by Brenda Joyce
He felt his own color rise. “The affair is purely a matter o’ politics,” he began.
“Oh! Forgive me! Screwing her brains out is so very political!”
“I haven’t been in her bed in months—in almost a year,” he said grimly.
“I saw everything,” she cried.
He softened because she was so hurt. “Then ye saw nothing at all,” he said flatly.
She made a sound.
He just looked at her and saw tears rise. Impossibly he wanted her to understand; impossibly he wanted to take her in his arms. “Ailios, I dinna wish to bed her. Yer the woman I want in my bed.”
She made another sound. “That’s not what I saw.”
“I dinna do anything except play her!” he cried. “She’s my liege. Do ye think I can refuse her easily? If yer King wanted it, ye’d go to his bed an’ act pleased about it!”
“We don’t have a King!”
“Then yer fortunate. Here, there are royals, an’ even now, Joan may decide to take my head. She’s nay very pleased.”
Ailios hugged herself. “You’re with me,” she finally said, trembling.
He hesitated, almost ready to agree. “We canna be together. Last night was the proof. I willna hurt ye, ever, an’ I willna take away yer great power again.”
“You’ve already hurt me, Royce,” Ailios said.
He trembled, very close to crossing the room and sweeping her into his arms. “I dinna do as she wished. I dinna want her. I was thinking of ye, Ailios, not her, but I dinna wish to enrage her. I wish to keep my head.”
She stared, her dark gaze searching.
“I have never lied, not once in all my life,” he added softly.
She turned away, wiping her eyes, and she had never appeared as fragile or as vulnerable. The urge to protect her overcame him. She did not belong in this miserable time. Why did she have to love him? It was impossible, forbidden, and he was unworthy of her.
But even knowing all of that, he cared. He cared that she didn’t really understand what he had done and why he had done it, and he cared that she understand how much he wanted her and that he had been acutely aware of her, the entire time during the encounter with Joan. He gave in and crossed the room.
She started.
He cupped her elbows. “Lass, I wish to avoid Joan. But again, I willna lie. To save my head, I will go to her bed.”
Ailios inhaled. “Can she really execute you for refusing her?”
“Ailios, the Queen has ordered many beheaded for far less. Her will is law in Alba. I dinna ken yer world, but t’is the way of this world.”
She trembled and reached for his shoulders. “I can’t stand this. I won’t share you.”
Her words made his heart leap with what felt like exultation. He already knew he could not, would not, share her—but a liaison between them was forbidden. Eventually he would have to let her go. Eventually she would want to go.
But just then, he was fiercely pleased to hear her possessive statement. Just then, he wanted her loyalty and love. And what did that mean? He had already admitted a truth he had no wish to ever admit again—that he cared. To care was dangerous—more dangerous, in his view, than denying the Queen.
“I will try my best to divert her tonight,” he said softly, aware that they had just weathered a very personal crisis. And that left him standing alone in her chamber with the most beautiful and pure woman he had ever known, a woman whose mere presence brightened any chamber and any soul—even his. His heart began a new, insistent beat.
She stiffened, aware of his sudden change of interest. “Royce—it’s only been a few hours, but I missed you so much.”
He tried not to think about the shocking fact that he had actually missed her, too. As importantly, he must not think of her small, hot body beneath his while he drove into her tight warmth and wetness. And he must forget her extreme passion, which matched his exactly. But she took his face in her hands and stood on tiptoe.
“Ailios, dinna.”
“Tough,” she breathed. “You’re mine.” And she kissed him.
He tried to remain still, but her words undid him. You’re mine. His hard body jerked and became fully attentive, clamoring for union and release. He fought the need to be with her, the urge to take her, dominate her. But she plied his lips sensually, seductively, inflaming him impossibly. Still, he refused to move or participate; he would not kiss her back.
She suddenly nipped his lip. The demand was unmistakable. And then the pressure of her mouth increased. He felt her blood screaming in her veins. He felt her need, acutely, as if it was his—which it was. She needed him driving inside her. He needed to drive inside her. Against his very will, he opened for her. She moaned and her tongue went deep. He thought of taking her to the bed, mounting her, teasing her. He thought of thrusting deep. He thought of La Puissance.
His mind turned blank; he wrapped her in his arms, bent her backward and took over the kiss.
“Hurry,” she gasped.
Somehow, a degree of sanity left, he pulled away.
She gasped, shocked.
He walked to the far side of the chamber, trying to recover his composure and control. He leaned against the wall, waiting for the violent urge to move into her to dull and subside. He heard her panting behind him and thought about how this woman affected him as no other ever had. Was that why the Ancients had chosen him, because he would not think twice about dying for her?
He said roughly, “After last night, I truly dinna trust myself, Ailios.” He finally looked at her, mouth hard and tight.
“I trust you.” She hesitated, trembling. “But I have my powers back, Royce, and I can’t lose them again.”
“Aye.” He glanced away, with guilt. “Calm yerself, quickly. She has asked fer ye an’ we need go down to the hall.”
“What?”
That truth was like ice water. He took a few deep breaths and faced her. “She’s heard about Garret.”
She stared, then said, “What does this mean, exactly?”
“It means ye willna heal a single soul, a single beast—not even a fly—while she is here.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“She’ll take ye with her, back to court. She’ll want yer powers for herself an’ ye’ll be a hostage at court until ye lose yer powers—or until ye die.”
She paled. “Royce, you’re kidding, right?”
“Do I appear amused?”
“No. You seem really worried—and you’re worrying me.”
He knew he’d kept his expression impassive, but Ailios seemed able to read his thoughts. “If she wishes to take ye from here, I canna stop her. Ye’d have to go, or we could leap to another time, when she’s nay royal—or when she’s dead.”
“Why don’t we do that now?” she exclaimed.
“Ailios, I’m lord o’ Carrick an’ all of Morvern. I’m a Master, but my people need me here an’ now. And the Code demands a Master live in his time. We canna pick an’ choose where to live.” He smiled briefly. “If we leap forward a dozen years, I willna stay with ye. My place is in this time.”
“Oh,” she said with dismay. “Damn.”
“Aye, damn.” He said, “I told the Queen yer a kind, caring woman an’ ye prefer to attend the sick like any midwife.”
“Okay,” Ailios said. “When will this wonderful meeting take place?”
“Now.”
She slipped to her feet. “Absolutely not. I have to get dressed.”
He did not understand. “Yer dressed.”
She gave him a very sidelong look, one arch and sultry. “Oh, no, this is not dressed.”
ALLIE HAD PUT ON HER bombshell red Escada evening gown for the meeting. It was a strapless chiffon sheath that floated down her curves, except for the corsetlike bodice, and it was slit up the back. It was sexy, strong, seductive. Ceit had supplied medieval hairpins, and she had managed to pile her hair on top of her head, while leaving many loose tendrils skimming her neck, shoulders and face. She’
d stained her lips with her lip gloss and crushed berries—and added that concoction to her cheeks. This was war.
She was upset and she felt threatened as she never had before. But she had never been in love before—and she had never come up against a woman with so much power. She was even jealous, never mind that Royce’s affair had occurred before she’d ever known him. There was a bottom line—there was no way Joan was ever going to get her clutches on Royce again.
As she reached the threshold of the hall, she saw Royce standing grimly by the hearth. The Queen sat alone, looking to be in a snit, but her ladies surrounded her, clearly waiting on her every whim. Unfortunately she was blond, pretty and young. Fortunately no one had told her that dark red was an overpowering color for her. However, she was wearing some very real rubies. In the twenty-first century, Allie guessed that necklace was worth a half a mill, easy. As determined as she was, she was also nervous. In the Middle Ages, she didn’t count for much. The Queen was going to hate being outdone. But that was the point, and it was too late to have second thoughts.
Royce turned.
Allie tensed, unable to smile, waiting for him to react to the sight of her prepared for a more subtle version of an all-out, hair-pulling, nail-stabbing catfight. She wanted to blind him to the other woman. She needed him to look at her and become oblivious to Joan.
His gray gaze widened. Then it turned bright and hot, sliding from her head to her toes.
She smiled at him, just a little, relieved that he appreciated her in the dress. But he met her gaze, his face turning hard with disapproval, all male appreciation gone. He knew she’d chosen the dress to outshine the Queen.
Are ye mad to provoke Joan so?
Allie started, for an instant thinking she’d heard him speak. But he hadn’t spoken and she had been imagining it.
The Queen had seen her. She stood, her gaze going wide and incredulous. And she looked at Allie almost exactly as Royce had. A flush of anger began.
She wasn’t happy about being bested, Allie thought. She trembled. She had won this round, but it didn’t feel so great and there was a long battle ahead.
“Yer Majesty, this is Lady Monroe.” Royce had reached her side, and he sent her a warning glance. He also clasped her shoulder, urging her to get down on her knees.
Allie got it. She was to behave. Well, her behavior depended on the oversexed Queen. Allie knelt. It had become surreal, as if she were in a fifties movie.
“Ah, well, now I begin to understand your lack of performance, Ruari,” Joan said with cool disdain. “You did not mention to Us that your guest is young and somewhat pretty. You may rise, Lady Monroe.”
Somewhat pretty? Allie tensed impossibly. Those were fighting words. She reminded herself that she was a lot prettier and slimmer than the Queen. Allie rose, and met the Queen’s direct, seething gaze. In that instant, she knew Joan Beaufort hated her as much as she hated Joan.
“In fact, your guest is pretty enough to wait on Us.” Joan smiled triumphantly at her.
“Like hell!” Allie gasped, stunned. Did the Queen think to turn her into an actual servant?
Royce seized her arm, his jaw hard.
“What does the wench mean?” Joan demanded.
“She means that serving Yer Majesty is her greatest wish,” Royce said flatly. “She would be honored, but Lady Monroe has been sent to me by her guardian. I canna release her into another’s care, not even Yer Majesty’s. I am sworn as her guardian now.”
Joan laughed. “Then perhaps We will take over as guardian,” she said bluntly. “Oh, Ruari, do you think Us a fool? You have taken her to your bed, and you do not wish to give up such temptation.”
His face never changed. “I have been so involved with estate affairs, I dinna have time for temptation. I have barely spoken to Lady Monroe since she came to Carrick, but a few days ago.”
“We did not ask if you had spoken to her—We are certain you barely speak to her. You are a man of few words. But We are certain you are enjoying Lady Monroe’s attentions in your bed,” Joan said with displeasure. “And you will have to find a new mistress, if We decide she will serve Us instead.”
Royce’s smile was cool. The deference vanished from his tone. “Do ye come to my home to ask about my privy affairs?”
Joan stared at him. Her blue gaze sparked. It was a moment before she replied. “We ask now. We do not care for another lover to interfere in Our stay here.”
“Lady Monroe willna interfere in yer stay, Yer Majesty. I would hardly be such a fool,” Royce said flatly.
“But We think she has already interfered, as your greeting was lackluster, after such a long absence on your part,” Joan shot, and the powerful woman was suddenly peeved in a completely feminine way.
“Then I haven’t understood,” he said softly. “For I believed ye got a very proper greeting. But then, I am a patient man.”
Allie felt like kicking him, hard.
Joan flushed. “We are very patient, as well—when it suits Us.”
“Ah, well, patience may be a small price to pay for what Yer Majesty truly desires.”
Tension sizzled in the room.
Allie choked. Joan was as hot as a woman could be, and Royce was promising her a night of passion. She knew he was treading a fine line and that he had to promise her what she clearly wanted—because this made Joan a woman, not a royal. But there wasn’t going to be a repeat of what she had witnessed earlier. Somehow she was going to thwart the damn slut first.
Joan stared at him for another long moment, and then turned her gaze to Allie. “You will not interfere with Our desires.”
Allie felt her blood pressure soar. She somehow smiled sweetly. “I can hardly compete with the Queen of Scotland,” she said. “After all, I am only somewhat pretty.”
Displeasure crossed Joan’s pale face.
Royce stepped between them. “Lady Monroe means her words, Yer Majesty. She willna cross Yer Majesty.”
“Lady Monroe needs to learn how to speak to her Queen,” Joan said tightly. “We do not care for her tone of voice—or her gown. We should like it for Us.”
Allie blinked. What?
Royce took her arm firmly. “She is pleased to give ye the gown as a gift.”
Allie choked. The damned Queen was going to take her dress!
“What did she say?” Joan demanded.
“She said, ‘With pleasure,’” Royce returned.
Allie told herself to count to ten. She did not even get to two. “It won’t fit her,” Allie said, meeting Joan’s gaze.
Joan turned red. “Come before Us, Lady Monroe,” she snapped.
Allie knew she had to obey, even without Royce’s glare. She held her head high and walked forward, feeling as if she were on the way to the guillotine. If Joan wanted the dress, there was no way to refuse. But then, why not give her the gown and watch the seams burst as she struggled to put it on? And how had Royce ever wanted that nasty woman? “I am very pleased to give you the dress,” she began.
“We have not given you permission to speak,” Joan said.
Allie shook with anger. Behind her, she felt Royce trying to silently tell her something. Ailios. Had she heard him thinking her name?
“We do not care what pleases you,” Joan said, two spots of pink on her cheeks. “And We take what pleases Us, whenever it pleases Us.”
Dinna speak.
She started. Had she really heard that?
Aye, ye listen closely to me.
Royce was communicating with her. A thrill began, never mind the witch bitch Queen. Somehow, she kept silent.
“Tonight, we will take your lover to Our bed.” Joan smiled maliciously at her.
Allie lost her desire to try to be subservient. She opened her mouth and heard Royce before she got a word of protest out.
Dinna speak.
She breathed deep.
I willna bed her.
He meant it, Allie thought. It was a promise. She was so relieved that she trembl
ed.
“Speak,” Joan ordered.
She inhaled, trying to control her temper. She knew she had to play along with Joan’s need for power and control, no matter how humiliating it was, but Joan needed a little comeuppance. “Then you are in for the time of your life! There is nothing and no one as good as Royce in bed, is there?”
Joan’s eyes widened.
“I mean—” Her fists clenched. “He pleasures you all night, doesn’t he? Again and again and again, from supper to dawn? And even when the sun is up, he still wants more?” Allie hoped Royce did not screw the Queen the way he did her. She was counting on it.
And when Joan’s gaze flickered with more displeasure, she knew she was right. “We are always too pleased to care about the time.”
Allie smiled grimly again. “And afterward, of course, is the very best part.” She turned her smile sugary sweet.
Ailios, cease.
Allie ignored him. “The very best part!”
Joan seemed incapable of smiling. “What do you mean?”
She blinked innocently. “I mean that the best part is afterward, when he holds you and whispers how much he loves you.”
Royce choked.
Joan was red.
Allie just kept smiling. Take that, you witch! He loves me.
Joan became enraged. “How dare you speak to Us in such a manner! How dare you claim that Ruari cares for you—and not for Us! We are his liege! He has sworn homage to Us on bended knee! Have you no care for your Fate, Lady Monroe?”
Dinna speak a single word!
And as Allie heard his warning, she felt his tension. And she didn’t blame him. She had gone too far, but this woman was impossible. Tyranny or not, it went against her nature to simply take her abuse and grovel at her feet. But that was what she had to do, damn it, because there were no civil rights here. And what did outshining the Queen really accomplish except to piss her off? I should have held my temper, Allie thought.
Aye, ye should have, and ye must grovel now!
Allie inhaled. “I am sorry if I have offended you. I have foolishly fallen in love with Royce. But I understand he’s your lover and how I feel doesn’t count.” She now felt Royce slump in abject relief. “And I lied. He doesn’t hug me when we’re done and he never talks in bed. It’s only sex. When he’s not with me, he’s with one of the housemaids. I want to be special, but I’m not.”
