CHAPTER TWELVE #2
Allie hesitated, telling herself not to be hurt. He still grieved for his lost love, and he still carried that crushing guilt, although he would never admit it. She wondered what kind of woman his wife had been. She had to have been some kind of saint.
She was competing for Royce’s heart with a saintly ghost. That was just great.
Allie walked after him, and as she did, some wounded anger began. No matter what he said, he was hurt and he needed her. She flung a bolt of white healing light at him, through him.
He whirled, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Try to tell me that doesn’t feel good!” she cried, closing the door behind her.
He breathed hard. “Ye do so again, I’ll lock ye in Carrick’s tower.”
“You would never treat me that way.” Allie had no doubt.
He flushed. “Dinna try yer healin’ on me again,” he warned.
“Do you feel better?” she asked.
“I feel fine,” he snapped. “An’ yer power has naught to do with it.”
Allie decided not to argue. And then it didn’t matter.
Her eyes widened as she saw three heavenly hunks crossing a path beyond them, each one golden and gorgeous, clad in Highland garb.
Her glance moved from broad shoulders to bare thighs and then up to three nearly perfect faces.
The Masters started, looking her way. Interested smiles followed, as did bright, gleaming gazes.
Royce made a sound.
Allie didn’t have to look at him to know he was aggravated. She laughed. “Ooh la la. Introduce me.”
“I think not,” he snapped. Then, “Ye prefer blondes, do ye not?”
“Very much,” she said with another laugh. The three Masters veered her way. Allie knew they were checking her out in her tiny pink tee and supertight jeans. She smiled invitingly at them all.
Royce took her arm and hauled her up the road. “Brian wasn’t blond.”
“Brian was just a nice guy.”
“Who never pleased ye in bed.”
“True.” She twisted to take one last look at all that eye candy. “Who are they?”
“Doesna matter. Ye won’t see them again. They’re leaving.”
Allie sighed with mock disappointment. “Jealous?”
“Why would I be jealous? Ye dinna belong to me.”
“I sure don’t.” She craned her head to eye a dark, towering man with extremely short hair who was leaving a nearby, long, low stone house.
He did a double take, glancing at her and then nodding at Royce.
“You know, you could leave me here, couldn’t you?
Moffat won’t step onto holy ground.” She kept a straight face.
Royce turned an incredulous gaze on her.
And she knew why he’d changed his mind about sending her to the island.
Once he’d started caring, he couldn’t handle the idea of leaving her there with so many supersexed hunks.
Allie shrugged. “I do like Carrick a lot, but I don’t mind spending some time here while you hunt Moffat,” she said as innocently as possible.
“I mean, I could spend all my time praying.” She batted her eyes at him.
He choked. “An’ whose bed will ye climb into?”
“Bed? Do you ever think of anything else? I want to stay and pray. Why are you talking about sex?”
Royce had halted; so had she. He stared unhappily at her. “I ken yer game. Ye wish to excite me, provoke me. Ye want me jealous!”
She touched his hand. “Yes, I do, and it’s pretty easy to accomplish.”
“I’m nay jealous.”
“Really.” She hid a smile. She’d never known any man as jealous.
His mouth twisted. “If ye play me, ye’ll be sorry.”
“How sorry?” Her heart raced. She couldn’t help imagining Royce staking his claim.
He nodded. “Ye want me to take ye here, now? An’ what about yer foolish need for my love?”
His words ended the game. “I know you care. You’ve proven it time and again. And I care—and I’m not afraid to say so. I care enough to suffer your awful temper, your rude behavior, your medieval nature. I care enough to stick around for the long haul—and help you let go of the past.”
His eyes widened. “I only want to fuck.”
“Maybe. Maybe that’s what you want right now, on this particular autumn day in 1430.
But you wanted more than that in my time.
And, Royce? I think you lie. Not to me, but to yourself.
I think you want more than sex, right now, in 1430.
I think that’s why you suck up my white light like a starving man devours his last meal.
I think you care a helluva lot and it terrifies you. ”
He paled. Then a furious flush began. “I’ll show ye how I care.” He seized her arm and started to pull her away from the road.
Allie tensed. “If you are thinking of changing the subject with sex, forget it!”
He faced her. His gaze blazed. “Ye want to ken how I feel, what I want, how I care? I care about yer body an’ yer face. Nothing more!” he shouted. “An’ it will never be more. Stop pushin’ at me!”
“Where is the man who sat up with me all night while I slept? Where is the man who sat outside the chapel at Dunroch all night, while I prayed? Where is the man who asked me about the future—and listened to what I had to say?”
“He’s gone!” And with that, Royce strode away, leaving her standing there beneath a huge tree, alone.
How had such a terrible, heated argument arisen? Allie hugged herself. She had meant to provoke his jealousy—she had meant to play him—but it had backfired. She had set him off like a keg of dynamite.
She stared after him and saw him greeting MacNeil. Royce didn’t look her way, but the tawny-haired abbot did. Allie somehow raised her hand toward him in a greeting.
Royce had become a lit fuse, ready to combust at any moment. What did that mean?
She didn’t want to have doubts about them or their future. But suddenly it felt as though if she pushed any harder, she would lose him after all.
She just wished she knew what had changed since last night, to make him so volatile.
“CAN YE CALM YERSELF?” MacNeil asked.
He almost felt as if he couldn’t breathe.
She was ogling all the Masters, and even though she meant to thoroughly irritate him and provoke him, her admiration was genuine.
He had read her thoughts—she liked every hard body, every pretty face.
She liked it far too much—the way she liked being in his bed, ridden by him, in the throes of rapture.
How long would she remain without a lover? he wondered. She was a woman with strong sexual needs.
And while she had succeeded in making him angry and jealous, he was acutely aware of Ailios, standing a distance away, trembling and hurt and, for the first time, filled with doubt about him.
Good, he thought savagely. Let her have doubts! She should have doubts! He was a Master and he would never be more, not to her and not to anyone.
And in the middle of the night you held me and smiled and we talked….
He could not imagine being in her bed and holding her and talking. It was absurd!
And he was as weak as he was a liar, because he wanted nothing as much as he wanted to do just that, not even the rapture they could give one another.
What was happening to him?
Should he leap again and remind himself how Brigdhe had suffered at Kael’s hands because of him?
Royce smiled grimly at MacNeil, who stared closely. “She’s an annoying, provocative woman. Disobedient,” he added quickly. He kept his mind closed so MacNeil would not lurk. “She’s nay easy to protect, defyin’ me at every turn.”
MacNeil gave him a mildly disbelieving look. “Dinna make the mistake ye made with yer wife.”
Royce stiffened, stunned. “Do ye dare to read my mind?”
“I dinna have to. Ye look at her like a boy starving for his first girl. Yer heart is written on yer face. Ye give her yer heart an’ yer doomed, an’ maybe she’s doomed, too.”
“I dinna have a heart,” Royce snarled. “It was cut from my chest long ago.” He was so shocked and angry he turned away, and by gods, he was trembling.
You came into the hall like a man coming home to his bride.
Well, if he had waited almost six hundred years for her, the way he waited now, of course he had come into his hall that way.
But she would never be his bride, or his wife, or even his lover.
Bedsport, yes, one day—in the future, in her time—if he could somehow wait that long.
And that no longer seemed likely, either.
Not a moment went by that he didn’t feel the need to be with her, in her; not a moment went by that he did not have, in the back of his mind, a knowledge of the rapture that was so close—and so far.
“Well, that’s pleasing to hear, as she belongs to the Brotherhood, an’ she always will,” MacNeil said. “I want her safe an’ protected. If ye canna keep a distance from her, I will choose someone else.” There was disapproval in his tone.
Royce met his gaze. “Ye said yerself, any man would want her.”
“I would have never guessed ye’d turn into a randy boy over her. I willna have her death on yer head, Ruari,” MacNeil said sharply. There was nothing affable or charming about him now.
“I willna allow her to die,” Royce exclaimed, glad the conversation had been turned to firm, safe ground. “I saved her yesterday.”
“Aye, ye did yer duty, an’ the Ancients be pleased.”
Calmer at last, Royce glanced toward Allie and saw her walking away, clearly heading for the sacred shrine. He was glad and he felt himself soften. He knew how much their gods meant to her. He wanted her to find peace and joy at the shrine. No one deserved peace and joy more.
“Moffat has declared war on us with his actions,” MacNeil said. “I’ll be goin’ to court to see if the King can bring him to heel.”
Royce walked into the meeting house with MacNeil, where they settled into chairs before the hearth. “Have ye been told about the future?”
MacNeil looked carefully at him. “The Ancients,” he said slowly, “have let me see the future.”