Through Time-Pursuit

by Conn, Claudy

  She hadn’t used the spell since she was a youngster and still being schooled in the arts of Light Magic. She was, through her pain, sweetly surprised to see that it worked. The Fallen Druid stood rigid and frozen in place.

  “Arrgh,” Royce groaned in agony, almost wishing she could just pass out. How did humans survive such pain? She did in fact feel herself start to slip into semi-consciousness as the excruciating pain ravaged her.

  “Nooo …” she said out loud. She needed to watch and make certain Chance and Trevor were safe.

  She opened her eyes and witnessed Chance taking a stance, aiming his Death Sword, and forcefully flinging it through the air to hit its mark—sure and sound.

  The weapon landed precisely where it was aimed: in the monster’s throat. A foam of blood and goo poured out and around the sword. She saw the Fallen Druid collapse and smiled as the beast keeled over.

  Then, she did what she had never done before—she fainted.

  ~ Nine ~

  A PERSISTENT STROKING, COUPLED with the sound of her name, brought Royce to consciousness, and she felt her lashes flutter.

  She found the experience extremely annoying. All she wanted was oblivion—where she would feel nothing …

  “Stop,” she thought she said loudly but heard as a whisper. It wouldn’t stop. “Go away,” she added hopefully.

  Instead, she felt her head cradled and heard a victory whoop. She grimaced to herself and opened her eyes wide to see who it was who wouldn’t stop pushing and prodding her.

  “Why won’t you stop?” she asked before she could focus on her tormentor.

  Chancemont Le Blanc grinned broadly, but his voice was a caress. “There ye go, lass, ye’ll do, aye then, wee warrior, ye’ll do.”

  A soft smile worked its way onto her face. She was still in pain, but he was with her, holding her, and she just smiled.

  He said, “Can ye lift yer head, precious lass? Can ye see what’s happening right now? Ye so need to see this …”

  Poison raged in her bloodstream from the claws of the Fallen Druid. She felt as though it scurried with tiny feet though her, leaving pinpricks in her veins. She was desperately afraid to move and suffer the torturous pain that would turn sharp with any activity.

  She was sick to her stomach, and her head was (she was certain) being squeezed by an invisible vise. And if that weren’t enough, a horrible clanging rang in her ears. And what did he want? He wanted her to look around.

  They were always wanting something, weren’t they—these males of all species!

  Her left hand was sticky with her own blood; her right hand still clutched both the wand and the Peckering.

  However, through a haze of color flooding her vision, she lifted her blood-soaked hand to her head and groaned as she tried to do what he asked and look around. “Agh,” she groaned.

  Pain shot through her sharply, and through it all she saw Chance wince before he stroked her cheek and whispered, “There, there, sweet beauty—it won’t be long now, and you’ll do …”

  “I’ll do?” she said with disbelief, but her voice sounded hoarse and her mouth felt gummy.

  All she wanted to do was pass out again, but she did look around because he repeated, “Look, m’own sweet lass—look!”

  Since when did she become his? For no logical reason she smiled. He called her his own sweet lass. He had accepted her as part of his team.

  So, look she did and discovered that the Prison Realm was dissolving all around them.

  Black and gray were speedily giving way to an array of rainbow colors. Dead rats and monsters vanished right before her eyes, and she said with a tinge of hope, “I see … oh … I see—it has worked.”

  “Hush now. Ye need to rest and recoup,” Chance ordered gently, and he stroked her forehead. His touch was soothing and so very welcome. But her mind was starting to click facts into place.

  The poison still rushed through her blood.

  “Chance … could you take me to Ireland—please, to Ireland. I’d like to die in Ireland … love it so.” She thought of her family. They were close, and this would so hurt them. She thought of young David and his family and knew they would wonder about her. They would wonder what had happened to keep her away from them. They didn’t know she was a Fae; they simply loved her as a friend. She closed her eyes, as this troubled her.

  “Don’t be talking dribble, lass. Die? Do ye think I would let ye die?” Chance’s voice was harsh with emotion.

  She stared up at his face. He was more than masculine, more than handsome, so much more than that. He was her Thunder God—so very beautiful, inside and out … even if he wasn’t the type to stay!

  She raised her palm to his cheek.

  “Arrgh …” Even the slight lifting of her arm sent a ripple of pain through her that made her convulse inwardly. She was in a universe of hurt, sure she was going to die at any moment, and then …

  The Prison Realm was gone, and in its place she felt the cool Irish breeze sweep over her. She smelled the sweet scent of tall grass and saw the wondrous Irish velvet night sky with its stars twinkling vibrantly.

  Ah, she thought, he had somehow transported her to Ireland to die, and then …

  She heard Chance say to Trevor, “Best be letting yer queen know about what has happened to the Fallen Druid and his prison. Take yer time, lad, and while ye be at it, ask for a Hallow that can show us the way to Pestale.”

  “What—” Royce started to ask.

  Chance was back down beside her once more. “Hush, love … ye need yer strength to heal …”

  “What are you going to do?” Trevor asked.

  “I’m taking the wee princess with me to Dravo. She needs time to heal, and I’m not budging till she does. If ye need me, I’ll be at LeBlanc Manor … watching over m’wee warrior.”

  She heard a touch of admiration in Trevor’s next words. “She was something, wasn’t she, Chance? A fighter to the last minute!”

  “Aye, that she is,” Chance answered, and just what else was that she thought she heard in his tone?

  “Wee darlin’ … this is going to hurt, but I think some of yer flesh is growing back, and I need to get ye home … till ye be fully recovered.”

  “Uh-huh,” she managed. Healing? Was she healing? She still couldn’t tell through the pain.

  If they were truly out of that realm and she was immortal once more, she would heal, but because of the poison that had invaded her system, it might take time.

  When he gently scooped her up an anguished cry escaped her, and she thought she heard the sound of pain in his voice. “Och, lass …”

  And then they were traveling through time and space, and she saw flashes of light and colors, and what … what was he doing?

  She seemed to float.

  He laid her down gently on a soft mattress. She saw the bed was huge and the room around it the same. He put his fingers over her eyes and chanted something low and irresistibly beautiful, and she felt herself drift off … safely with him touching her. Wait, was he bathing her? She felt a warm, wet sponge glide over her body … Where were her clothes?

  She heard herself sigh, and then … the weary Fae princess, encouraged by his spell, tripped into a deep sleep.

  * * *

  He washed her naked body gently with the healing herbal waters. She was immortal again, and her Fae qualities would soon repair the damage to her flesh and disgorge the poison in her system, but the experience of healing such terrible wounds would leave her weakened for days unless he aided the healing along—giving something of himself.

  He had never done that before.

  He had never felt this way before.

  Everything he felt was new to him, and he battled away the confusion by dismissing it and relegating it to be contemplated another time.

  The wee Seelie princess had intrigued him with her compassion for humans. Most Fae did not have the same attitude about humans as did the Milesians, who had once been human. The Milesians had affec
tion for the human race and did what they could to spare them from the horrors of Dark Magic.

  In many respects, caring about and protecting the Human Realm was their purpose … and here she was with the compassion so many of her kind lacked. It was one of the qualities that piqued his interest and made him look closer at her.

  She was stunningly beautiful with that flaming red hair all about her face, falling thickly to her back, and he had imagined her naked, as she was now, but not like this.

  He stared at her breasts as he washed her but avoided touching them while she slept. It wouldn’t be right, but hot damn, his dick throbbed for her.

  He lusted for her, he knew, but something else pulled him towards her, something that was getting damned impossible to resist.

  The thought of her dying had been unbearable.

  Watching her suffer had been physical torture.

  Och, how she had known, and charged, and moved, and beat the bastard at his own game in his own den! Clever—brave little beauty going after the wand even knowing he would strike at her.

  He put his hand on her heart, willed his strength into her, and watched as the strained look of pain left her face.

  “What have ye done to me, lass? I doona think I will ever be the same …”

  He didn’t stop giving until he saw the bruising fade completely. The flesh and muscle were repairing themselves, and that would take a bit longer, but he had given her all she needed to recover now. In a matter of days she would be her old self.

  He grimaced to himself as he stood and paced. “What are ye doing, LeBlanc?” he asked out loud. Just what are ye doing?

  He was taking time out from finding Pestale.

  He couldn’t afford to do that. Every hour would give Pestale more time to work his evil magic and hide in its depths.

  You doona have a choice, he answered himself. “Ye lie, LeBlanc … ye have a choice, but ye doona want it.”

  “What are you lying about?” Royce asked softly as she lifted her head. “What choice?”

  He smiled and sat back down beside her. “What ye need to do is rest … doona worry yerself aboot anything.” His accent was once again thick with his heavy emotions.

  * * *

  She heard his mumblings through the haze of sleep he had put her under. She willed herself to wake and listened to him mutter. What was he talking about? What he answered did not satisfy her, and the fact that his accent was much thicker than usual told her he was terribly worried about something.

  She looked around and asked, “Where are we?”

  “In Dravo … at m’manor house …” And then he grinned like a wicked boy. “And ye be in m’bed.”

  She knew he had helped heal her by giving her his strength. She touched his hand, the hand that held her face. “Thank you … how long will it take for you to recover?”

  “A day … no more.”

  “A day when you could be chasing down Pestale,” she said on a heavy sigh. “I am so sorry.”

  “I’d be sorrier if ye were suffering, and I wouldn’t have left yer side till ye were healed completely anyway, so we will go when ye are and not before. If we are meant to find and destroy Pestale … we will.”

  By Danu, she thought all at once, she loved him—with all her heart, she loved him. And something in her eyes must have gotten through to him, for he cursed beneath his breath and told her, “I’m the lowest of lows, taking advantage of ye now … but, lass, lass …” He sounded desperate as he bent and brushed her lips sweetly with his own.

  She pressed her mouth against his boldly, and when she parted her lips, his tongue took the invitation without hesitation. He held her face gently, but she felt it the moment he started to draw away.

  “Och no, no, lass … what kind of cad kisses a woman when she canna say no …”

  “I don’t want to say no,” she said in a small voice.

  “Aye, ye almost … well, ye were in a bad way, and ye be vulnerable now. What ye have to do now is eat …” He pushed back and away from her and with resolution stood up. “I’ll get a tray of food, and we’ll dine in here, for I’ll not be leaving ye alone—trust me in this. Understood?”

  She adored him, that was what she understood. He was so damn gallant he didn’t see it, but she would let him abide by his ethics. She nodded. “Yes, food … I am hungry.”

  He smiled, as happy as a boy who had just received the toy he had been longing for. “Aye then, food!”

  She watched him march over to the door, where he turned back to her. “No one here will bother ye … so rest till I get back … and, lass, there will be chips!” With that he laughed and closed the door at his back.

  She smiled to herself. He had noticed what she liked to eat. He cared—didn’t that mean he cared? Would it be enough for all eternity? She so needed forever.

  * * *

  Royce looked up to find Chance with a huge tray of delicious-smelling food. She was already feeling so much better. Soreness and aches throughout her body made her feel creaky, but that devastating pain was gone.

  She smiled a welcome at him. “Oh, I am hungry.”

  “You are always hungry.” He laughed. “I like a woman with an appetite …” His eyes bore into hers with his double meaning.

  A breath caught in her throat, and for a moment she lay suspended with one thought—and it wasn’t about food.

  He laid the tray down on the sideboard table and gently propped her up, retrieved the tray, which had table legs, and put it over her lap.

  He surprised her by kicking off his sandals and climbing to sit cross-legged in front of her on the bed.

  “I had our cook prepare everything I saw you enjoy … and then one or two of my favorite Dravo dishes … so you could try them …”

  He dug into what looked like a pastry filled with stew and plopped a spoonful of the delicious ingredients into her mouth.

  She savored it with her eyes closed and then looked at him. “Oh … that is amazing … no meat …?”

  “No meat, all vegetables,” he said before eating from the same spoon.

  They ate, tasted, laughed, and fed each other, and Royce felt her entire being come alive. She wanted him, needed him, had to have him, and yet, she thought sadly, he was keeping her still at a distance.

  “So …” She decided to question him out of the blue. “You have never taken a bride—or even … wanted children?”

  “As to children … aye, I do want them … but, like the Fae, immortality has made that a difficult task. Besides, don’t want ’em unless I could be there … with their mother raising them.” He shrugged. “We Milesians count ourselves lucky when we are able to conceive.”

  “And no woman ever made ye want to … settle down and have children with her?” She tried to sound casual but felt her words had come out stilted.

  He regarded her for a long moment and then said on a very grim note, “I have never discussed the subject—really discussed—it with anyone, but I will tell ye this, Princess Royce of the House of Nimrough: M’da … well, he worshipped m’mother. They were bonded through time …” He shook his head. “When he lost her … if he dinna have m’sister and me—though I was a man full grown—I believe he would have ended his own life.”

  “How long ago was that?” she asked softly, her heart aching for Chance’s father, wondering about him.

  “Five centuries ago. Och … he is a man and takes relief, but, no … he has never gotten over her loss. He aches for her. He no longer says so, but I see it.” Chance shrugged. “I doona ever want to suffer that …”

  “How did he lose her if she was immortal?”

  Chance eyed her for one long, suspended moment. “I doona want to speak of it now.” He got up and slipped back into his sandals. “Eat … then, if ye be up to it, lass … take a hot bath, and then get some rest. I’ll be back in an hour or so—doona fret. Ye are safe, mark me on it.”

  “Chance …” She suddenly reached out and winced with the shot of pain that tra
veled through her. “Don’t go …”

  He went to her immediately and brought her hand to his lips. “Och lass … don’t move so roughly. I’ll be back before ye’ll realize I’m gone.”

  “I shall miss you the moment you walk away …” she said on a soft, low note.

  “Och lass … doona want me, doona think of me like that. I am not worthy of ye,” he said and left her alone.

  She lay back with a sigh and thought about all she had just learned about Chancemont LeBlanc. Well, well, he liked her more than he wanted to think about—at least she hoped he did.

  She looked at the tray; the plates were nearly empty, and she made quick work of completing the job. Then she set the tray table aside and got to her feet.

  He was right—she needed a soak.

  She ran the water, turned on the jets, and because it was soothing she brushed her hair free of the knots that had collected. Then she sank into the soothing bubbles and lay back.

  She was healing.

  She could feel the power surging back into her body—his power. He had helped her heal faster. Did he love her? Was that what it meant? She rolled her eyes at herself. “Sure,” she said out loud, “he needs you now—you’re a pretty good team member … proven, and he needs your help to find Pestale.” That was all there was to it, and she was heading for a great big fall if she read more into it than there was.

  Did it matter? Did it matter what he felt? She knew what she felt. She knew what she wanted—him.

  She ran the soapy washcloth over her body and remembered. He had soaped her down …

  He had seen her naked. The notion made her clench her thighs together with the excitement that raced to her nerve endings.

  “That’s right,” she told herself on a whisper. “He saw you naked and walked away. Clearly you don’t measure up to the women he has had …”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. Could she look into the future? Would she see Chance in her future—would she feel Chance kissing her, holding her, making wild, hungry love with her?

  She concentrated, and something began to filter through, but it wasn’t Chance—it was Pestale’s face! She gasped and shook herself free of the vision as she sat up.