna belong to me.”
“I sure don’t.” She craned her head to eye a dark, towering man with extremely short hair who was leaving a nearby, long, low stone house. He did a double take, glancing at her and then nodding at Royce. “You know, you could leave me here, couldn’t you? Moffat won’t step onto holy ground.” She kept a straight face.
Royce turned an incredulous gaze on her.
And she knew why he’d changed his mind about sending her to the island. Once he’d started caring, he couldn’t handle the idea of leaving her there with so many supersexed hunks. Allie shrugged. “I do like Carrick a lot, but I don’t mind spending some time here while you hunt Moffat,” she said as innocently as possible. “I mean, I could spend all my time praying.” She batted her eyes at him.
He choked. “An’ whose bed will ye climb into?”
“Bed? Do you ever think of anything else? I want to stay and pray. Why are you talking about sex?”
Royce had halted; so had she. He stared unhappily at her. “I ken yer game. Ye wish to excite me, provoke me. Ye want me jealous!”
She touched his hand. “Yes, I
do, and it’s pretty easy to accomplish.”
“I’m nay jealous.”
“Really.” She hid a smile. She’d never known any man as jealous.
His mouth twisted. “If ye play me, ye’ll be sorry.”
“How sorry?” Her heart raced. She couldn’t help imagining Royce staking his claim.
He nodded. “Ye want me to take ye here, now? An’ what about yer foolish need for my love?”
His words ended the game. “I know you care. You’ve proven it time and again. And I care—and I’m not afraid to say so. I care enough to suffer your awful temper, your rude behavior, your medieval nature. I care enough to stick around for the long haul—and help you let go of the past.”
His eyes widened. “I only want to fuck.”
“Maybe. Maybe that’s what you want right now, on this particular autumn day in 1430. But you wanted more than that in my time. And, Royce? I think you lie. Not to me, but to yourself. I think you want more than sex, right now, in 1430. I think that’s why you suck up my white light like a starving man devours his last meal. I think you care a helluva lot and it terrifies you.”
He paled. Then a furious flush began. “I’ll show ye how I care.” He seized her arm and started to pull her away from the road.
Allie tensed. “If you are thinking of changing the subject with sex, forget it!”
He faced her. His gaze blazed. “Ye want to ken how I feel, what I want, how I care? I care about yer body an’ yer face. Nothing more!” he shouted. “An’ it will never be more. Stop pushin’ at me!”
“Where is the man who sat up with me all night while I slept? Where is the man who sat outside the chapel at Dunroch all night, while I prayed? Where is the man who asked me about the future—and listened to what I had to say?”
“He’s gone!” And with that, Royce strode away, leaving her standing there beneath a huge tree, alone.
How had such a terrible, heated argument arisen? Allie hugged herself. She had meant to provoke his jealousy—she had meant to play him—but it had backfired. She had set him off like a keg of dynamite.
