by Brenda Joyce
The door burst open.
Royce leapt to his feet, his sword ringing as he drew it.
Guy Macleod looked at him and at the woman in the bed. “You willna lust after my sister,” he warned.
Royce sheathed his sword. “Dinna ye think to knock?”
The Black Macleod laughed. He was a big, muscular man with dark hair, swarthy skin and shockingly blue eyes. Except for his eye color and size, he and his sister looked very much like siblings. He wore a red and black plaid over his leine, and thigh-high black boots with huge, spiked spurs. “Yer fortunate,” Macleod said softly, “that I dinna take yer head.”
Royce braced for a battle of wills and words. “She’s sleeping. She needs rest. Step outside.”
“Aye.” Guy Macleod gave his sister one last look and whirled. Royce followed him onto the circular landing outside the chamber door.
Macleod now smiled coldly at him. “Ye sit and lust after her.”
Royce returned his look. “Yer sister is safe with me.”
Macleod laughed, mocking him. “No woman is safe with any Master, and we both know it.”
“She’s not any woman. She’s a great Healer—yer mother’s daughter.”
“Aye,” Macleod flashed. His brilliant blue eyes heated. “I will take her back to Blayde.”
Royce laughed with no mirth whatsoever. “She stays with me.”
The Black Macleod straightened. “So you can use her? I think not. She’s my sister and unless she has a husband, I have every right to bring her into my household. I am her lord and master now.”
“Yer mother,” Royce said, no longer smiling, “spoke to Ailios.”
Macleod started.
“Elasaid came to her just days ago, telling Ailios to trust me. MacNeil chose me an’ sent me to her. An’ we ken he sees what the Ancients wish for him to see. T’is my duty—my Fate—to protect her now.” He added, “I saved her this day from Moffat…not ye, not Malcolm, not MacNeil.”
After a pause, Macleod said, “Lady Elasaid is dead.”
“Aye, but she came to Ailios from the other world. Ye can ask Ailios yerself.”
Macleod was grim, but his eyes flickered with comprehension. “If MacNeil chose you, he must have seen something to make him do so. But I dinna like MacNeil choosing you and not me, her own brother.”
“I will tell ye this,” Royce said. “I will not use yer sister. I have no wish for my enemies to think us fond o’ one another. Today I spared her Moffat. I will die to do so again. There is no one ye can trust as ye trust me.”
Macleod stared for a long, assessing moment. “I have never doubted ye would give yer life for her, Royce.” He flushed. “I canna argue with MacNeil’s will, or the Ancients. But if ye touch her, if ye hurt her, ye will pay—and I will be the one to make ye pay. The Code be damned.”
Royce knew he meant his every word. Two hundred years ago Macleod had laid siege to a great fortress to force the lord there to release his daughter—and hand her over in marriage to him.
“Tell her I came. I’ll come again when I can. Tell her she is always welcome at Blayde.” Macleod vanished before Royce could respond.
Royce seized the door handle and thrust it open. He had expected a confrontation with Macleod, who was both ambitious and hotheaded. MacNeil had chosen Royce, not her half brother, to defend Ailios for the Brotherhood, and no one could argue over such a choice, as MacNeil’s wisdom had been proven by time.
He stepped inside and saw that she was sleeping deeply. As he covered her with a fur, he realized he was almost smiling—and that there was a smile in his heart, as well.
He didn’t like such weakness and he frowned.
His heart had no reason to feel pleasure. Resolved, he chased the lightness away.
ALLIE AWOKE to a strange chamber filled with shadows, illuminated by the fire dancing in the hearth, and Royce’s steady stare.
He sat in a chair just inches from her bedside, his gray gaze intent upon her. She smiled, thrilled to awaken to the sight of him there.
He smiled tentatively back. “Yer awake,” he said unnecessarily.
Her smile faded. She thought about the terrible battle of that day, the dead and those who had almost died. She sat up. “I have to pray. I have to go to the closest shrine.”
He reached out and clasped her arm. “Ailios. Ye were very sick. There’s a chapel at Dunroch, but ye need not leap out of bed as if it’s on fire.”
Allie sank back against the pillows, sitting up now, acutely aware of his large hand grasping her wrist. His touch sent delicious shivers through her. He let her go and she was surprised when Royce leaned forward to add a pillow behind her back. She recalled him in his battle mode, slaying demons left and right. The same man had not just rearranged her pillows for her. Someone far gentler had done that. “I have to pray for those we lost, Royce,” she said quietly.
“I ken. The prayers can wait. How do ye feel?”
She now remembered her last waking moments. She had been healing the blond man who had been stabbed so many times, becoming so weak and ill that she had finally lost consciousness. She vaguely recalled Royce lifting her into his arms. “I fainted?”
“Ye passed out,” he said quietly. “Ye pushed yerself well past yer limits.” He turned and poured water into a mug and handed it to her. “Ye have limits, Ailios. Yer a powerful Healer, but yer terribly young. Mayhap yer power will grow in time.”
Allie drank gratefully, thinking about his words. “Please tell me that the last man I healed survived.”
“Ye still think of others.” But he answered her question. “Aye, Kirkus lives.”
“Thank the gods.” Then, struck by an awful thought, she met his gaze. “I must look like hell.”
His next smile was deeper, although brief, exposing one dimple. “Ye always look well.”
Her heart raced. Oh, did she know that look. They were having a serious conversation, but Allie knew what was in the back of his mind. She could feel his lust beginning to rise and throb in his veins.
The tension in the room changed. Allie thought about his needs and hers—it felt like eons since they’d been together. She ran her fingers through her hair, finally glancing up at Royce as she did so. “Liar,” she said softly. Her top was spotted with dried blood. Her jeans were probably in the same condition.
His eyes were as fierce and intent as his expression. “Ye always look well,” he repeated, this time in a bedroom tone.
Was he flirting with her? Would he act on his lust? Oh, Allie did like this. “If you want to think so, I won’t argue,” she said softly. She reached out for his hand.
He just looked at it.
“I don’t bite,” she whispered. “Not unless you ask me to.”
His eyes blazed.
Allie sat up and leaned forward, boldly taking his hand. It was large and strong, just like the man, a hand that could wield a huge longsword with fatal effect—or stroke her body in a silken, cunning caress. From it, she received so much heat—and an incredible sense of security, of masculinity, of power. “Thank you.”
He looked away, staring at the bed. “For allowing ye to hold my hand as if I’m a small boy?”
She laughed. His gaze whipped to hers. “For protecting me from Moffat. For standing by me while I healed,” she said.
For a long moment, they stared at one another. Allie said even more softly, “You’ve been here with me the whole time I’ve been passed out, haven’t you?”
He tugged his hand free. “Ye were ill. Ye needed rest. MacNeil healed ye by giving ye his great power. Ye canna ever heal so many at one time again.”
Allie smiled, pleased, even though he clearly wasn’t going to answer her. Mr. Medieval cared. “You know what? You’re really not such an ogre, after all. The Terminator, maybe, but not an ogre.”
He shook his head. His face was taut.
“That was a backhanded compliment. What is it, Royce? What’s wrong?”
“Ye sit there smiling,
in jest, when ye could have died. Canna ye not see how serious this is? Ailios, ye canna walk the world as if yer immortal.”
“Like you don’t?” she asked.
“No one cares if I live or die,” he said firmly, standing. “Everyone cares about ye.”
“I care if you live or die!” she flashed. Then she softened. “And you know it.”
“Aye, but I dinna ken why.” He stared directly at her. “There are many men to please ye in bed.”
It took Allie a moment. “You think I’m in love with you because of great sex?” And her incredulity faded; she laughed.
He flushed. “Aye, I do.” His hands found his hips.
And Allie went still. She focused and saw the uncertainty in his aura—it was a pale, milky, sky-blue. She felt the same uncertainty coming from him in fragile, broken pulses. “Hey.” She threw off the fur and slung her legs over the bed. “You are definitely gorgeous and hot. But I admire you, Royce, immensely, more than I have ever admired anyone.”
He seemed bewildered. “What do ye see to admire so much?”
“Strength, power, integrity, honesty, loyalty…should I continue?”
He now folded his arms across his chest, causing his biceps to bulge. “Aye,” he said.
Allie took a pillow and threw it at him, laughing. “Conceit, arrogance and an utterly tyrannical nature!” she cried.
He caught the pillow, feathers flying, then gently tossed it back at her. “Ye admire my conceit?”
“Take a good guess,” Allie said, on her feet and hugging the pillow now. As it was the only thing between them, she dropped it. “I forgot heroic,” she whispered, laying her hands on his chest. And she felt his body tense and his heart thunder.
His silver gaze slammed to hers.
“You are a hero,” she said, meaning it. She took his hand and placed it on her chest.
His warm palm covered her bare skin. She looked into his sizzling eyes and saw his gaze drop to her mouth. Love consumed her. Desire, already heady, crested. In spite of the day’s ordeal, her flesh began an urgent throbbing. She felt like telling him just how much she loved him—better yet, showing him in that bed—but it wasn’t necessarily the smartest idea, considering he had rejected her yesterday in no uncertain terms. Besides, she was holding out for three very specific words.
“I’m nay hero.” Royce removed his hand and turned, slowly pacing the room like a caged-up lion.
Allie was about to tell him he was not just her hero, but everyone’s hero, when he said, “Yer brother was here.”
Allie jerked, stunned. “He was here? While I slept?” she cried.
“Aye. Ye may have seen him fighting on the ramparts. He’s dark, an’ he wore red an’ black.” Royce paused, facing her.
Allie suddenly recalled seeing two Masters on the ramparts. “That was my brother?” she gasped, utterly distracted now.
“Aye.”
That had been her half brother. “I want to meet him,” she managed.
“Ye will. He came to take ye to his home, but we discussed it an’ he agreed to leave ye with me. He’s since left.”
A huge disappointment began. Allie sat down on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t he stay until I woke up?”
Royce shook his head. “He’s young an’ hot,” he said. “He’s a bold, impatient man. He waits for no one. But he’ll come again an’ yer welcome at Blayde, his home, anytime.”
Allie felt her brows rise. Her brother sounded like another entirely medieval man, very much like Royce. An alarm bell went off. “Guy doesn’t sound like he’d discuss very much with anyone, ever.”
“He doesna discuss much, yer right. He fights first an’ talks later, in spite of having a good wife to rein him in. If yer asking if we fought, we dinna. I wouldn’t fight yer brother.” He added wryly, “But if ye think me a tyrant, well, he makes me look like a milkmaid. His household wouldn’t please ye much.”
“Great.” She thought about it. “Thank you. I wasn’t about to leave you now, anyway.”
Royce stared at her.
Allie tensed, sliding to her feet. “You need me—and I need you. I think that’s become very clear.”
His color rose. “I’ll nay deny I need ye in my bed—”
“Stop! I wasn’t referring to sex and you know it.”
Flushed, he shook his head. “Yer a foolish woman if ye’ll start thinking of ways to heal my heart again!”
“Will you ever respect the privacy of my thoughts?”
He gave her a bold look. “Ye like the invasion.”
Her body reacted to his deliberate choice of words. “In a way, I do. It makes communicating with you very intimate. But if you knew that, you wouldn’t be so eager to read my mind all the time.”
“To protect ye, t’is best I ken what ye think.”
“Liar,” she said softly. “You can’t help yourself. You read my mind the way you look at me—you undress my thoughts with a single telepathic thrust the way you undress my body with a single physical glance.”
His face hardened. “Do ye wish to ken why they call me Black Royce?”
She hesitated. “I think you intend to tell me, regardless.”
“Because my heart was blackened long ago.”
“Because of what happened to Brigdhe?”
He paled.
Allie prayed she hadn’t gone too far. “I pried. I asked Malcolm about her. Royce, it wasn’t your fault.”
He had recovered his composure. His eyes were cold. “I willna discuss my wife with ye.”
Allie retreated. “I am so sorry about what happened. And I will respect your privacy.”
He stared and she stared back. Then he nodded. “Good.”
Allie turned away and breathed deeply, in relief. She had better tread with care on that particular subject. She slowly turned and walked over to him, beginning to smile, using all of her feminine power. “Please forgive me?” she asked softly, laying her hand on his chest.
“There’s nothin’ to forgive. Ye like to talk an’ ye like me. So ye spoke to Malcolm. My past is hardly a secret.” He shrugged as if indifferent now.
Allie managed not to sigh. Until Royce gave her his heart, he would always try to turn the tables on her. He probably did so instinctively. “In my time, people talk a lot, about everything, all the time, men included.”
He stepped away from her so her hand fell from his chest. “That must please ye.”
Now she shrugged. “It’s a different world.”
“Ye must miss yer home.”
Actually, Allie hadn’t thought about home at all since meeting Royce at the fund-raiser. Since the moment he’d appeared in South Hampton, she’d become completely and irreversibly caught up in his life and his Fate.
He smiled, pleased.
But now, she thought about her father and Tabby, Sam and Brie. They had to be worried sick about her! At some point, she had to figure out how to get a message to them. “I need to learn how to read your mind,” Allie said. “But I think I can read one thought. You’re not still planning on leaving me here, are you?”
His smile vanished. “Nay,” he said. “Ye needed me today. Had I left yesterday, ye’d be in Moffat’s hands.”
Relief surged. “I did need you today.” She smiled brightly, a cover-up, for she was trying not to think about Moffat’s lust and what he intended for her. But her gut roiled. No demon had ever frightened her so before, but then, no demon had ever made her his prey. She wouldn’t mind never laying eyes on Moffat again.
“Ailios.” His sharp tone made her meet his hard, uncompromising gaze. “Ye won’t be apart from me until Moffat is dead.”
More relief arose.
“He won’t take ye,” Royce said coldly. “I willna allow it.”
Allie nodded. “I know you won’t.”
As she saw his set expression, his warriorlike resolve, a vague image of another woman crept into her mind, followed by the whisper of her name. Brigdhe.
His wife ha
d been captured by his demonic enemy.
And the demons wanted to capture her now.
And Allie saw, in that single stunning moment, the truth.
Royce was afraid for her because of what happened to his wife.
Royce strode past her, shoving open the door. “I’ll take ye to the chapel,” he said, flushed.
And she knew she was right.
ALONE IN THE CHAPEL, Allie reached out to the dead.
Confusion, anguish and sorrow wafted in the air, making it feel thick and heavy. Having been so suddenly and violently killed, their souls lingered nearby, a tangible presence, clearly uncertain as to whether to leave their loved ones behind, unwilling to move on. So much energy came from the recently dead and Allie knelt, trying to sort through the various roiling emotions. She wanted to heal each and every confused soul.
Allie identified the first of the dead, a very young, newly wed man. His name formed in her mind—Thormond—as did his pale, red-haired image. She knew he was afraid to leave his bride, and as she lit a candle for him, she began to pray.
She called out to the Ancients, one by one, asking them to heed her and to help her ease the passage of the dead into the next world. When she felt certain that the old gods had gathered and were listening, she turned her attention back to the dead young man.
She blessed him and his wife, reassuring him and encouraging him to go to the next life. She could feel his youth, not just in physical years, but in soul lifetimes, and she knew he would soon find rebirth. Allie prayed until she felt the confusion and uncertainty subsiding, until she felt his swirling energy soften. A moment later, she felt his presence dwindling, and then it was gone.
She managed a smile and wiped a tear from her face. She would call on Thormond’s wife tomorrow. Then she turned to the next hovering soul, this man far older but just as reluctant to leave his family and friends.
Many hours later, Allie stood, feeling shaky. The chapel was empty now, every soul sent on his or her way; two of the dead had been women, inadvertently killed in the attack. Moffat had to be stopped.