Dark Rival (20 page)

"Aye, protect ye—not take ye to bed.”

"Are you purposefully trying to hurt me? All I have ever done for anyone, everyone, including you, is to be kind and caring. I healed you last night. But you are throwing these words at me—and you might as well be throwing knives! Do you want to see me broken? Is that what you want?"

His face was taut. “I want to see ye alive, I want to see ye home, to yer time, where ye belong—when yer nay in danger."

Allie stood there, trembling convulsively, as Peigi dashed in with a clean tunic. She had made a terrible mistake. Mr. Medieval wasn’t at all like modern-day Royce,
 
and from what she saw now, he never would be that man. He was the crudest man she had ever met—and the most indifferent. In that second, it seemed impossible that he would ever become the man she had fallen for.

Royce stripped off the tunic, revealing his hard and muscular, scarred body, and the fact that, in spite of his words, he was ready to take her upstairs as he had suggested. Handing him the tunic, Peigi blushed.

Allie turned away. She was ill, really ill—heartsick. How could this be happening? Had she imagined him being kind last night? She stumbled from the hall.

"We leave an hour after dawn," Royce called after her.

She almost whirled and strode back to him to tell him she wasn't going anywhere with him. But she hurt too much now to fight.

Outside, she sat down on the steps and curled up, her heart shattered and broken. How could this be happening?

She bad been ruthlessly used. The medieval Royce didn't love her at all! He didn’t care at all. She had never realized heartbreak could he so painful. How could she have confused the two men with one another? How could she have been so drawn to, and have fallen for. the heartless barbarian? It didn't make sense, because the cold bastard who was currently inside the hall had held her last night as if he cared—as if he had a heart. But he didn't—and he had just made that clear. Allie let the tears fall. And the worst part was. now that she'd given her heart to this Royce, she suspected there was no taking it back.

ROYCE GAVE IN TO HIS RAGE and swept his arm across the table, sending every trencher, the wine and mugs crashing to the floor. Peigi cried out and fled.

Then he grasped his throbbing temples and sat down. He leaned his arms on the table and held his head in his hands, his appetite gone.

Was she crying? Would he ever erase that look of hurt from his mind? He was doing what was best. She was not going to become another Brigdhe. And he had an odd ache in his chest now for having caused her so much anguish. She was one he never wished to hurt. She had said it herself—she was kind and good and she did not deserve such cruelty.

Why did she have to love him? Had he asked for love or any affection? He'd only wanted sex! He hadn't made a single promise! He was a man of his word and when tie made a vow, it was forever.

That morning, as he slipped from their bed, he'd had the oddest urge to slide back in beside her and hold her watch her while she slept. It had made him pause. He had never met such a selfless woman. He had never seen such courage—all of it reckless, but well-meant. She emanated not just her white light, the power of all that was good, but her happiness. When he looked at her he saw more than her beauty, he saw so much purity and joy. He saw hope.

She looked at the gray world as if it were a brave white dawn.

She was everything he was not.

No good could come of the confusion he felt. He'd never held another human being except for the woman who was in his bed and then only during fornication. Holding her last night—and wanting to hold her now and tell her he was sorry—was unacceptable. He had made vows. His duty was to God and Innocence. There was no room in his life for affection for a woman. It would make him weak and she would become a terrible target the moment his enemies knew.

He had to remind himself of that fact now.

He had been fond of Brigdhe. When his father had died, leaving him the great responsibility for Morvern. He’d decided to marry and beget sons. His older brother, Brogan. had suggested he consider Brigdhe. She was pretty her lineage ancient, her dowry pleasing. He was a dutiful man and she had been a good woman. But he had learned his lesson well. Brigdhe had been captured, imprisoned, tortured and raped because of his love. He had failed to protect her. And when he'd freed her, she'd hated him for his failures. He was not going to repeat the mistake.

He reminded himself of Brigdhe’s terrible ordeal and his equally shameful failure once a year on the anniversary of her death. She had died in old age, well loved by her sons from her second marriage and their grandchildren. Before her death., her presence in his time had been enough to make him remember the lesson he must never forget.

She had died in the spring, and it was autumn now, but it was time to remember. It was time to remember her and never forget. He let his mind open and, with the memories, the guilt began, crushing him.

When he’d found her, she 'd been buttered and bruised, her face swollen and ugly, her tips split. There’d been lash marks on her back. Demonic seed had been tilt over the room.

She learned later that she carried Kael 's seed—and she had almost died getting rid of the demon spawn.

Royce laid his head on the table and let the torment wash over him.

THE WAVE OF ANGUISH WAS SO HUGE IT KNOCKED ALLIE BACK against the wall where she sat. Instantly she righted herself, eyes wide, shocked.

Royce.

In disbelief, she felt the waves coming, hard and fast, cresting. With the sorrow she felt regret, but mostly a crushing guilt.

Allie stumbled to her feet, her heart racing. What was happening?

She shouldn't care; she was helpless not to. It was in her genes to heal those who were suffering. And Royce. whom she loved even if he was a ruthless bastard, was in the throes of torment now.

She staggered into the hall, fighting her way through the waves of his pain. She stopped abruptly, for he sat hunched over the table, his head on his arms, his big body shaking, as if he was weeping. But he wasn't weeping, not with tears.

His aura was split in two.

It was mostly blue, but pure black divided it in a jagged line.

Allie cried out, shaken to the core. All self-control and self-mastery were gone. She wasn't looting at a warrior or a Master: she was looking at a broken man.

His soul bled.

Allie couldn't help herself. She raised her hands and threw a wave of white healing light at him. She had never healed a man's heart or soul before, but she had to try.

He was so parched, it was like watching a dry sponge in the desert on a midsummer day- his body sucked up the white light instantaneously.

He leapt to his feet. "What do ye do?11 He roared furious and incredulous at once.

Allie sent more white rain showering down upon him.

He lifted up his forearm and blasted his energy, sending the white rain spiraling back toward her, and it fell uselessly to the floor, vanishing. "Ye think to heal me?" he cried. But now his aura had repaired itself and it blazed mostly red, orange and gold. No jagged black chasm divided it.

Her mind raced. Royce was suffering and he had been suffering for centuries. This wasn't about her. The guilt she'd just witnessed was so vast, it had to be the product of something unspeakable.

Somehow she knew it was a woman. And that meant it was his wife. The idea hurt her impossibly—but she ignored it, Royce needed her—desperately.

He drew himself straight. His blazing gaze held hers. "Save yer healing power for those that need it."

"You need it."

His smile formed, cold and twisted. "I need no white light, Besides, ye hate me now."

She hugged herself. "I don’t hate anyone, and I don't hate you." How dense could he be? She had given him her heart. No matter what he did, no matter how awful he behaved, she’d never be able to take it back, because she knew the man he'd become one day.

His gaze flickered.

"You are in pain. I can help. Why won't you let me?"

He stiffened. His smile was forced. “I’m nay in pain. Ye imagined it."

"Let me help!" she begged, and she went to him and tried to take his large hands in her smaller ones.

As if burned, he drew away. She'd seat a rush of white light into him before he could suspect what she meant to do. "Ceased” he shouted at her. He paced away.

He blamed himself for whatever had happened. She stared up at him. She had to know. She could help.

He whirled. "I dinna need yer help, Ailios," he warned. "Leave me to my affairs."

She tensed. ''You can read my mind, can't you?"

"Aye." He stared without remorse at her.

She'd analyze that later. "If you can read my mind, you know what I want to know. Who is she?" she asked, sure he would explode.

His face was grim. "My wife."

Allie tensed, even though she had expected the answer. "Where is she, Royce?"

"She's dead," he said without emotion. “Dead an' buried, as she should be, these past eight centuries."

Allie somehow nodded, shaken to the core. He was consumed with his dead wife—after eight centuries. How could she compete with that? What had Royce done—or what did he think he’d done?

And when his aura roiled and started to split, as the blue rose up, the color ruled by Uranus, the planet of change and transformation, the planet of Fate, everything became so clear. She loved the medieval man as much as the modem one and she could never turn her back on either one. He was breaking apart before her very eyes. She had to try to save him.

Trembling, she walked bravely to him and laid her hands on his chest. "How did she die, Royce? What happened?"

He seized her hands, hard. "So ye think to seduce me tonight? Ye wish to heal my bleeding soul with yer hot little body? Aye, fine, let's go up to bed."

Very softly, she said. "Be a jerk. You're forgiven. You're forgiven for every thing you said today and for all of your despicable behavior. I understand what you're doing—but you can't change the subject."

He started and dropped her hands. "Ye mean it. Ye forgive me for being a bastard. Ye don't hate me. Ye would never hate anyone."

''No, I can't hate anyone—and I can't hate you. And, Royce? You could pay me ten billion dollar's—enough wealth to buy all of Alba in my time—and I wouldn't sleep with you."

He flushed.

She smiled sweetly. “The next time I sleep with you it will be because you tell me that you love me—and you mean it."

His high color vanished. Their gazes locked.

He smiled slowly at her. "Ye challenge me?"

"No" she said quickly. "I do not."

"So ye retract yer words."

She wet her lips. Her heart pounded wildly. This was so important, because one day, she wanted those words! "No, I do not.”

He nodded. Softly he said. “Then we won't be sharing pleasure, will we? Not unless ye back down."

"Maybe you'll be the one to see the light." His expression became taut. "I will never say such words. Ye have my word on that." He was so furious his aura spit fire.

"We are not rivals ," Allie insisted, meaning it.

He shook his head. "Then ye shouldn't have challenged me.” And with those harsh words, he vanished.

Allie cried out. She had not a doubt that Royce had just leapt into the future—or the past.

She sank to the floor, terribly worried now, Royce was in the throes of unleashed torment and she was afraid he was vulnerable to his enemies in such a state, wherever he was. God, she hadn't meant to confront the wounded beast in his den. It felt like a miracle that she had survived the encounter.

She hugged her knees to her chest. One thing had become crystal clear. This man needed her as no other ever had. And that meant she wasn't going anywhere.

CHAPTER NINE

595 AD

HE LANDED SO HARD his head exploded and he welcomed the pain.

Royce lay still, seeing stars. He did not move or even think to fight the pain, until the wracking waves of torment and anguish had entirely receded. He was on his back, staring up through a canopy of pine so thick that he could barely see the sky. When he was breathing normally, when it felt like his body might have some strength and he might be able to sit up and even stand, he focused.

Kael

Eight hundred years had so honed his senses that he could scent his enemy just below him. The glen reeked of evil and lust. He focused even more intently and felt Brigdhe's pain. Then he recognized her utter hopelessness.

She did not believe he was coming.

He stood, his heart beating slowly, with the utmost calm. He was a hardened warrior now. There was no fear just a sense of what he must do to triumph over a mortal enemy. However, as much as he wished to do battle now this was not his fight to fight. It was Ruari.

Very slowly, intent, he walked through the wood, down the ridge. And he thought about two women, not one. For Ailios's image had crept into his mind, as crystal clear as Brigdhe's was not. Let her love him—it changed nothing.

When he reached the tree line lie paused, staring down at the timbered palisade and manor; knowing what his younger self, Ruari, would find when he broke down those wood gates and fought his way into the hall. His gut roiled. He fought it.

He must not ever forget what had happened to her, even if the Healer wished for him to do so—even if her smiles and happiness tempted him to do so.

Brigdhe's pain and defeat wafted from the glen, sickening him, as he had hoped it would. He tried to recall her beauty and failed. He could not quite attach a clear image to her energy. Time had binned her features, making the real woman impossible to envision.

He recalled her bruised, battered body, though. Time had not faded that image, not at all. and that was good.

And although he was a rational man, although he was a centuries-old Master, the urge to rush down the hill and break down the gates to destroy Kael was overwhelming. He stared at the palisade and somehow restrained himself. Although he knew the honors Brigdhe was suffering, he must not break the Code. It was forbidden for him to change the past—or the future. Ruari must rescue her, vanquish Kael and bless her union to another man—and lose the last of his naiveté' and hope.