Dark Rival (42 page)

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 bands 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 aims 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, beautiful 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 bands. “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 year's 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!"

He sobered. He had never imagined being cared about and loved this way. What kind of man would he become in the next eight hundred years, to earn such a woman? A terrible internal battle began. Could he wait so long to seduce her to his will and take her to bed? Was she speaking the truth? Did he need her in the future? Because she was right—he wanted her insanely, but he did not need her.

He thought about his vows. The day he’d made them, they had become his life. He was only just studying the Code, and it was long and complex, but one rule was clear. Changing the past or the future was forbidden. And in the future, he was being hunted by Moffat with this woman at his side.

He must not detain her. "Do ye love me even now, when we're strangers?"

She smiled. "Yes, I do."

His heart leapt with an excitement he could not recognize. Oddly he wanted this woman's love and loyalty.
 
“An’ ye’ll go to me now, in the future?" he asked. He had to make certain.

She nodded and touched his cheek. Her hand lingered; she did not speak.

She was so beautiful, her light so bright, a beacon of hope and joy. His manhood raged, hardly heeding his will. But he had no time for joy and she had her duty to his future self. "I’ll let ye go, Ailios, but with terms.”

She started, smiling. "With terms?"

"I want ye in my bed more than ye ken, but I'll settle for a kiss.”

She went still. “Yes,” she breathed.

And it was the one word he needed. He crushed her in his arms, hard, and opened her mouth with his lips. Instantly his head swam with desire, passion and lust, but the joy tried to rise up, too. She was an angel of light and hope. He plied her mouth and used his tongue there, while rubbing her mound with his shaft, so she would be sure to know what she missed.

She kissed him back and in unison, their pulses soared.

He wasn't sure who pulled away first.

Panting, he stared. He was senseless. He had never warned any woman this way. And that was the best reason to send her back to her time.

"Don't worry. I'm your destiny."

He remained too stunned—and too inflamed—to speak.

She smiled at him, then turned and walked outside.

He went to the window to watch her. And his eyes widened.

A man was coming down the ridge. It was himself, but hardened by centuries of war.

Ailios cried out and began running to him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ALLIE SAW ROYCE striding toward her, on the other side of the fortress's open gates. She thanked the gods that lie was alive and started to run. He was hurrying toward her, his eyes ablaze with his own relief.

Moffat materialized between them.

Allie screamed in warning, but even as she did so, Royce vanished, leaping into time. Moffat vanished as if on his heels.

She halted, stunned. Moffat was hunting Royce with a vengeance.

She realized MacNeil had come to stand beside her just as she saw Aidan beyond the clearing, on the ridge. As she spoke, Aidan vanished into time, apparently following Moffat and Royce. “Go after them! He can't survive Moffat without his powers!"

“As soon as he leaves this place, he will find his powers,”
 
MacNeil said, clearly meaning to soothe her. But his words were barely spoken when he vanished, too.

Allie clasped her cheeks. She needed to be with Royce, but he could have gone anywhere!

A huge white power fell over her.

She tensed, stunned, and turned to face Elasaid.

Allie couldn't breathe. Mom.

Her mother smiled gently at her, but not with a mother's affection. Her expression was impersonal. "You are a Healer," she said softly. "And you are so afraid for Ruari.”

Allie realized that she was face-to-face with her mother centuries before she had been conceived. Elasaid was dressed simply, in a long, belted gown, and Allie somehow knew she was very young, at least in Immortal terms. To make sure, she whispered. "Is this your time?"

Elasaid seemed slightly bewildered. “Yes, I remain in my time. You are favored by my father," she added. "He came to watch over you this day."

Allie's heart raced wildly. "I felt an Ancient nearby. Who was it?"

"Lug," she said with a smile. "You are very blessed—and so very young"

Allie reeled. Her grandfather was the most powerful of the gods, although some might say he was second to Dagdha. And he had been with her while she was in the pit. He had reached out to touch her and comfort her.

"Your destiny is written," Elasaid said. "It is decided by the Ancients."

"Can you see it?” Allie asked.

She hesitated. "Yes, I can."

Allie tried to think. Did her mother know that one day she would give birth to her? "Your Fate is written, too, isn't it?” Allie finally asked.

"Of course. I am here to heal, as you are. And one day, I will bequeath the world another Healer." Her gaze searched Allie's and then she smiled. "You are my daughter; aren't you?”

Allie's heart leapt. Tears arose. She managed to nod.

"I can't see my own future." Elasaid said, but Lug is your grandfather and he is my father. You have the power I had at your age. You are from the future—my future."

Allie started to cry. “You taught me everything I know.”

Elasaid slipped her hand into Allie's. "You are so beautiful—your light shines like a holy beacon. I look forward to the day I hold you in my arms. Now, may I send you back to your time?” Allie held her mother's hand tightly, knowing that when she let go, it was probably forever. "I have to find Royce," Allie said hoarsely, and she let go. "I will not let evil kill him."

"I don't know where he has gone, but, my darling, his Fate is also written, and what is written cannot be changed."

Tears fell. "I’ll never give up. Can you send me back to Octobers, 1430?"

Elasaid nodded. “Go with the gods," she said.

HE CHOSE TO LAND a hundred years later, in the French city of Paris, a place he had never visited once in his entire life— a place he could not be—a place where he was sure to have his powers, Pain exploded in his skull as he hit the ground, and he heard Moffat cry out, while feeling his evil nearby.

He needed all of his powers now, but he was powerless for a moment and acutely aware of it. In those first minutes, had a living being come by, man or woman, he would have ruthlessly taken all of his or her power to replenish his own. Fortunately, the deamhan suffered the same loss of power in the first few moments after a landing and Moffat was as helpless as he was.

He felt the power flooding into him as the pain in his skull dulled. Royce sat up, reaching for his sword.

Moffat, who had followed him, lay still.

Royce leapt up to kill his enemy.

He raised his sword; Moffat’s eyes went wide. Their gazes locked as they blasted one another with energy, Royce brought the blade down on Moffat's neck. But the deamhan vanished just as his sword met corded tendon and taut flesh before slicing through.

He screamed in rage and followed.

HE FOUGHT THE PAIN of the landing, blinking at the stars exploding in the sky, reaching out to feel Moffat. Instantly, as the purple blackness lightened and became gray, he felt his evil presence. A moment later he stared up at a terribly familiar wall. Dread arose—he was at Carrick.

His mind blazed and he decided he had followed Moffat to the early eighteenth century. He managed to sit up, aware that his powers were beginning to return, and knowing he must flee this place immediately. Surely, somewhere on the grounds, he would find his older self.

He had landed in the southern outer ward, which was now cobbled stone. Potted flowers were near the interior gatehouse walls. He was astounded, because he saw so few men on the ramparts, as if this was not a time of incessant war. And then he saw that the drawbridge was down, the portcullis open in the first gatehouse. A fine gilded carriage drawn by six black horses was entering the castle.