Dark Rival (45 page)

He was silent.

Unlike the fifteenth century, the portcullis remained raised and they started to walk through the first gatehouse. Allie saw a gardener tending several of the potted plants in the courtyard. She realized that the estate was being kept up, probably because it was for sale. The gardener suddenly straightened and tipped his tweed cap at her.

Allie smiled politely back. They knocked on the front door.

Mrs. Farlane opened it. She beamed. “I thought you'd be gone for the day, Lady MacLean!" Then she glanced past her, puzzled. “Did you leave the Aston-Martin by the garage and walk all the way up?"

Allie gaped, so confused she could barely comprehend the housekeeper. Royce was a MacLean—but so was Malcolm. Had the housekeeper confused her with someone else? "The Aston-Martin? I don't have an Aston-Martin,” she stammered.

Mrs. Farlane looked bewildered. "His Lordship gave it to you last year for your anniversary!"

Allie reeled. Aidan steadied her. "His Lordship?" he asked.

"Is Her Ladyship ill?" Mrs. Farlane became distressed. "Lady MacLean, come inside and sit down. Let me summon His Lordship!"

Allie somehow followed the housekeeper into the hall. She knew she was
 
mistaken for the lady o Carrick.

Mrs. Farlane had rushed off.

Allie stumbled, facing Aidan. ''Oh gods" she whispered. "Is it possible?"

And then she heard a man's footsteps. She whirled—and her heart sank.

A tall man who very much resembled Royce had come into the hall his aura reeking of power. He wasn't Royce, for his hair was dark, but those silver eyes were unmistakable. He was Royce's son or grandson. Was this His Lordship?

His face was concerned as he approached. "Mother, are ye okay?”

Allie cried out.

"Mother?" Bewilderment crossed his face.

And Allie realized it wasn't over.

Then Royce stepped into the hall.

Their gazes locked.

Allie took one look at him and knew he was fourteen hundred years old. The modern Royce lived. He had not been murdered on September 7. And that could only mean one thing.

Royce had vanquished Moffat
 
as they fought through the centuries after leaping from Eoradh.

"Royce,” Allie cried, her knees buckling.

Royce's eyes widened with disbelief. He whirled. "Thors, I need a privy word with yer mother."

Thors said slowly. "That's not my mother. At least, it's not Mother now. She's come from another time. My mother is visiting at Blayde. An' Aidan has leapt from the past, too." He gave Allie another serious look and left the room.

Allie ran to Royce and threw herself into his arms.

He held her for a moment. Then. “You are so young!"

"You lived—you vanquished Moffat!" She clasped his beautiful face.

"Aye! I leapt through many ages, fighting with him the entire time, an’ I was too ill to come home to ye.
 
But I am returning to ye, Ailios. Ye canna stay here. We have children— grandchildren—great-grandchildren! Ye must go back to me in the fifteenth century so we can have this future!"

Allie nodded, overcome. "I love you."

He smiled. "I ken—for ye have suffered my medieval ways for six centuries. Now go, darling. I willna lose this life of ours."

Allie turned and gave Aidan her hand.

Six DAYS HAD PASSED since she had been seized by Moffat outside of Blackwood Hall. Allie stood on the ramparts, mindless of the drizzle, wrapped in one of Royce’s plaids. Autumn had settled over Morvern and the leaves on the Scot oak trees were red and gold, while the grass and shrubs were turning brown and barren. She knew Royce was coming back, but until he did, she was suspended in a state of breathless anticipation, tinged with real fear for his safety and welfare.

And then she felt his hot, hard power below.

She whirled, crying out.

Royce was leaping up the steps to the ramparts, his gaze burning and bright.

It was her Royce—Mr. Medieval—and he had clearly been in his Mad Max mode. His leine was spotted with dried blood, as if someone had dipped a paintbrush in it and then shaken it at him. Allie wasn't sure she wanted to know what had happened. She ran toward him.

Royce ran, too, and on the top step, he swept her into his embrace and held her, hard.

She breathed in his scent—Highland pine, rain, sex, man.

She sensed for his injuries but there were none. In fact, his power was as great as it had ever been.

"Aye, I was hurt, but I'm fine now." He took her face in his hands and smiled warmly at her. "Hallo a Ailios," he said softly.

She touched his cheek. "Hallo a Ruari."

He clasped her hand to his cheek. "Moffat's dead "

"I know.”

He started.

"I saw our future, Royce. I saw our wonderful future!”

His puzzled gaze softened. "I saw it, too. We will have many fine children, Ailios."

She nodded and realized she was crying.

“I’m sorry I scared ye so. I was so weakened from the leaping. I landed in a distant time and I dinna have the power to come back to ye for days."

She somehow nodded.

"I could never leave ye " he whispered, his tone suddenly rough, "I love ye too much.”

Allie went still. His words reverberated through her body, her heart, her soul.

"Ye win,” he added with a smile that revealed his single dimple. "Don't I get to take ye to bed now?" he added, his gaze gleaming.

Somehow she said. "Damn right."

He swept her into his anus and started down the stairs, his strides rapid and determined.

She felt his pulse roaring, gathering in his loins. "I have missed you so much!”

"Aye, I ken. Ye were scared an’ ye went to yer time, to find ye dinna exist there anymore."

They entered the hall. He was lurking—she loved it! “The gods want me with you, Royce."

“Ah, well." He ran up the stairs to his tower. "That's a very hopeful statement." His grin flashed, wicked, and he laid her on the bed. "I'll fight the gods to be with ye, Ailios," he said seriously, but he looked at her legs.

She had dressed for his return every day. She leaned back against the pillows in the green jersey dress. The slit fell open. Royce sat and slid his hand up her thigh, high. "I like the pink thong best," he said roughly.

She looked at his fiercely tented leine. "I know. Take that off. He smiled and stood, dropping his belt and pulling off his boots. He tossed the plaid aside—and then the leine.

Allie breathed hard. He was the most magnificent man, and her heart soared. I am the luckiest woman on this earth, she thought. I’m going to pleasure you, Royce, she managed.

"I dinna think so," he said roughly and tugged the thong off, pushed her dress up to her waist, then reached for the wrap top. Then he looked at her. "I love yer body, yer face, but I love yer kind heart the most,” he said.

Allie felt more tears gathering. "Royce "

"I love you, Ailios."

She laid her hand on his thundering heart. She wanted to fly to the stars and then back again—a hundred times—but she fought to sense his guilt, his pain. And he knew, because as ready as he was, he waited for her now.

It took a long moment and she felt only a faint echo of the guilt that had consumed him for the past eight hundred years. She had at least five hundred and seventy-seven years to finish healing his heart.

He was lurking, because he smiled roughly and said. "Aye, I may not be called Black Royce for much longer."

"Come to me, love," Allie whispered.

He did.

TWO DAYS LATER. Allie stepped out of a steaming bath and wrapped herself in her favorite plaid, which she'd claimed possession of from Royce. She and Royce had definitely had a honeymoon. He'd barred the door, only opening it for food and drink. She was exhausted from the several days they'd just spent together, filled with passion that had been at times mindless and at other times amazingly gentle, peppered with conversation, cuddling, affection and intimacy. She was deliriously, ecstatically, joyfully in love.

She dried her hair with a linen towel and stepped into her jeans and a cashmere sweater she'd been given by Sam. She went to the mirror—no, looking glass—over the chest, thinking about how she'd have a servant hail it to the wall in a more convenient position. She'd taken a dozen lipsticks from Sam and Tabby before leaving, too. But before she could decide on a shade for her lips. Elasaid appeared in the mirror.

Allie tensed, stunned. She was afraid her mother would vanish the moment she turned. But she did turn, cautiously murmuring, "Mom?"

Her mother stood smiling at her. Her eyes soft with love. Allie could see the bed through her figure and knew she was a spirit from the afterlife. ”I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" she cried.

Elasaid whispered, “I am so happy for you, darling."

This was goodbye, Allie thought. But before she could begin to barrage her mother with questions, a dark man appeared beside her—and he was the spitting image of her brother, Guy, except that he was in his forties and silver streaked his temples. And she knew she was looking at Guy's father. William the Lion, the fifth baron of Blayde.

Her heart thundered. "William Monroe isn't my father,” she whispered.

"No, darling, he's not. I was afraid—I had you to guard and protect. I asked Lug to send me to the safest place. He sent me to Will Monroe."

Allie trembled, staling at her father, a handsome man who reeked of mortal power, even being dead.

William Macleod smiled at her. “I am proud of you, daughter," he said.

He took her mother's hand and Allie saw the white Light coursing between them, happiness and love. “Father," she managed to say. She wanted to know this man.

"You will know me through your brother," he said.

Allie smiled through her tears. It was a command. She nodded, "I sensed the truth the moment Royce told me about you and Mom."

"I know."

Allie started. "How much can you see from the other side?"

Elasaid's beautiful smile played. "Darling, that is not a just question. The gods bless you and Ruari and your children and their children.” She blew a kiss.

Allie saw her and her father fade. She lifted her hand. They continued to smile at her, their loss so evident and consuming. They slowly receded, until she was left standing alone in the room. She wiped her tears. They were together for eternity—and she would get to know her father through Guy, as he had ordered her to do.

Wow, Tabby was in for a huge ordeal. Allie bit back a smile. She'd manage. It would be worth it in the end.

She found Royce in the hall, in a deep conversation with his steward. But he instantly looked at her, his eyes warm with deep, undying love.

Allie's own heart swelled with delirium and joy.

She sat down to eat, ravenous. When the steward was gone, Royce came over. "Did ye enjoy yer bath?”

"Yes. What's wrong, Royce? Did I tire you out?"

Annoyance flashed. "I was being kind by not coming to yer bath! We made love for two days.”

She laughed at him. "Gotcha."

He smiled back. Then he sobered. “Three Masters have gone to Moffat Cathedral an' retrieved six pages o’ the Book o’ Healing.”

"That's great!" Allie cried.

"Aye, but I had hoped they might find the Book o’ Power there.” He sat down beside her.

Instantly Allie knew he wanted to ask her something. "What is it?"

He smiled at her his expression so beautiful and open, so unguarded, her heart ached. "Ye met me at Eoradh."

She blushed, recalling that sexy encounter with his younger self. "Oh, yes. We met."

His smile faded. “I remember the day so well. In one moment, ye changed my world. I wanted ye so badly— an’ dinna wish ye to leave. I still dinna ken how I let ye go, but I understood I needed ye more in this lime than then."

She was stunned. "You remember what happened?"

His smile returned, and his gaze flickered. "Ye told me bow much ye loved me, even my young self—an’ ye let me take a kiss."

His memories of that terrible day had been changed by her arrival in the past. She was stunned. "But it's forbidden to change the past."

He eyed her oddly. "Did we change the past?”

"You do remember that the first time you met me was in the future—in 2007—three weeks ago."

"Nay, lass," he corrected softly, "I met ye the day I rescued Brigdhe. An’ I never forgot ye, not in eight hundred long years." He smiled and stroked his hand over her hair and then down her hack.

Allie breathed hard. What had Sam said about an incomprehensible passage in the Book? "My friends never understood some spell about Fate interrupted and Fate corrected.”

Royce's brows lifted. "From time to time, something happens that is not meant to be. In the Code, it tells us that Fate will always adjust such errors in history."

Allie met his gaze. Fate had done just that in her case, because she should have been born in the thirteenth century. "I need to go to Blayde, she said suddenly. She had a new family to meet and learn about—and she had a best friend to visit. Boy would they talk up a storm!

Royce smiled. "I’ll take ye so ye can gossip with Lady Tabitha."

"Lurker! Have you met her?"

"Nay, but I'm glad ye have friends in our time.”

Allie met his gaze. "Our time. Oh, Royce, I am the luckiest woman in the world."

"I’m the most fortunate man." He stood. “We can leave in two days. I have many matters to attend before we visit yer brother an’ his wife."

Allie nodded happily.

"I will be back to sup with ye." He surprised her yet again by brushing her cheek with a kiss, his hand lingering in her hair. Then he strode across the hall.

Allie watched him go, loving him so much it hurt. “You know, you do have a way with words.”

He glanced back at her. "That’s ye, Ailios. I prefer action, but ye love to talk—even in bed." His eyes gleamed, "I dinna mind."

"You love talking in bed—don't you dare deny it. Mr. Medieval has a soft side after all."

"There's nothing soft about me in bed," he returned, but he was smiling.

And even though he was so light and happy now, Allie loved him so much she lifted her hand and sent her white healing light deep into his bones—and his heart.