CHAPTER EIGHT
ALLIE AWOKE IN A BED twice as large as her own. She lay naked beneath a fur and instantly she thought about Royce’s very hot, very endless lovemaking. She smiled, reaching for him, to move into his arms. He was gone.
That was okay. She looked up at the ceiling, grinning so widely her mouth hurt. Wow. Those first two times hadn’t been a dream. She hadn’t imagined all that supernatural sex.
Mr. Medieval was hot.
Or was it? Everything had changed and so swiftly, at the speed of light.
In the future, he’d waited almost six hundred years for her.
Last night, although he hadn’t had to wait centuries for her, they’d shared a lifetime in a few days—a very dangerous, intense lifetime.
They’d fought and argued, they’d saved Garret from the rockslide, they’d fought demons, she’d healed him from a mortal wound—and he’d comforted her while she tried to adjust to the shock of the truth about her mother.
Allie sat up slowly. That last action meant as much as anything, if not more.
He was a very complex man, with so many sides—he could be savage and barbaric, but he could be caring and kind.
She thought about the way he’d used the ax to destroy the giant who’d captured her and her stomach vanished.
He’d been scary. He could have used an energy blast but he’d preferred an ax.
She’d been afraid to rush up to him to heal him.
But hadn’t she needed someone that ruthless, that brave and that determined to hold the line, her entire life?
Royce had the savage intent and the strength to fight the most powerful demons and win.
Allie shivered and lifted the fur. She almost wished she hadn’t recalled his savagery and bloodlust. But she had to admit that she had a primitive side, too. She was fascinated with the savage warrior. She admired his intensity.
Still, she would have never dreamed in a hundred years that the same man would hold her while she unraveled.
He had probably been just as surprised. Now she could see how the medieval version would evolve into the modern man she’d first fallen for.
However, it was a bit presumptuous to think he was starting that transformation already.
Maybe, maybe, he could do it in a hundred years.
Allie got up, wrapped in the fur, smiling.
She wasn’t sure what her life span was; apparently her mother had lived at least six hundred years.
It would be interesting to watch Royce embrace his softer, kinder side.
Her heart leapt impossibly as she imagined long nights like the last one, times spent before the fire or on the ramparts, gazing at the stars.
She was falling for this Royce, and she had better slow down, because Mr. Medieval might be back at any moment and he was not ready to hold hands. Her smile faded a little. One thing had been missing last night. He hadn’t cuddled and he hadn’t talked.
Allie focused. She needed patience—she’d be his teacher now. It was okay. All that sex was coming from his macho side. He needed a bit of time to learn how to be intimate and about the enhanced pleasure intimacy could bring.
Maybe she’d start teaching him tonight.
In any case, things were looking up. They were becoming friends, and they were lovers, too.
The beast wasn’t as scary as he’d seemed, and he was starting to eat out of her hand.
Now she had to figure out why he’d wanted to die in 2007.
It was time to get to know him—she needed to get inside his head.
Allie was eager to know him better, but she was not at all deluded. If he didn’t like talking—and he had made it clear he did not—figuring him out might not be that easy. That was going to take time, no matter his kindness last night.
Her heart wanted to float up to the ceiling like a hot air balloon. Last night made up for his initial hostility; it sure did. And she had time, didn’t she? There was no rush to go home, even if Royce changed his mind and let her do so.
Allie walked over to the hearth, wishing a fire flamed there. She’d assumed her stay in the past would be a brief one. In fact, she’d assumed her future with Royce would be in the future, too.
They were meant to be together, that was clear—he was the one for her. But in which time?
Allie became uncertain. She would stick around in the fifteenth century for a while, but at some point, when they had a way to prevent his murder, she was going to the future to be with the modern Royce, wasn’t she?
Unease began. She would leave her medieval man there at Carrick, in the fifteenth century, and with a leap through time, she would be reunited with Royce instantly.
But he’d be left behind in his time, and he’d spend centuries without her—until he aged into his fourteen-hundred-year-old self and was reunited with her.
How could she leave him for five hundred and seventy-seven years? They were embarking on a new relationship. He’d become her guardian as well as her lover. He needed her, here and now, and she needed him.
Allie looked around at his chamber, thinking about the bedroom in her Manhattan penthouse.
Then she shoved the memory of her luxurious room aside.
The Middle Ages weren’t as bad as she had expected.
Nothing at Carrick was that dirty, and while there was a lot of body odor, Royce smelled great.
She would bet a fortune that he swam in one of the lochs every morning.
She wasn’t going to be able to leave him, she thought. And the moment she realized that, her heart began to dance and sing, rejoicing. Grudgingly she smiled. Man, she was getting in deep!
A knock sounded.
Allie was glad for the interruption. She knew Royce would not knock—it wouldn’t occur to him. She called out to enter, curious.
Ceit came in with a maid Allie hadn’t seen before, a pretty blonde. Ceit smiled at her. “I thought ye might be awake, finally. T’is hard to open yer eyes after a night with his lordship.” She held a trencher in her hand.
Allie stiffened. Some dread niggled as Ceit set the trencher down while the blonde, who was very young, blushed and giggled.
It had sounded as if Ceit knew all about Royce’s lovemaking. Allie told herself to breathe. Ceit was a nice woman, and not the type to catfight. She knew she hadn’t meant anything and she counted to ten. “Did Royce tell you to send that up?”
Ceit looked surprised. “He left hours ago, my lady. He be an early riser. He dinna say a word, really, this morning. He seemed to be considerin’ weighty matters. He dinna seem all that pleased, either.” Ceit gave her a curious look.
Allie felt her smile vanish as the blonde began to start the fire. She folded her arms. “Last night was great.”
Ceit went to the bed and started pulling off the covers.
Allie gave up. “So you have shared Royce’s bed, too?”
Ceit looked at her, eyes wide. “Not in two years.” She added hastily, “Only fer a short time, my lady.”
Allie reminded herself that Royce’s days as Don Juan were over. She knew he was in love with her—she felt a blazing connection between them, even out of bed. He had her in his life now, and that changed everything. Didn’t it?
She hated knowing that he was a medieval lord and pretty much had a castle filled with pretty women to hurry to his beck and call. But he had shown her how much he cared yesterday—and how much he loved her last night.
Knowing she should not ask, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking. “Did he make love to you all night long—as if the world were ending?”
Ceit’s eyes widened. “There be no love at all, my lady. He’s a man with strong needs. Ye dinna need look at me with such fear.”
Allie tried to smile. “What did he do? Tire of you? Find someone younger, prettier?”
Ceit was puzzled. “Of course he tired of me. I knew he would, for he tires of all the maids. Lady, what is this? Dinna be saddened! Ye should enjoy his attentions for the moment.”
“For the moment,” Allie echoed, uneasy now. “But he won’t tire of me.” Royce was falling for her. Why couldn’t Ceit see that?
Ceit glanced at her and quickly looked away.
But Allie had seen pity in her eyes. “I’m different—and you know it!”
“Ye be very different. But that look on yer face—I’ve seen it before—hundreds of times—in this very chamber.”
Allie felt ill. “Okay. He’s had a lot of lovers. And they all fall for him. Great.”
“T’is hard not to think ye love such a man after such a night,” Ceit said softly. “But, my lady, dinna be so foolish. All men tire of their mistresses. T’is the way of the world. Men like young, new sport. He’ll only break yer heart.”
“I am in love with him,” Allie said firmly. “I will love him until I die. And he loves me, too. I am here to stay.”
Ceit smiled kindly, but worry was reflected in her eyes. “So ye think to marry him?”
Allie didn’t hesitate. “Yes, I do, when the time is right.”
“Yer a foreigner, English be my guess?”
Allie hesitated. “Close enough.”
“Are you an heiress?”
Allie was confused. She was about to say yes when it occurred to her that in this world, she had not a dime. “No. I’m dirt poor.” It was weird saying it—and almost meaning it.
“If his lordship marries, he’ll marry a great heiress. He doesna need more land or another title. But all men need more wealth.” Ceit started making the bed.
Allie walked up to her, aware that Ceit believed her every word. “What about love?”
“Love? What does love have to do with marriage?” She shook the covers for emphasis. “When a man needs power, wealth or sons, then he marries.”
And briefly, Allie was disturbed. She wasn’t going to claim that she knew very much about the medieval world—how it worked, how a man like Royce might think, or what he really wanted.
But love was timeless, wasn’t it? Or didn’t love matter in the Middle Ages?
Could Royce really look at the world the way Ceit was describing?
“Does Royce have sons? Why isn’t he married? ”