CHAPTER TWELVE #3
Royce became still. MacNeil had a great power of sight, which he claimed was not his, and that the Ancients allowed him to see when they so chose.
Royce had once believed him; now, he believed MacNeil saw what he chose when he chose, and used the device of the power being controlled by the gods as an excuse to avoid fortune-telling.
It was hard to breathe—so much was at stake. “So ye dinna speak to Aidan.”
MacNeil shook his head. “I saw the future the day I summoned ye to Iona to tell about Ailios—the day I sent ye to 2007.”
Royce inhaled. “Are ye saying ye saw my death?”
“Aye.”
He shouldn’t be shaken. He was old and tired and worn and it was more than time to die. But he stood, shocked.
MacNeil also stood. “I’m sorry, Ruari. But 2007 is a long time from now.”
Royce turned away quickly so MacNeil would not see his expression. But what about Ailios? Who would protect her, defend her, when he was gone? Who would guard her while she healed? Who would share her bed?
He had thought about his death for centuries. He had never worried; he had accepted that one day, his Fate would be death. Now, he turned. “Are ye certain ye saw my death?”
“Aye, at Moffat’s hands—ye were protecting Ailios. Aidan was with ye.”
So it was written, he thought, walking over to the fire. He stared blindly into the flames. Ailios had hunted him down in the past to prevent his death in the future, but his Fate was engraved in stone.
It didn’t matter. No one would care.
I care!
Her voice resounded as loudly as if she stood beside him, crying out.
Ailios would weep for him. She had already wept over his dead body—and she would do so again.
He trembled, uncertain.
MacNeil clasped his shoulder. “We all go, eventually.”
Royce somehow smiled. No one knew MacNeil’s age, but it was said he was well over a thousand years old. “Ye’ll never die. Who will manage the Masters if ye do?” His voice cracked.
MacNeil stared sympathetically at him.
“Swear to me,” Royce said roughly, “that when I’m gone, ye’ll see to her care yerself. Yer the most powerful among us. Swear to me, now, that she’ll be yer Innocent.”
MacNeil nodded. “I give my word.”
Royce turned away, sickened now, for he saw them in bed. It was inevitable.
MacNeil said quietly, “I shouldn’t say so, but she loves ye deeply, Ruari. She’ll never love another man.”
He whirled. “Did ye see that, too?”
MacNeil hesitated. “Nay. I canna see past the day ye die.”
Royce thrust himself into MacNeil’s mind, and realized he was telling the truth. Clearly he had lurked on Ailios. Did it matter? Eventually MacNeil would seduce her. He would never think to deny himself, not with Royce gone.
Royce walked away. His temples pounded. He was supposed to wait five hundred and seventy-seven more years for her? For what—a single night?
One night was not going to be enough.
And if there was only going to be one night, he wanted it to be sooner; he wanted it to be now.
“Ruari, dinna give in to such temptation.”
Royce jerked. He was so agitated he’d forgotten to shield his thoughts.
“Moffat hunts her. I dinna ken what to make o’the fact that she’s here now, in this time—an’ ye dinna die for almost six hundred years. A long war lies ahead.”
And in that moment, it truly sank in.
Moffat would not die tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. He had to hunt him—but the hunt would last almost six hundred years—and in the end, he was to be the one vanquished.
And the burden of such an endless war, added now to the burden of the past eight hundred years, crushed him down.
“Yer strong. Ye can protect her for such a long time. I’m sure of it.”
Royce couldn’t answer.
For the first time in his life, he had entered a war knowing the outcome. It wasn’t war—it was a journey to his death.
And then he rallied and recovered. There was no choice. It was a journey he had to make, a war he must fight, because he had been chosen, and Ailios must live.
ALLIE WAS BATHED in holy light. She no longer prayed. On the floor of the knave, before a sacred shrine containing the holy Book of Wisdom, the Cladich, she knelt before all the gods. Their holy blessings washed over her, through her, and she wept, carried away on a tide of religious rapture.
When the communion was finally over, she became aware of her surroundings.
The gods had gone. Long, dark shadows had crept into the chapel.
Allie sat on the floor, dazed. She’d come into the chapel in the morning, instinctively finding her way to the shrine, and she had begun to pray.
The Ancients had come closer and closer, and finally she had been the one showered with their holy, healing powers.
The tears of rapture had dried on her face and now, they stung.
She felt empowered and weakened at once.
Allie stood and became dizzy. She reached out to a pew and waited for the chapel to stop spinning.
She’d never had such a religious experience in her life, but she was pretty sure every Ancient had come to her. It had been mind-blowing.
Allie took a deep breath and turned, her mind starting to clear. She thought about Royce, who had said they’d leave the island hours ago. Before she could decide what his mood might be at the delay, she saw the woman standing at the end of the knave, as if she had just walked through the door.
Her heart slammed. “Mother?”
Elizabeth was dressed in a long, pale gown, and she looked as corporeal as anyone. But the moment Allie spoke, Elizabeth began to fade. Through her body, Allie could see the chapel walls.
“Mother! Wait!” she cried. She rushed up the knave, toward her.
Elizabeth did not smile. As Allie came closer, she realized her mother’s expression was haunted. No, it was frightened. Allie paused before the translucent apparition, terribly alarmed. Elizabeth started to speak urgently to her—but Allie could barely hear her whispers.
“Mom! What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Danger…you…Ruari,” she seemed to say. And then she swiftly faded into nothingness.
Allie gasped in shock. What had just happened?