by Brenda Joyce
She stared after him and saw him greeting MacNeil. Royce didn’t look her way, but the tawny-haired abbot did. Allie somehow raised her hand toward him in a greeting.
Royce had become a lit fuse, ready to combust at any moment. What did that mean?
She didn’t want to have doubts about them or their future. But suddenly it felt as though if she pushed any harder, she would lose him after all.
She just wished she knew what had changed since last night, to make him so volatile.
“CAN YE CALM YERSELF?” MacNeil asked.
He almost felt as if he couldn’t breathe. She was ogling all the Masters, and even though she meant to thoroughly irritate him and provoke him, her admiration was genuine. He had read her thoughts—she liked every hard body, every pretty face. She liked it far too much—the way she liked being in his bed, ridden by him, in the throes of rapture.
How long would she remain without a lover? he wondered. She was a woman with strong sexual needs.
And while she had succeeded in making him angry and jealous, he was acutely aware of Ailios, standing a distance away, trembling and hurt and, for the first time, filled with doubt about him.
Good, he thought savagely. Let her have doubts! She should have doubts! He was a Master and he would never be more, not to her and not to anyone.
And in the middle of the night you held me and smiled and we talked….
He could not imagine being in her bed and holding her and talking. It was absurd!
And he was as weak as he was a liar, because he wanted nothing as much as he wanted to do just that, not even the rapture they could give one another.
What was happening to him?
Should he leap again and remind himself how Brigdhe had suffered at Kael’s hands because of him?
Royce smiled grimly at MacNeil, who stared closely. “She’s an annoying, provocative woman. Disobedient,” he added quickly. He kept his mind closed so MacNeil would not lurk. “She’s nay easy to protect, defyin’ me at every turn.”
MacNeil gave him a mildly disbelieving look. “Dinna make the mistake ye made with yer wife.”
Royce stiffened, stunned. “Do ye dare to read my mind?”
“I dinna have to. Ye look at her like a boy starving for his first girl. Yer heart is written on yer face. Ye give her yer heart an’ yer doomed, an’ maybe she’s doomed, too.”
“I dinna have a heart,” Royce snarled. “It was cut from my chest long ago.” He was so shocked and angry he turned away, and by gods, he was trembling.
You came into the hall like a man coming home to his bride.
Well, if he had waited almost six hundred years for her, the way he waited now, of course he had come into his hall that way. But she would never be his bride, or his wife, or even his lover. Bedsport, yes, one day—in the future, in her time—if he could somehow wait that long. And that no longer seemed likely, either.
Not a moment went by that he didn’t feel the need to be with her, in her; not a moment went by that he did not have, in the back of his mind, a knowledge of the rapture that was so close—and so far.
“Well, that’s pleasing to hear, as she belongs to the Brotherhood, an’ she always will,” MacNeil said. “I want her safe an’ protected. If ye canna keep a distance from her, I will choose someone else.” There was disapproval in his tone.
Royce met his gaze. “Ye said yerself, any man would want her.”
“I would have never guessed ye’d turn into a randy boy over her. I willna have her death on yer head, Ruari,” MacNeil said sharply. There was nothing affable or charming about him now.
“I willna allow her to die,” Royce exclaimed, glad the conversation had been turned to firm, safe ground. “I saved her yesterday.”
“Aye, ye did yer duty, an’ the Ancients be pleased.”
Calmer at last, Royce glanced toward Allie and saw her walking away, clearly heading for the sacred shrine. He was glad and he felt himself soften. He knew how much their gods meant to her. He wanted her to find peace and joy at the shrine. No one deserved peace and joy more.
“Moffat has declared war on us with his actions,” MacNeil said. “I’ll be goin’ to court to see if the King can bring him to heel.”
Royce walked into the meeting house with MacNeil, where they settled into chairs before the hearth. “Have ye been told about the future?”
MacNeil looked carefully at him. “The Ancients,” he said slowly, “have let me see the future.”
Royce became still. MacNeil had a great power of sight, which he claimed was not his, and that the Ancients allowed him to see when they so chose. Royce had once believed him; now, he believed MacNeil saw what he chose when he chose, and used the device of the power being controlled by the gods as an excuse to avoid fortune-telling. It was hard to breathe—so much was at stake. “So ye dinna speak to Aidan.”
MacNeil shook his head. “I saw the future the day I summoned ye to Iona to tell about Ailios—the day I sent ye to 2007.”
Royce inhaled. “Are ye saying ye saw my death?”
“Aye.”
He shouldn’t be shaken. He was old and tired and worn and it was more than time to die. But he stood, shocked.
MacNeil also stood. “I’m sorry, Ruari. But 2007 is a long time from now.”
Royce turned away quickly so MacNeil would not see his expression. But what about Ailios? Who would protect her, defend her, when he was gone? Who would guard her while she healed? Who would share her bed?
He had thought about his death for centuries. He had never worried; he had accepted that one day, his Fate would be death. Now, he turned. “Are ye certain ye saw my death?”
“Aye, at Moffat’s hands—ye were protecting Ailios. Aidan was with ye.”
So it was written, he thought, walking over to the fire. He stared blindly into the flames. Ailios had hunted him down in the past to prevent his death in the future, but his Fate was engraved in stone.
It didn’t matter. No one would care.
I care!
Her voice resounded as loudly as if she stood beside him, crying out.
Ailios would weep for him. She had already wept over his dead body—and she would do so again.
He trembled, uncertain.
MacNeil clasped his shoulder. “We all go, eventually.”
Royce somehow smiled. No one knew MacNeil’s age, but it was said he was well over a thousand years old. “Ye’ll never die. Who will manage the Masters if ye do?” His voice cracked.
MacNeil stared sympathetically at him.
“Swear to me,” Royce said roughly, “that when I’m gone, ye’ll see to her care yerself. Yer the most powerful among us. Swear to me, now, that she’ll be yer Innocent.”
MacNeil nodded. “I give my word.”
Royce turned away, sickened now, for he saw them in bed. It was inevitable.
MacNeil said quietly, “I shouldn’t say so, but she loves ye deeply, Ruari. She’ll never love another man.”
He whirled. “Did ye see that, too?”
MacNeil hesitated. “Nay. I canna see past the day ye die.”
Royce thrust himself into MacNeil’s mind, and realized he was telling the truth. Clearly he had lurked on Ailios. Did it matter? Eventually MacNeil would seduce her. He would never think to deny himself, not with Royce gone.
Royce walked away. His temples pounded. He was supposed to wait five hundred and seventy-seven more years for her? For what—a single night?
One night was not going to be enough.
And if there was only going to be one night, he wanted it to be sooner; he wanted it to be now.
“Ruari, dinna give in to such temptation.”
Royce jerked. He was so agitated he’d forgotten to shield his thoughts.
“Moffat hunts her. I dinna ken what to make o’the fact that she’s here now, in this time—an’ ye dinna die for almost six hundred years. A long war lies ahead.”
And in that moment, it truly sank in.
Mof
fat would not die tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. He had to hunt him—but the hunt would last almost six hundred years—and in the end, he was to be the one vanquished.
And the burden of such an endless war, added now to the burden of the past eight hundred years, crushed him down.
“Yer strong. Ye can protect her for such a long time. I’m sure of it.”
Royce couldn’t answer.
For the first time in his life, he had entered a war knowing the outcome. It wasn’t war—it was a journey to his death.
And then he rallied and recovered. There was no choice. It was a journey he had to make, a war he must fight, because he had been chosen, and Ailios must live.
ALLIE WAS BATHED in holy light. She no longer prayed. On the floor of the knave, before a sacred shrine containing the holy Book of Wisdom, the Cladich, she knelt before all the gods. Their holy blessings washed over her, through her, and she wept, carried away on a tide of religious rapture.
When the communion was finally over, she became aware of her surroundings. The gods had gone. Long, dark shadows had crept into the chapel. Allie sat on the floor, dazed. She’d come into the chapel in the morning, instinctively finding her way to the shrine, and she had begun to pray. The Ancients had come closer and closer, and finally she had been the one showered with their holy, healing powers. The tears of rapture had dried on her face and now, they stung. She felt empowered and weakened at once.
Allie stood and became dizzy. She reached out to a pew and waited for the chapel to stop spinning.
She’d never had such a religious experience in her life, but she was pretty sure every Ancient had come to her. It had been mind-blowing.
Allie took a deep breath and turned, her mind starting to clear. She thought about Royce, who had said they’d leave the island hours ago. Before she could decide what his mood might be at the delay, she saw the woman standing at the end of the knave, as if she had just walked through the door.
Her heart slammed. “Mother?”
Elizabeth was dressed in a long, pale gown, and she looked as corporeal as anyone. But the moment Allie spoke, Elizabeth began to fade. Through her body, Allie could see the chapel walls.
“Mother! Wait!” she cried. She rushed up the knave, toward her.
Elizabeth did not smile. As Allie came closer, she realized her mother’s expression was haunted. No, it was frightened. Allie paused before the translucent apparition, terribly alarmed. Elizabeth started to speak urgently to her—but Allie could barely hear her whispers.
“Mom! What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Danger…you…Ruari,” she seemed to say. And then she swiftly faded into nothingness.
Allie gasped in shock. What had just happened?
Her mother had reached out to her from the dead, again. And she had been frightened. Had she been asking for help? Had she been trying to warn her? What did this mean?
Allie stepped from the chapel, shaken to the core. She glanced around, but it was a dark night, filled with shadow, clouds clearly having come in that afternoon. The various buildings beyond the chapel were lit from within with fires and torches, but she saw no one moving about. Even though the grounds were holy, she strained her senses. The night was vacant of all evil.
A man materialized from the dark shadows, striding purposefully toward the chapel.
Allie knew it wasn’t Royce from his far lither silhouette, just as she knew he was a Master, his aura filled with holy power. But it was also filled with uncertainty, which surprised her—as if he did not quite know himself. His strides suddenly faltered as he sensed her.
His gaze turned instantly to her, and he paused, not entering the chapel.
Torches had been lit by the monks and the garden and path outside the chapel were illuminated. Allie saw a very young, golden Master. His wide gaze turned to very smug, male appreciation and he undressed her with a look. “Ye must be the Healer.”
Allie put her thoughts of Elizabeth aside. “Yes, I am Allie. You are?” She had to smile. This man was probably no more than twenty-one, but he was pure beefcake. Sam would lick him up, all over.
“Seoc.” He grinned and approached. “Ah, they said yer beauty is unrivaled, but I dinna quite believe it.”
Allie smiled with some amusement. “I’m hardly unrivaled in beauty. You should see my two best friends. Not only are they beautiful, they’re blond and tall.”
“I dinna mind someone so small,” he said with deep dimples.
“I’m with Royce,” she said softly. Better to head this one off at the pass, she decided.
He sighed. “Aye, I heard that, too. I heard he canna stand ye lookin’ at another man.” He grinned. “I dinna care. Ye can look at me anytime. Are ye certain ye wish to be with such an old man?”
Allie had to smile. “How old are you, Seoc?”
“Old enough to please you very well.”
“Twenty-one? Twenty-two?”
He shook his head. “My age doesna matter, lass. An’ I’m glad to prove it to ye.”
“Royce will take yer head—at least,” Allie said flatly.
“Probably,” Seoc agreed affably. “But I have nay doubt it will be well worth it.”
Allie laughed. “I think you were on your way to pray?”
“I’m newly chosen. My brother has ordered me to some penitence.”
And Allie saw the resemblance to MacNeil in Seoc’s vivid, long-lashed green eyes, but otherwise, his features were far prettier. “MacNeil?”
“Aye.” He held out his hand. “Let’s converse some more. I can pray for guidance later.” But he turned to glance over his shoulder.
Allie had already felt Royce approaching and her heart leapt in excitement. She saw him striding up the road and she went still. His aura was an inferno of crimson and gold. Not rage—just burning desire.
Although she didn’t move or breathe, her pulse exploded, beginning to pound in unison with the blood rushing in his veins and filling his loins. He was coming for her—and there was no mistaking his intentions.
She didn’t know what had happened, what had changed. Suddenly it didn’t matter. He wanted her now and he was going to take her. And suddenly she could feel the rapture awaiting them. It was so close…and every inch of her body expanded, heating impossibly.
Royce came out of the shadows, and the first thing she saw was his hot, silver gaze. Then she saw how terrifically his leine thrust out. Desire made her feel faint. Her flesh began a distinct throbbing, swelling and already seeking his.
“Well,” Seoc said. “Well.”
Allie didn’t even notice him slip past her, into the chapel. She somehow wet her lips, trying to regain some control over her mind. Royce was on the rampage for her now. Her own body was rejoicing—and joining him in that rampage. She needed him, hot and hard, inside her small, tight body. But she needed the words, too, didn’t she?
He reached her, grasping her shoulders, his hands uncompromising. His gaze locked with hers, and so much lust burned there, she spasmed.
He knew. His face tightened.
Allie gasped at the torturous wave of pleasure.
He pulled her close. “I canna tell ye I love ye,” he said thickly. “Not now, not ever.”
It was a warning. Allie tensed. She tried to breathe—tried to think. Instead her hands clasped his hips. Her pulse drummed frantically now everywhere—he pulsed between them, against her. “What is it?” she managed to ask.
“Ye can heal me,” he rasped, his blazing eyes holding hers. “Here, now, tonight.”
She tried desperately to understand. “With sex?”
His mouth came closer. “Aye. Ye can heal me with yer body.”
She stared into his eyes and saw more than lust. She saw urgency, even desperation—and fear. She started, touched his rough jaw. “What is it? Please, what’s happened?”
“Everything’s different now.” His arm swept behind her back, his hand cupping her buttock. “Just let it be.” But his
gaze was searching.
“Ailios, I need ye,” he said.
Allie reached for him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ROYCE SEIZED HER JEANS by the waistband, above the fly, and covered her mouth with his.
Allie gasped at the urgent onslaught of his mouth, while his knuckles pressed low and hard, beneath her denim and the lace of her thong. His tongue swept deep and Allie moaned, pressing her belly outward, against his hands.
Around her, in her, she felt his hot pulse racing in his body, frantically pounding in his veins.
Her own desire soared in tandem with his and she felt his excitement intensifying. He felt her every response, too. Suddenly he tore her jeans down her hips, kneeling. Allie’s body went still as his mouth moved over the lace covering her throbbing flesh. He hooked a finger beneath the thong and swept the scrap aside. His tongue swept the length of her, down one wet crevice, up another.
She held on to him and gasped with pleasure.
Allie felt him stiffen to incredible proportions and she felt him throbbing; she felt his need to explode. She began to crest out of all control. Clinging to his shoulders, she gasped his name. “Royce—let me come.”
In answer, he pulled her down to the ground, his mouth still on her sex, his fingers in her now. And he said, “I have to taste yer light.”
Allie was briefly confused. And then the strangest thing happened. Something touched her deep inside herself—and it wasn’t physical.
Royce went still—and deep inside her, he somehow touched her again.
His pulse changed. She felt a sudden rush of power expanding in his veins. It heightened her excitement; he cried out again, his grasp on her hips tightening. The wave of pleasure spiraled wildly in him, in her.
And Royce strained inside himself, as if fighting his need to climax. Allie wanted to scream at him to let go, because she needed to let go, when he touched her on some other plane again.
It was a caress between souls.
He had never been as strong, as virile; his power had become huge. He knew it—she knew it.
She felt him start to come.
The climax was unlike any she’d ever had before. He was overcome with the power in his body, but with it was the greatest lust she’d ever felt, an excitement so vast it was blinding for them both. There was only pleasure, power, pain and ecstasy. His climax became hers.
