Dark Rival

by Brenda Joyce

  But nothing was perfect. Allie walked along the moat, head down, aware of the swans and ducks floating in the slow waters. Blackwood’s spies had not uncovered any information about a female guest or a prisoner. They continued to search each village and town under the bishop’s control.

  Royce, Aidan and Blackwood had been tailing Moffat for three entire days and as many nights. Moffat had not left his lands. By night, he was at Moffat’s Hall, by day, at the Cathedral, managing affairs in his bishopric. Allie sat down on the grassy ridge, knees drawn to her chest. How ironic—the master of the Scot demons pretending to serve God.

  It was an Indian summer day, surprisingly warm, and Allie had shed her long-sleeved T-shirt. She still wore her tank and mini. Now, the sun warmed her shins and knees. Nothing could warm her heart.

  How much longer could they wait for some real facts? Last night, she’d dreamed of Elasaid. It had been a nightmare.

  Elasaid had been scantily clad, as if in a modern nightgown, and she had been behind bars—or in a cage. Tears had stained her pale, gaunt face. Allie had woken up, determined to communicate with her, but the moment her eyes had opened, the vision had been gone. She spent hours trying to summon her mother back to her, to no avail.

  She had not a single doubt that her mother was alive, in some kind of jail, and being treated terribly. This had to stop—and it had to stop now.

  She sensed Royce approaching and glanced up. She hadn’t seen him since the night before, as he’d been gone by dawn. A pair of riders were cantering through the village and she instantly recognized Royce’s powerful crimson and gold aura. She focused, praying he had a found a clue to her mother’s whereabouts.

  We dinna have news.

  Allie hugged her knees tightly to her chest, despairing.

  Royce and Blackwood galloped to a halt before the edge of the moat where she sat. Royce leapt down from the chestnut charger he rode, handing the reins to Blackwood. Allie managed to smile at their host, while Royce removed an oilskin from the back of his saddle. Blackwood nodded at her and left, trotting over the drawbridge, leading Royce’s mount.

  Allie just sat there, unsmiling.

  Royce strode over, his face shadowed with his version of her pain. “We dinna learn anything, Ailios. Ye must be patient now.”

  She shook her head. “I have no patience left.” She refused to look at him, despair clawing at her. Royce was her hero, but this wasn’t working for her. They weren’t going to find her mother like this. Why did he have to be so damned protective? Why couldn’t he agree to a trade—even if a phony one?

  “Will ye begin to hate me for doing what I think best?” he asked seriously. “Will ye hate me for protectin’ ye?”

  She stared, trembling. Although he had insisted on separate rooms, not a day went by that he didn’t look at her with so much heat, she began a total meltdown. But his will was stronger than hers, and he didn’t come to her room. She knew he was guilt-ridden over taking her power, but that had been days ago. She’d been healing the villagers in the valley since the morning of their arrival, so he hadn’t hurt her at all, not really.

  She knew he was afraid of caring for her—and she also knew it was too late. He was in denial. That was okay. Allie intended to focus on their relationship—after they found Elasaid.

  Allie slowly stood. “We will never find my mother this way.”

  He tucked the package under his arm, his face hard. “Yer way will see ye raped an’ murdered.”

  “Stop reading my mind,” she cried.

  “Ye keep thinking o’ trading yerself for yer mother,” he accused. “That’s insane, Ailios. Elasaid wouldn’t want ye in her place!”

  “So do you finally admit that she is Moffat’s prisoner?”

  He hesitated. “I lurked while ye slept last night.”

  She tensed.

  “I was in yer dream with ye. Aye, I believe yer mother may be alive—an’ in Moffat’s cage.”

  Allie went to him.

  He tossed the package aside and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Please,” she begged. “Why can’t we do as Blackwood first suggested? Why not pretend to trade—and use that pretense to find my mother? I am strong! If he hurts me, I will heal—and quickly!”

  Royce breathed hard, gripping her arms. “I’ll nay see ye in Moffat’s hands—ever. I’ll nay see ye burned an’ beaten, filled with his seed, an’ maybe with his spawn!”

  Allie recoiled. Brigdhe’s shadowy image washed through her mind. “Is that how you found Brigdhe?”

  “Aye!” His stare was as bright and as hard as diamonds.

  And Allie saw him kneeling over a hurt woman with titian hair. Suddenly she felt so much pain. And she saw the woman recoil. She saw her rejection, her revulsion and hatred. And she saw Royce backing away, ice-cold in his heart, his soul. Except for the guilt that began to sink its claws into him.

  Stunned, Allie realized she had just seen into Royce’s mind. She slid her hands to his chest. His heart thundered there. “But you left her,” she whispered. “You blessed her marriage to another man.”

  His face was hard. “Aye.”

  Allie shook her head, sympathy flooding her. “Oh, Royce. Tell me that was my imagination—tell me she didn’t hate you for what happened.”

  He stared down at her, his face twisted beyond recognition. “She hated me. An’ I willna rescue ye from Moffat an’ have ye hate me that way, too.”

  She trembled, wanting to cry for him. She clasped his face. “I could never hate you. I love you too much.”

  “Ye’d hate me if he raped an’ beat ye an’ chained ye like a dog. Ye’d hate me, Ailios, yer hero, for failing to keep ye safe.”

  “No,” she tried, meaning it. “I would love you still.”

  He flinched. Then, stepping back he said, “Well, I hate myself now for failin’ ye this way. I hate seeing yer eyes black with sorrow, instead of light with joy an’ laughter.”

  “I’m scared,” she cried.

  He took her by the shoulders. “Aye. But we have only begun the hunt. I mean my words, always. Ye must have patience now.”

  “I can’t be patient. What’s he doing to her, right now?”

  “Dinna allow yer mind to wander so freely,” he said, his grasp tightening. “It serves no one but Moffat.”

  Allie felt the tears begin to run. “I’m out of all patience and I’m scared sick,” she whispered, running her hands over his linen-clad chest. He tensed—and then his heart thundered. She smiled weakly and slid her hand into the neckline of the leine, over the hot skin there. She felt his pulse explode with excitement.

  But he caught her wrist. “Our union remains forbidden,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” she cried, her urgency blinding. Beneath her skirt, wet heat trickled down her thighs. The little scrap of silk lace suddenly hurt her oversensitive flesh. And she slid her free hand beneath his tunic, scraping the hot, turgid skin of his erection with her nails. His eyes widened; she traced the bulging vein running on the underside of the length there.

  Dark color suffused his cheeks. “The watch is above and it’s the light o’ day,” he said roughly.

  Allie caught him in her hand. “As if you care.”

  He didn’t move, except for his manhood, which leapt and quivered beneath her fingers. Their gazes locked.

  Allie smiled and stepped closer, and she guided him toward her.

  He seized her bottom beneath denim and lace, lifting her. Allie cried out, exultant, as he whirled, impaling her. She wrapped her thighs around his waist and begged for a climax. He caught her mouth, covering it, pumping deep.

  She felt him come violently, hot and deep, and she wept in her own release.

  Somehow he laid her down, never leaving her, his mouth fused with hers. The pressure was incredible, and just when she thought he’d break her body apart, another orgasm broke over her, in her.

  “Come with me,” he said, moving slowly now. “Another time, Ailios.”


  Allie wept and strained for him.

  He tested her slowly, paused, rubbed her cleft and stroked deep.

  Allie sobbed his name, shattering all over.

  “Aye,” he moaned, and his body contracted violently a dozen times.

  When they lay still, the sun remained high, but huge clouds had cast long shadows over the grass and the moat. Allie blinked, aware of his weight. He shifted and moved off of her, then jerked her clothes down, glancing upward toward the watchtowers.

  Allie flushed. “Is anyone up there?” she asked in a whisper.

  “Ye whisper now?” He was incredulous but he smiled. “Blackwood’s men are soldiers, an’ the towers are for the watch.”

  Allie grimaced and sat up.

  Royce knelt, staring, and their gazes locked.

  He was simply so beautiful—as beautiful as he was strong, powerful and virile. She had never loved him more and now, her heart wanted to shatter the way her body had done so many times.

  He turned and walked to the oilskin he had dropped, retrieving it. Then he knelt beside her again, handing it to her.

  Allie became still. “What is this?” she asked, but she knew. It was a gift.

  Poker-faced, he said, “Open it an’ see.”

  She couldn’t move or breathe; she couldn’t speak. Royce was giving her a gift. Allie took the package, her hands shaking, and then she tore at the strings. Royce smiled.

  She didn’t see, she felt it.

  She pushed the skins aside—and the finest, softest emerald-green velvet spilled into her hands. She breathed hard, standing, holding up a long, beautiful velvet dress, trimmed in darker green and gold. Jewels were sewn into the trim. She thought she saw citrines and emeralds. She looked up, stunned.

  Royce stared expectantly at her. “Do ye like it?”

  She hugged the dress to her chest. “I love it.” She started to cry.

  “Then why do ye cry?” he asked. “Ye hate it!”

  She shook her head, overcome. “It’s the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.”

  He smiled. “Really?”

  “Read my mind,” she cried, and she rushed into his arms. “Thank you.” She kissed him. “Thank you.” She kissed him again.

  He laughed. The sound was stunning—warm and rich but light and bright—and Allie realized she’d never heard Royce laugh before. “If a gown will make ye so hot, I’ll buy ye dozens,” he teased.

  She somehow smiled, clutching the gown. “I’m not hot. I’m happy.”

  “Yer always hot,” he said quietly. “Yer always happy. I have never known anyone as happy.”

  Allie just stared.

  He smiled ruefully. “We have amused the entire watch enough for one day. Let’s go in, lass.”

  ALONE IN HER CHAMBER, Allie put the gown on and paused before a looking glass. It had a low, square neckline and then fell softly to the floor, skimming her body, and it fit very well. The color made her appear radiant. But then, she had been well loved—and she was in love. And there was no more doubt that Royce loved her in return.

  He could deny it and pretend whatever he wanted, but his actions, his behavior, his concern, said it all. Her heart ballooned. She would treasure this dress forever…her very first gift from him. Then she tensed, fear stabbing at her, and she looked up into the mirror.

  Moffat smiled at her.

  Allie froze. Her heart beat hard, swiftly. In real alarm, she slowly turned—but the golden demon did not stand behind her.

  She glanced at the mirror again. Only her own reflection greeted her.

  She inhaled and began to shake. Had Moffat just tried to communicate with her?

  Elasaid was in great danger, and she couldn’t go on this way.

  The beauty and joy of what she had just shared with Royce had vanished, slipping into a cherished memory. Allie felt ill. She loved Royce with all of her heart and all of her soul, but he wasn’t going to agree to a trade, even if it was a trick. He was simply too protective.

  She hated defying him. She had even given her word to obey him. But he hadn’t forbidden her from finding her mother.

  He was going to be very angry if she did what she felt she had to do.

  Allie went to the window and focused on the devil’s right hand. Instantly Moffat’s smug, smiling image filled her mind, as if he had been waiting for her. He stood in the same room she’d seen before, but he looked out a window that faced south.

  She instantly understood that Moffat was to the north of where she now stood.

  Hallo a Ailios.

  Allie breathed hard. Royce would be so angry, but this wasn’t a betrayal—this was a necessity. Hallo a Thormond.

  His smile flickered with surprise. You know my given name?

  She hadn’t. His name had simply come to mind. Where is my mother?

  Come to me tonight and you’ll learn what you wish.

  Allie tensed, acutely aware of his lust. Was there any point in asking what he’d do with her? He would either use her for his pleasure or not, but he would certainly try to use her as a Healer—that much was clear. I will come to you if you release my mother.

  He smiled widely. Ah, beauty, t’is easily done.

  Demons lied. Demons cheated. No demon could be trusted. If you give me your word, if you keep it, I will heal for you—once.

  You have my word.

  Allie was violently ill now. Their bargain was almost sealed. This was the best she could do, as she had nothing else to offer. Besides, Moffat didn’t want Elasaid; he wanted her. The gods only really knew why.

  Speke will meet you after midnight outside the south wall. He will bring you to me.

  Allie hesitated. Speke was depraved and evil, and she had no wish to go anywhere with him. But Moffat was even worse, and if she couldn’t bear to be led to him by Speke, how would she face the bishop in the end? And while she desperately wanted to find her mother and be reunited with her, maybe she shouldn’t be bargaining with the devil’s own. Maybe she shouldn’t go through with this plan.

  And suddenly she heard her mother sobbing.

  Allie jerked and saw Elasaid on a stone floor, naked and hurt. Bruises mottled her back. She wept in despair, but she was in physical pain.

  “Damn you!” Allie shouted.

  Moffat smiled cruelly, locking gazes with her. Tonight. And then his image vanished.

  Allie began to shake. What she had just seen was proof that she had no choice now. She hugged herself.

  She had just made a pact with the devil.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ALLIE SPENT the entire evening thinking of inane things—like a fantasy shopping spree at Saks, X-Men 3, Tiramisu’s thin-crust pizza, Godiva chocolate and matchmaking her three friends with Masters. Halfway through supper, Royce had started looking at her with suspicion. She’d turned her thoughts to hot, off-the-charts sex, instantly distracting him. What she must not think about was meeting Speke later that night; at all costs, she must not think about the bargain she’d made with Moffat.

  She knew Royce would read her mind.

  Now, she lay alone in her bed, a small fire in the hearth, listening for Royce. His chamber was next to hers, and about an hour ago she had felt his power still and soften. She was pretty sure he was asleep.

  She hated betraying him this way.

  Allie slid from the bed, clad in the medieval Highland version of a nightgown, and she knelt before the fire. She wished Tabby were with her, because she needed a cloaking spell. But her friend was far away in the future, and hopefully well on her way to recovery from her broken heart. She didn’t do spells, so she prayed to the Ancients for their protection and guidance. If she was very lucky, one of the gods would take pity on her and cloak her power from any who could sense it. She was afraid that, even asleep, Royce would feel her leaving Blackwood Hall. She was pretty sure he slept with one sense on her.

  After praying for some time, Allie blew out the candles, certain no one had been listening to her. It was late and sh
e couldn’t delay. Her mother’s Fate was at stake. She slipped on the emerald velvet dress, trying not to think about how furious Royce would be when he discovered her gone. Hurting in advance for them both, aware that reconciling him to what she had done would not be easy, she took her dagger and soundlessly left the room.

  She paused outside of Royce’s closed door, listening for him. She sensed that he lay still and motionless, and while his power filled the chamber, it was quiet, making Allie certain that he remained asleep. But he wasn’t at peace. Tension emanated from him. Allie wondered if he was suffering from unpleasant and disturbing dreams.

  She was afraid to open the door and check. On the other hand, if he was awake, she had to know, because the moment she went downstairs, he’d surely appear and prevent her from meeting Moffat. Stiff with anxiety, she grasped the door handle and gently pushed. The hinges creaked loudly.

  Allie tensed and glanced into the chamber. Royce lay motionless on his back, one arm flung out, the covers pulled to his waist. He slept in the nude and his bare chest rose and fell in a steady, even rhythm.

  Allie breathed hard and backed out, amazed he hadn’t awoken. Then she turned and ran barefoot down the corridor and downstairs. She let her senses drift behind her, but he wasn’t following her. She sensed no one near, anywhere, and she crossed the hall. She unbarred and opened the front door, the wood groaning, and instantly, she felt Speke’s soulless presence in the near distance.

  Lust for pain and pleasure wafted from outside the walls, evil and potent, lying in wait there for her.

  Allie bit her lip, feeling very much like a small prey, and she had to remind herself that Speke was the least of her problems. He was inconsequential, the messenger and the guide, and she was going to have to deal. She stepped outside, leaving the door ajar so as not to make more noise. She had become somewhat of an expert on castles in the past week, and she knew that every stronghold had a small door that could admit a man on foot or a single horse and rider. Every castle also had secret exits, to be used in the event of a siege. She did not know where the tunnels were at Blackwood, but earlier, she’d found the sally-port.