Dark Rival (9 page)

The courtyard was filled with people—medieval people. The women wore simple linen dresses and had bare feet. Two women had plaids pinned to their shoulders. The men she saw crossing the ward wore the same tunics, but only to the knee, and they were barefoot, too—and armed with swords and daggers. A pair of pigs wandered about, and a milk cow was being led by a little boy. Animal droppings abounded. Huge hounds were barking from across the ward, chained to a wall. They were balking at her and Aidan.

The passing men and women turned to look at her and Aidan. Allie tensed. They stood out like sore thumbs. He was still clad in his jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket; she was wearing her knee-length skirt and linen corset top and her platform shoes. Surprise was becoming suspicion.

“Are we in trouble?” Allie whispered to Aidan. She wasn't afraid—not exactly—for these were people, not evil demons. On the other hand, every medieval movie she had ever seen seemed to tumble through her mind. Ignorance caused people to do really bad things to other people.

“They have seen stranger sights, lass,” Aidan said. And even as he spoke. Allie saw men and women firmly turning away. In that instant she realized that life in the Middle Ages wasn't very different from life at home. The average person preferred ignorance and chose not to think too hard about all the events and phenomena they saw but could not explain. She and Aidan being unusually dressed couldn't be half as disturbing as seeing one's friend or relative murdered in a crime of pleasure, or witnessing a battle between Masters and demons when the weapons were invisible—kinetic power.

“They're wary because we're strangers,” Aidan said to her. “In this time, yer friend or foe an’ no man can be in the middle.” Then he raised his voice, speaking to a pair of men who had their hands on the hilts of their swords.

“I’m the Wolf of Awe an’ a great friend of Black Royce. Release yer swords.” He stared at them.

Instantly Allie saw their eyes glaze. She looked at Aidan and saw the glittering light coming from his gaze and realized he had great powers of enchantment. Both men released their swords, but they glanced at Allie now.

Aidan moved so quickly Allie didn't know what was happening until it was done. He suddenly had one of the men's swords laid against that man's throat. “Ye show the lady respect,” he said softly. “She’s Royce's guest.”

Allie wet her lips. What had she been thinking? He could flirt and charm, he liked trendy clothes and was a bit arrogant for her taste, but he was as fierce and powerful as Royce, maybe even more so, for the red in his aura was almost blinding. There was something else present in his aura that she could not understand, either—a black streak, like black rain. But she had forgotten all that. She had dared to curse him and strike at him.

A horn blew, Allie jumped in surprise and almost twisted her ankle. She whirled to look up at the tower above her. She didn't have to ask, she knew.

Royce was returning. She could feel him. his energy huge and hard and powerful, impossibly male, impossibly indomitable. He was somewhere beyond the castle walls.

Excitement seized her and made her breathless, caused her body to ache and swell. This was not the time—but maybe it was. Because after she leapt into his arms, she could think of nothing she'd rather do than be in his bed. making love, celebrating his life, and afterward cuddling and talking, kissing.

Joy and relief warred.

Ahead was the gatehouse with its four towers, the one that he’d driven through in his Ferrari the other day. She rushed forward.

“Ye wait for him here,” Aidan called. “Ye let him accept what we have done.”

Allie ignored him, stumbling in her tall shoes, wishing she'd had the foresight to wear her Nikes. She stepped into the dark stone corridor that formed the passageway through the gatehouse—and came face-to-face with iron bars.

Her heart slammed. She was barred by a closed portcullis, because this was the fifteenth century, not modern times. Another portcullis was closed at the other end of the passage, and beyond that, she saw an outer ward, a smaller gatehouse and a drawbridge that was slowly lowering. Instantly she realized a large group of horsemen was approaching the drawbridge, the sun glittering wildly on their armor.

She seized the cold iron bars, her heart leaping.

His aura burned hotly red. dominating the orange and gold, making any blue and green invisible. He was at the band's forefront, and he’d come from battle. The energy given by the planet Mars and the war gods was bursting in him still.

She swallowed, uncontrollably excited now and very aroused.

She hadn't thought about what it would be like to see him again, in this century. Although they had first met when he was from this time, they'd exchanged no more than a dozen words, fought a single battle before they'd leapt time. The memories she had of him now had nothing to do with a Highland warrior standing in mail and a plaid, his legs boot-clad but bare. She would never forget the sight of Royce getting out of his Ferrari in his black T-shirt and trousers: Royce in bed, surrounded by Ralph Lauren pillows and sheets; Royce offering her wine, his 18 karat gold Bulgari watch glinting on his wrist; Royce smiling at her from across a table covered with linen and crystal.

The man riding across the drawbridge was on a huge, wild charger and wore mail over his tunic. Both horse and man were spotted with blood.

And then the bars stalled lifting.

She swallowed hard, telling herself it was silly to be uneasy. She shouldn't be surprised to see him dressed like a medieval knight, because she’d seen him dressed as strangely at the fund-raiser, yet this was different—in his time, it was strange and somehow disturbing. It was hard for her mind to reconcile this Royce and the one she’d spent twenty-four hours with. The man approaching looked almost like a stranger. But he was the same man, when push came to shove, and she needed to remember that. He was her golden warrior; her lover, the man who fought demons no matter the time, the golden Master her mother had told her to trust.

The portcullis was waist high. Allie ducked through it and ran down the stone passageway. As she did, something made her look up and she saw gaps in the ceiling above. A face appeared, shocking her.

Allie ran faster, sensing hostile intent. Just before she made it to the second portcullis, this one almost the height of her head, an arrow whizzed past her. And then a dozen arrows scorched her path.

They were shooting at her. Frantic, she ducked beneath the last portcullis, and she heard Royce shout. “Cease yer fire!”

She burst into the gray Highland daylight.

His gray eyes wide, he galloped his horse across the dirt ward, thrusting himself between her and the gatehouse. Allie halted, shaken by the attack, but so overjoyed to see him. The horse reared and Royce jerked mercilessly on its reins, making it submit to his halt.

His gaze slammed to hers.

It was hard and incredulous.

Allie smiled, trembling. The moment he took her into his arms, all of her anxiety would vanish. Wouldn't it?

But his hard eyes slammed down her rather exposed bosom to her skirt and bare legs. The sexual appraisal was raw, ruthless. Then he leapt from the horse, which reared again. Royce turned and kicked it in the ribs, hard.

The animal stood docilely, head down.

Allie tried to breathe. He didn't look at her now, his expression strained, and she wasn't sure she'd liked how he’d looked at her before dismounting. He was handing his helmet to a boy, then his gauntlets, his gestures forceful, almost angry.

They needed to speak. She tried to assimilate what was happening. He was the same man—she would swear it— but he was so different, too. He was so medieval. “Royce?” she asked uncertainly.

He whirled to face her, eyes blazing.

He was angry, she realized, shocked. But he couldn't be angry with her. He might not know they were lovers, but he was in love with her. She had no doubt he'd told her he’d waited so many centuries for her.

And then he closed the short distance between them, towering over her. “I left ye in yer time,” he ground out.

What was this? As Allie stared blankly at him, her joy really faded, "Royce.” She wet her lips, terribly uncertain.

Where was her warm welcome? She laid her hand on his chest. His strong heart thundered there. “I am so happy to see you. I have so much to tell you.”

His eyes widened with surprise. For one moment, he stared at her and she stared back, waiting for him to smile and erase all her doubt and confusion. Instead, slowly, he said. “Ye touch me as if we're familiar.” His gaze had narrowed with cool speculation.

A sick feeling began. This was Royce five hundred and seventy-seven years before they'd made love. He didn't know they were lovers, but he did love her, right? “We are very familiar,” she whispered, “in my time.”

His expression changed. A satisfied, smug and hard look settled on his gorgeous face. But then he said. “Ye need to go back to yer time.”

Allie dropped her hand. “You're not…. happy to see me?” She was shocked. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that she knew him intimately, but he did not know her.

Then she added silently, yet.

“Do I look pleased?” he demanded.

He did not look pleased at all. What was happening? Where was her lover—the man she had traveled through time to be with?

“Yer lover,” he said, his eyes glittering, “awaits ye in yer time, not this one.”

Allie could not react, Royce was cold and rude, terribly so. He was not welcoming, and he had put her in an uncomfortable and defensive position. She was far more than off balance, she was starting to feel rejected. But men did not reject her. They courted her, chased her, fell in love with her. Why was he being so harsh, so mean? Could he be so different from the man she'd slept with last night?

“Royce.” Aidan approached from the gatehouse.

Royce stiffened and turned. “Of course it was ye, Aidan. Ye brought her back. Are ye very amused?”

Aidan did not smile. He looked so incongruous, standing there in his jeans and leather jacket, confronting Royce in his mail and plaid. “There has been nothin' amusing about this day. Ye need to be pleasant to the lady.”

Royce stared, his gaze narrowing. Allie saw the red in his aura explode. “So ye defend her?” he asked very softly.

Aidan shook his head, grimacing. “Ye fool! Dinna start. I brought her to Carrick, not to Awe.”

Royce folded his arms, biceps bulging, a gold cuff glinting on one arm, a terribly dangerous expression on his face. His smile was ruthless. “Then ye be the fool. Take her with ye when ye leave.”

Allie bit her lip, aghast. He didn’t want her there.

Aidan flushed. "Ye dinna mean such cruel words.”

“If I’d wished to bring her back with me, I'd have done so,” he told Aidan. “I left her in her time for my reasons— I dinna like being crossed.” He glared at Allie.

Allie wanted to cry. He acted as if he hated her. He wasn't even the same man as the Highlander who'd come to her aid at the fundraiser.

“I dinna cross ye!” Aidan erupted, seeming as angry as Royce now. “Ye left her behind because yer afraid.”

“I left her behind at Carrick to protect her,” Royce said as furiously.

“Stop,” Allie cried. “Stop fighting like small boys.”

They ignored her. Aidan said. “There's no one at Carrick in her time to protect her.”

Royce stiffened.

Allie looked back and forth between the two men, certain Royce had instantly understood Aidan’s inference. And he slowly faced her.

Uneasy, she tried to decipher his feelings. Most men would be shocked to learn of their death. Most men would he distressed to learn of the event, and the date. Royce's gray gaze met hers.

And she saw the stark comprehension in his eyes. She wanted to ease any distress he might feel, to soothe any anxiety, any fear. She wanted to tell him that it was not the end. that they would fix it. change it somehow.

But a mask settled over his face. “I die in her time.” He was still looking at Allie as he spoke to Aidan. And he did not seem to care.

“Aye,” Aidan said. “Ye died in bravery for her, as any Master would.”

He nodded at that.

Allie still wanted to comfort him, not that he looked as if he needed comfort from her or anyone. He didn't even seem upset. She laid her hand on his hard chest again, hating the feel of the sharp mail. And in spite of the vest, she felt him tense. “It was a mistake. An awful mistake. It doesn't have to happen that way.” She tried to smile. Instead, horrified, she felt tears well. It was going to be a long time before she got over his death.

His thick, dark lashes lowered. “Yer fond of me. Ye grieved.”

Allie nodded slowly. “You're fond of me, too, Royce.”

He made a harsh sound, and it was dismissive. Only then did he look up. Allie forgot to breathe. Everything was the same—she felt his lust, huge and bold, a presence throbbing between them, and she was overcome by it. It was as if a bond was there between them, connecting their desires, their bodies. She moved her hand lower, across the sharp mail, toward his waist. A terrific fold had appeared near the hem of the mail shirt.

“I need wine,” Aidan said. He wheeled and strode back through the gatehouse.

Allie was alone with Royce, although several knights remained at a distance. She trembled and waited for him to take her into his arms, hold her and tell her everything would be all right. Then they could go inside, upstairs. And by the dawn, everything would be back to the way it should be. She knew it. It wasn’t too late. They could get past these first few awful moments.

He took her hand and removed it. “Dinna tease me.”

Her eyes widened. “Royce, I am not teasing you.”

His smile twisted. “Your lover is dead."

She inhaled. “No, you are very much alive,” she cried. “And I thank the gods for it!”

“Ye mistake,” he said grimly, “two very different men.”

Allie backed up, shaking her head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why did ye follow me to my time?” he shot back.

Allie tried to control the hurt roiling through her now. “You don't want me here?”