CHAPTER FOURTEEN #4
Allie looked toward the table and saw a document there. Their visitor’s presence was disconcerting her, but like smoke, true evil wafted from the page. It was a hundred times more powerful than their human guest. “Who has called, Royce?” she asked, putting the puppy down.
“Godfrey Speke. He brings a missive from the south.” Royce’s tone was noncommittal.
Allie stared into his gray eyes and froze.
Instead of Royce, she saw the bishop of Moffat, tall, golden, sinfully handsome, sitting at an ebony desk, a crystal glass of wine in hand.
He was clad in crimson velvet robes. A quill and more parchment were upon the desk in front of him.
She did not have the power of Sight, but the image was so vivid and strong, she was certain that Moffat sat at a desk somewhere just then, thinking about her—reaching out to her with telepathy.
And the bishop lifted the glass and saluted her with it.
Allie jerked herself back to the hall, shaken. Her gaze moved to the small man standing by the table. It was hard to focus on Speke, when Moffat had just sent his version of a greeting to her, over hundreds of miles and perhaps, hundreds of years.
Wait here. I’ll send Speke on his way. Royce communicated with her silently.
A good idea, Allie responded. I don’t think he should spend the night inside Carrick’s walls. She walked over to Aidan, who appeared entirely unperturbed.
Speke smiled obsequiously and greedily at Royce. “What reply shall I bring His Lordship?”
“This is my reply,” Royce said. He took the parchment and ripped it in two, then handed the parts of the page to Speke. “A guard will see you off Morvern lands. If the dawn finds any man, woman or child missing, hurt in any way or dead, I will dispatch ye to hell myself.”
Speke snarled. “I have ridden hard for two days. You do not offer me a meal, wine and a bed?”
Royce ignored him. “An’ if I find mutilated sheep, cattle or horses, I’ll hunt ye down, as well. I’ll enjoy mutilating ye, Speke.” He strode across the hall and jerked open the door. Six of his men appeared. “Get him off my lands. Guard yer backs.”
Speke looked at Allie. His gaze glittered with anger and demonic lust. She stepped back, as if that might deter whatever horrific thoughts he was having.
Aidan touched her shoulder reassuringly, while saliva appeared on Speke’s thin lips.
He licked them. Then he left the hall. Royce slammed the door behind him.
But evil remained, and it was coming from the parchment.
Allie’s gaze went to the halves of the page, now on the floor. Speke had dropped them—he’d left them purposefully, she had no doubt. Her heart lurched and her body tensed.
Moffat leaned back in a carved, thronelike chair. He lifted his hand, as if toward her, and a ruby signet ring winked in the firelight. Soon, Ailios, soon.
Allie leapt, hearing his silken tone as clearly as she’d just heard Royce. “What does Moffat want?” she cried.
She saw Aidan and Royce exchange looks. Aidan turned to her. “Ye listen to Royce,” he advised. Then he leaned close. “Ye left Iona in a great rush, lass.”
Allie couldn’t dissemble. “I had to go. I had no choice.”
“Aye, I see ye did. Well, ye won’t have to worry about the Queen after this night.” He smiled arrogantly and left the hall, heading up the stairs.
It took Allie a moment to comprehend him. She whirled to face Royce. “Wait a minute! You asked him to go to Joan!”
“He doesna mind. An’ she willna be thinking o’ me in another moment.”
“It’s not right!” Allie cried.
Royce said softly, “Aidan is very young an’ very hot, Ailios. If he wasna in Joan’s bed this night, it’d be someone else’s. Do ye think she’s the only royal who uses her power to take lovers at whim?”
Allie stared searchingly, but realized he was right.
As little as she cared for history, she did know the story of Henry VIII.
He was surely not the only King to use his crown to acquire lovers.
Before she started feeling sorry for Aiden, she remembered he was a big-time player.
The Queen was young, pretty and lush. He was probably eager to jump into her bed and amuse himself. “We owe him.”
“Aye.”
Allie met his serious gray gaze. His tension filled the room—and it had nothing to do with Joan.
As she stared, words tried to form in her mind. She realized she was on the verge of reading his thoughts. Surprised, she strained to make sense of the jumbled language. She couldn’t.
But she saw an E in her mind’s eye, drifting upward like smoke, followed by an L and an A.
“You’re thinking about my mother!” she said.
He started.
“What has happened?” she cried. “What did that letter say?” She inhaled. “It was from Moffat!”
Royce stepped away from her. “The missive is a ruse.”
Allie didn’t like his avoidance of her question. “What did it say?”
His nostrils flared. “It doesna matter. I will protect ye. Dinna worry, not now, not ever. Let us discuss the next few days.” He softened slightly. “While Joan is with Aidan, I can take ye far from here.”
“Into another time? So I can hide there while you return here?” Allie shook her head.
“Royce, we have to talk. I had a visit from my mother yesterday at the shrine. She was really distressed, even frightened. I think she was trying to warn me about something. And I just saw her a moment ago, upstairs, in my room. Something bad is happening—or about to go down!”
His eyes flickered. He quickly looked away.
She gripped the edges of his plaid. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He cursed, finally meeting her gaze. “Moffat plays games, Ailios, that is all. Elasaid is dead.”
And Allie had a horrific inkling. “You are linking Moffat and my mother in the same breath!”
“T’is a ruse,” he repeated firmly.
“You had better tell me what Moffat said—what he wants!”
Royce breathed hard. “He wants to trade ye for Elasaid.”