Dark Rival

by Brenda Joyce

  And she heard men shouting.

  Allie was afraid to focus on what was occurring above her, afraid to take her eyes from the snakes. But she had to know what was happening, and she tried to listen, to feel.

  The shouts were faint and they were cries of alarm.

  She felt pain.

  She jerked, finally forgetting the snakes, worried about Brigdhe. But instantly she realized that men were being wounded and dying. A violent battle was in progress. Her heart leapt with hope. Had Royce come? If he was above, why couldn’t she feel him?

  She now closed her eyes, pushing her fear of the snakes aside. She strained. Royce? Are you there? Please, tell me!

  In reply, there was only the pain and cries of the wounded and dying.

  And then she thought she felt him.

  She felt a vague ripple of his power, but it wasn’t the huge power of a Master who had mastered his karma long ago. It was uncertain, raw and perhaps even new.

  It couldn’t be Royce and tears of dismay fell.

  A snake hissed, dangerously near her right foot.

  Allie didn’t even cry out. She met the blazing eyes of the serpent as it coiled and began lifting its head. Its eyes seemed demonic. She sensed it was about to strike and she prayed the creature was not possessed.

  But it boldly detached itself from the writhing mass, and seemed intent on her. Fear clawed at her. She stared at the glowing eyes of the serpent.

  It hissed, its tongue flicking out.

  Allie gasped. She was the granddaughter of a god. If ever she could cast a spell, it was now.

  “Gods! Peaceful and quiet,” she breathed. “So peaceful and so quiet, now serpent lie still, peaceful and quiet, so peaceful and so quiet, now serpent at rest, no battle here, no one to kill.”

  The head began lifting higher, as if to strike, and its eyes gleamed.

  “Serpent lie still…peaceful and quiet,” she whispered, her lips feeling as if they’d turned to wood. “Ancients, please, harken. Lug, greatest of all Ancients, harken.”

  For one more moment, the snake stared with almost human hatred at her, and then it recoiled and lay still.

  Allie almost collapsed, and only the snake lying inches from her toes prevented her from doing so.

  AS HE RUSHED THE FORT, the horns began blowing. He tried to use his new powers to sense Brigdhe, but he could not feel her presence, even though he knew she was within.

  Royce, help me.

  Almost at the barred gates, Ruari faltered, certain he had heard a woman’s cries for help—a woman calling him by his English name. Did his mind play tricks with him now?

  He hesitated. In spite of the men now shouting in alarm from the watchtowers, he sensed the presence of a woman who was not his wife. She was so afraid.

  Was this his imagination? If not, what did it mean?

  Arrows began hailing around him. Coming to his senses, he tore the barred doors from their hinges, relishing his new power, throwing them aside. An arrow stung him, another went deeper; he pulled them out, feeling no pain. He drew his sword and rushed into the fort. Instantly he saw a deamhan clad in long, elegant robes, far finer than any he had ever seen, grinning at him. His evil was huge and dark.

  Giants began rushing from the huts, spears aloft. Ruari wanted to rush the hall, but he veered his course, intending to dispatch the golden deamhan first. Before he could take a stride in his direction, the deamhan vanished.

  Which was just fine; he would hunt him later. He turned to the giants, and as they threw their spears at him, he tried his power, blasting them with it. The giants fell back as if pushed by huge winds, their spears falling.

  Royce? Are you there? Please, tell me.

  He was shocked to hear the woman crying for him again.

  One of the giants stood, lunging for him with his studded club, and the blow tore the skin from his arm. He took the giant’s head with a single thrust of his sword, realizing he must not heed this strange woman. Perhaps she was a deamhan, intending to soften him so the enemy might destroy him.

  He lunged up the steps and into the darkened hall where Kael waited, grinning evilly at him.

  And even as he saw Brigdhe, horror arising at the sight of her naked body, half covered by a blanket, he felt another power present with them.

  It was pure and bright and light, feminine and alluring.

  It was a power beckoning him. Confused, he looked around to espy another woman.

  The blow took him by surprise, sending him flying through the air. He landed hard on his back by the door, but did not drop his sword. And as Kael’s sword descended, his own weapon yielded uselessly and Kael’s blade rent his shoulder, all the way through muscle and bone.

  He knew if he let the ghost-woman distract him another time, he might very well die. A terrible battle began, in which there would be but one victor. He rolled away as Kael blasted him with more energy, the second blow as stunning as the first. Pushed against the wall, he felt Kael’s sword coming, and this time, he struck viciously upward and steel met steel. Metal screeched, rang. He leapt to his feet, bleeding heavily but in no pain.

  He was hurled backward into the wall again. As he crashed there, he gathered his wits at last. For now, there was only him and Kael—the deamhan who had tortured his bride.

  “A Brigdhe,” he roared. And he struck at Kael with all the power he had.

  Kael was hurled backward across the entire hall. He landed not far from Brigdhe. Ruari pursued. As Kael rose, he struck hard and deep into the deamhan’s inhuman heart.

  Brigdhe screamed.

  Savagely triumphant, he dropped the sword, lifted Kael by his neck with his two hands, and he snapped it easily, cruelly, in two.

  His head hanging uselessly, Kale snarled at him. “Your suffering just begins.” His red eyes ceased glowing, becoming lifeless.

  He could not understand the words and did not even care to. A terrible pain finally arising in his shoulder, he ran to his wife. But now, the demonic evil gone from the hall, he became aware of the pure power that was taking over the space within the four walls. He still did not understand it, but it was tangible and intense, somehow beckoning. It somehow pulled at him; he wanted to turn and discover it…her.

  Royce.

  He turned all of his attention on his wife. Brigdhe needed him, not the ghost-woman. She had needed him for days and he had failed to rescue her until now. He had failed in his duty to his wife. Nothing was as reprehensible. She sat with her back to the wall, and when he knelt, she recoiled. He stopped himself from reaching for her. She cried, “Don’t touch me!”

  Now wary, he eased back. Of course she was frightened still. “T’is over now. I’ll take ye far from here,” he said.

  “No.”

  He tensed, searching her eyes, but she wouldn’t look at him now. “I’m sorry, Brigdhe,” he said grimly, meaning his every word. “I will find a way to make ye forget this terrible time.”

  “Sorry?” Her tone was scathing and hatred filled her eyes. “Get away from me. He did this to me because of you. Stay away from me!”

  Her words delivered the blow that Kael had not been able to wield. He tried to breathe and failed. She was right. Kael had used his bride against him. He had vowed to protect Innocence, but he hadn’t even been able to protect his own wife. Being a Master was now irrelevant; what kind of man did that make him? Guilt came, crushing him with its terrible weight. He had done this to her.

  In that instant, his marriage ended. Brigdhe must never be endangered by him again. He did not blame her for hating him; if he dared to think upon it, he might realize he hated himself, too.

  “Can ye stand?” he asked roughly. He refused to tolerate any sorrow now. He would only allow the guilt.

  “Dinna think to help me now,” she cried furiously.

  He stood and stepped aside, allowing Brogan, who had just appeared, to lift her and carry her from the hall. He followed them, but only to the door, and stared after them. Although he was determin
ed to be a soldier, shame began and joined the festering guilt. How could he make this up to her? He watched Elasaid kneel beside Brigdhe, Brogan having placed her on a pallet on the ground. Reassured she would be well cared for, he slowly turned to the empty hall.

  Royce. Help me. Please.

  His eyes went wide. He’d heard the woman as clear as day. Now that the battle was over, Brigdhe safe at last and being attended, he felt her wrenching fear.

  My spell won’t last much longer.

  His eyes widened. It was as if she was speaking to him directly. Was she a witch?

  “Ruari,” MacNeil said tersely, his tone one of command.

  Ruari was certain he was in for a severe set-down, as he had been warned—ordered—not to hunt Kael alone. “Nay now,” he said, not even looking at him. He scanned the hall slowly, looking into every shadowed corner. “Did ye hear the woman?”

  “Aye.”

  And he saw a trapdoor set in the floor. He rushed to the door and lifted it, hearing the hissing of snakes. “Get me a torch!” he called.

  MacNeil ran outside.

  Ruari didn’t wait; he leapt down into the black hole. The woman’s fear consumed him, and with no difficulty, he turned and found her huddled against one earthen wall.

  “Royce!” she cried.

  Before he took a step toward her, she flung herself into his arms.

  He did not move, shocked by the feeling of her small, soft body in his arms. He did not even know what this woman looked like and he wanted her instantly, with a terrible urgency. Something was terribly familiar, yet he knew he’d never met—or held—this woman before.

  She was a Healer. In spite of her fear, he could identify the strong healing force of her power.

  She clung, shaking, and whispered, “The snakes.”

  He realized they were seething about his bare feet—and hers. He held her close with one arm and reached up. “MacNeil?”

  MacNeil handed him a burning torch. Ruari took it, waving the torch, scattering the snakes away from their feet. Then he looked at her.

  His heart vanished. The loveliest woman he had ever seen smiled at him, and love was shining in her dark eyes. She loved him. What was this?

  He was almost certain he knew her; still, if they’d met, he’d have taken her as a lover, and he knew he had never had her in his bed. As his shock began to fade, something primitive, possessive and triumphant arose, while blood rushed into his loins. He smiled back at her.

  Her eyes widened. “Oh,” she breathed as if she’d just made her own discovery.

  He didn’t understand. “Let me get ye up.”

  “You’re not my Royce,” she said, her eyes now huge.

  Again, her meaning was so strange. Did she belong to someone else? He did not care. Soon she would find out that he was very different from other men, but not strange or exotic. He waved the torch at the snakes again, and then laid it carefully down. He grasped her by her tiny waist and handed her up to MacNeil. A moment later, he gave MacNeil his hand and was hauled upward to stand beside the small woman and the Master. He stepped closer to her, so MacNeil would understand he would not be allowed to poach.

  “Are ye hurt?” he asked her. Real concern arose. “Did Kael touch ye?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She glanced at MacNeil. “Where is Moffat?”

  “I dinna ken Moffat.”

  She tensed, paling. “Is Kael dead? Is Brigdhe okay?”

  Her speech was odd—she was a foreigner. “Kael is dead,” Ruari said. “My brother is takin’ Brigdhe from here.”

  She faced him, breathing hard. “Go to your wife. Do whatever you have to do to make her forgive you. This was not your fault!”

  “My marriage is over,” he said.

  She whirled back to MacNeil. “Moffat is hunting Royce—in the fifteenth century! Please, find him and warn him.”

  MacNeil seemed to understand her, but astonishment rose on Ruari’s part. Did this woman mean that he was being hunted in the future? Her dress was very fine, very strange. Did she belong to him in another time? Oh, that did please him. But he thought of the deamhan in the robes he had seen earlier, and he instantly knew that had been Moffat.

  “Moffat was here when I first broke into the fortress,” he said. “He leapt.”

  She cried out. “I have to find Royce!”

  MacNeil said, “If he is here, he has no powers.”

  She blanched.

  “I will make certain he goes safely back to his time—an’ you must go back, as well,” MacNeil said.

  Ruari stepped between them, fury beginning. “The maid belongs to me,” he warned.

  “She belongs to the future an’ ye’ll let her go,” MacNeil said as firmly.

  “I dinna think so.”

  “Stop,” she cried. She stepped between them and said urgently, “MacNeil, please warn Royce now. Moffat has murdered him in 2007—I am so afraid for him!”

  MacNeil nodded, then said to Ruari, “Ye have but a moment with her.” He strode out.

  She wrung her hands and then, slowly, turned to him.

  Their gazes locked. Looking into her dark eyes, he wanted to possess all of her, not just her body. “Are ye mine? In what time?” he demanded. “The fifteenth century?”

  She nodded. “Yes, we’re together in 1430.”

  He was dismayed. “That’s in eight hundred years!”

  She nodded, staring at him as if soaking up every detail of his face and hoping to memorize them.

  He went still. How could he let this woman go back to the future? So much desire roared. But even as it did, he thought that he must not have any real involvement with any woman, ever again. Still, he hardly needed to be fond of her to spend the night with her.

  His mind was made up. They would share one careless night. “I need ye, lass. I canna wait eight hundred years.” He pulled her close, so she could feel his very swollen shaft as it pulsed between them. “Tell me yer name.”

  “Ailios.” Tears rose. “I love you so much. You’re so different—you’re the same! Royce, you’re so young!”

  He started at her bold declaration, then even more triumph began. He was loved by this brave, pure woman! “I’m nay too young, Ailios, an’ I’m glad to show ye.”

  She smiled and touched his face. “But I’m not yours yet. And you don’t love me yet. You love Brigdhe. You’re married still.”

  Had the day been less grim, her words would have amused him. “Ailios, I’m a warrior. Warriors dinna have soft hearts. I’m fond of Brigdhe—t’is my duty to be fond o’ her. But it doesna matter now. My marriage ended the day Kael captured her.” And just so she did not get the wrong idea, he added, “I willna marry again.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I thought you loved her,” she gasped.

  “Ye speak so strangely,” he exclaimed, finally smiling ever so slightly. “Ye may ken me in the future, but ye dinna ken me now.”

  She flung her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, as if what he had said had pleased her greatly. His heart thundered. The pressure increased in his loins. This was very different. It might not be so easy to walk away from her when they were done.

  “Then I am the only woman who has ever had your heart,” she whispered, looking up at him, her smile saucy. But her gaze remained moist.

  “Ye talk too much,” he said, tilting up her chin. He felt her tense.

  “Ruari, let me heal you.” Even as she interrupted him, he felt a wonderful warmth seep into his shoulder. It was so pleasing he went still, surprised.

  She smiled, her small hands on him now. “Hmm, you like that, don’t you?”

  He looked at her, having heard the very sultry note in her tone, his cock so stiff now it truly hurt him. “Very much,” he said softly, answering her smile with one of his own. And it felt good to smile after the anguish of the past weeks.

  She sent more warmth into his shoulder, and he was aware of her blood pounding with stunning force inside her small, beauti
ful body. He allowed himself the pure enjoyment of being attended by her, of having her purity heal him, and of sexual anticipation. It must happen sooner rather than later. He needed her—and he was not a patient man. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever been so hot.

  She began working on his flayed arm. He looked at his shoulder and saw only the bloody leine, in scraps there. He pulled at the linen and saw his flesh knitted together, the scar vivid and red. The skin on his arm was pink and new.

  She had dropped her hands. “I had better go,” she said thickly. “It’s forbidden to change the past.”

  He caught her and reeled her in. “How can ye go when yer body is hot an’ wet, achin’ fer mine?”

  She inhaled. “This is so hard. But what I feel for you now is half of what I feel for you in the fifteenth century. Ruari, you need me in that time. I won’t let Moffat murder you! And…you don’t love me yet.”

  He stared, perplexed, his gaze searching hers. “Ye have said twice that I love ye in yer time. I ken ye believe it. Did I say so? Because this day I have decided to never allow myself affection again.”

  She was dismayed. “I am getting the feeling that the past won’t change—and you are going to beat yourself up with guilt for the next eight hundred years, no matter what!”

  He tensed, displeased. Did she read his mind? How else would she know he was consumed with guilt? “I’m tired o’ talk,” he warned. “An’ I willna wait eight hundred years to take ye to my bed. I want one night. Surely ye can give that to me?” And he let his new power of enchantment free, seducing her with his eyes and his will.

  He felt an urgency arise in her. He smiled, leaning close, stroking her back, her hip. “Can ye really resist me? I want to pleasure ye till ye beg me to stop.”

  She inhaled and he felt how close to capitulation she was. “I don’t know what would happen if we slept together. I’m afraid it would change everything that’s happened in the fifteenth century—and I might not want to leave you, Ruari.” She clasped her temples, pulling away. “Right now, you don’t love me and you don’t need me—you want a night of fun. I have to go back. We belong together in the fifteenth century. You have no idea what we’ve been through in a few days! And you are in danger, not as you stand here before me, but as your eight-hundred-year-old self!”