CHAPTER NINE
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’s.
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 he 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 blurred 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 horrors 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.
The Code was also very clear that he must not encounter himself in a past or future time, either. He did not intend to do so. He had come back to remember, and already he was recalling the events of this day with terrible clarity.
Royce glanced around and saw his younger self emerging from the wood farther along the ridge. Stunned, he realized he hadn’t timed his leap with enough care—he had been so furious. He stared with great interest and realized this was an even better way to relive the horrid day.
The boy strode down the hill, soaking wet with sweat, his leine clinging to his lithe, muscular body, his face a mask of determined rage. Royce simply watched, refusing to feel for him.
Tell me what you want.
Soft laughter, her warm body, and a slow, sweet entry. You know what I want, Ruari.
Male laughter, an exchange of kisses as he moved deeper and deeper still, the first ones gentle and playful, the last one deep and urgent. Can ye come fer me now, Brigdhe?
Oh, aye! Aye!
Her soft, female cries filled their bedchamber, and he allowed himself to join her. She was a passionate woman and this pleased him; he had chosen well. And perhaps they had conceived a son—he wanted a son. And she snuggled in his arms…
Royce couldn’t breathe. Where had that terrible memory come from? He wasn’t that boy anymore—he would never be that boy again. He didn’t want to remember! There would never be any sons!
Ruari was at the gates. He reached for them.
Royce trembled, wanting to see him savagely wrest the doors from their hinges.
He breathed hard.
Ruari tore the gates from their hinges.
As he did, Royce knew that the bombard of arrows would begin. He knew one arrow would pierce his skin, another a tendon. Ruari did not know, but it would not stop him, anyway….
Royce gave in. As Ruari threw the doors aside, as the arrows hailed, he blasted the archers with his energy to deflect every iron-tipped shaft.
The arrows rained down on Ruari, and one pierced his arm.
Oblivious, he jerked it out and kept going into the palisade, sword drawn, as the giants swarmed him.
Stunned, Royce looked at his hand. He’d sent a huge blast of energy at the archers and nothing had happened.
And in that instant, he suddenly understood the rule to never encounter oneself in the past or the future.
He glanced into the fortress. Ruari was engaging the giants. He hurled a blast of energy at the closest watch tower.
Nothing happened.
It should have come down.
He turned, seized an overhead branch—and failed to tear it from the pine.
He breathed hard. Although he was physically solid, with his own self there, below, on the same temporal and physical plane, he was but an ordinary man.
He had no power now.
POWER AWOKE HER.
Her sleep had been light and fitful, determined as she was to wait for Royce to return. Allie felt his male power in an oddly gentle wave and she jerked awake, curled up in one of the two large chairs before the fire. She turned, looking over the chair’s high back.
The fire still blazed, clearly fed during the night by maids.
Royce stood not far from where she was seated, his face a cold, hard mask, his gray eyes so dull they were almost lifeless.
His aura was split distinctly in two, one side red and gold, the other blue, a black chasm between.
It did not blaze or burn. Every color was faded and muted.
Only his pain blazed.
Allie slid to her feet, trying to hide the fact that she was concerned for him. “Are you all right?” she asked softly, knowing he was not. His torment cut into her like knives, slicing her skin, flesh and tendons into ribbons.
He did not answer, and she felt the vast resolution in him. He was not going to budge. In that moment, she sensed he embraced his anguish and would keep it hidden from her at all cost. “Ye should go up to rest. T’is late an’ we leave in a few hours.”
Allie walked over to him, her heart thudding. “What happened? Where did you go?” She tried to caress his cheek.
He jerked away. “I’m tired. If ye want to stay up all night, then do so.” His mouth twisted with unhappiness, he turned and strode from the hall.
And she sensed another woman’s presence clinging to him, the way one might scent a woman’s fragrance after she had left the room. Allie didn’t have to ask to know the identity of the woman he had just been with. She hugged herself, certain he had gone to see his dead wife.
CLAD IN JEANS and a lace-trimmed cotton tank, Allie stepped somewhat cautiously into the courtyard. She was barely awake, having been roused urgently by Ceit and told that his lordship wished to depart and she must hurry. Instantly her gaze found Royce.
His aura was whole again, fiercely blazing with his warrior power and his sexual heat.
He stood with a man Allie now recognized as his estate manager, not that she knew if that term was used or not.
Royce was apparently giving some instructions, his face set in serious but not severe lines.
His white charger was being held for him just beyond, as was a big black mare.
His mood had obviously improved from the night before. He had buried his pain.
Finally finished, he turned to her.
If only he would let her help him, she thought. Allie smiled at him. “Good morning.”
His gaze swept over her tight jeans, then up her tiny, frilly top. His expression wary, he gestured and Allie came over. “Good morn,” he said quietly, not meeting her gaze. “We go to Dunroch.”
Allie knew it was a test. She had no intention of being left behind there, but she wanted to meet Royce’s nephew and his wife.
She had very personal questions about Royce, and she might find the answers at Dunroch.
She smiled brightly. Besides, she was not fighting with Royce, hopefully not ever again. He needed her—last night was the proof.
“That’s fine with me. I have had the urge to see the countryside since we last spoke.”
His gaze narrowed, lifting to hers.
Allie said seriously, “Did I really hear you say that Malcolm’s wife is from the future?”
“Aye.”
Allie hid a smile, turning quickly away. She needed an ally and a friend. This was an incredible stroke of luck. Then she faced Royce. “The Masters seem to go for us strong, modern women.”
“Claire is very strong,” Royce said as if discussing the weather. Then, “Yer brother married a modern lass, too.”
Allie was very surprised. “Have other Masters met their soul mates in the future?” she asked, eyes wide.
“There are only the two.” Royce was brusque. “We have a long day ahead.” He nodded at the big mare.
Allie’s heart leapt with excitement. The mare was clearly strong and athletic, and some kind of Warmblood. “She’s for me?”
“Aye. She’s quiet. Ye’ll manage.”
Allie didn’t try to hide her smile this time.
As a child, she’d spent hundreds of hours riding without stirrups or without reins, and she’d learned to take small fences with her eyes closed.
She still rode frequently, and she loved jumping—the mare or any mount would be a piece of cake. “Then let’s go.”
Royce turned. A boy handed him a folded white garment, and Royce handed it to Allie. “If ye please. Ye canna ride about Alba dressed as ye do.”
Allie took one look at the long linen caftan and sighed. “We have a truce. A pleasant one—I like your mood. Do you want to start a war?” Then, softly, she added, “Do you really want to look at me in such a sack?”