CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She knew Royce would read her mind.
Now, she lay alone in her bed, a small fire in the hearth, listening for Royce. His chamber was next to hers, and about an hour ago she had felt his power still and soften. She was pretty sure he was asleep.
She hated betraying him this way.
Allie slid from the bed, clad in the medieval Highland version of a nightgown, and she knelt before the fire.
She wished Tabby were with her, because she needed a cloaking spell.
But her friend was far away in the future, and hopefully well on her way to recovery from her broken heart.
She didn’t do spells, so she prayed to the Ancients for their protection and guidance.
If she was very lucky, one of the gods would take pity on her and cloak her power from any who could sense it.
She was afraid that, even asleep, Royce would feel her leaving Blackwood Hall.
She was pretty sure he slept with one sense on her.
After praying for some time, Allie blew out the candles, certain no one had been listening to her.
It was late and she couldn’t delay. Her mother’s Fate was at stake.
She slipped on the emerald velvet dress, trying not to think about how furious Royce would be when he discovered her gone.
Hurting in advance for them both, aware that reconciling him to what she had done would not be easy, she took her dagger and soundlessly left the room.
She paused outside of Royce’s closed door, listening for him.
She sensed that he lay still and motionless, and while his power filled the chamber, it was quiet, making Allie certain that he remained asleep.
But he wasn’t at peace. Tension emanated from him.
Allie wondered if he was suffering from unpleasant and disturbing dreams.
She was afraid to open the door and check. On the other hand, if he was awake, she had to know, because the moment she went downstairs, he’d surely appear and prevent her from meeting Moffat. Stiff with anxiety, she grasped the door handle and gently pushed. The hinges creaked loudly.
Allie tensed and glanced into the chamber. Royce lay motionless on his back, one arm flung out, the covers pulled to his waist. He slept in the nude and his bare chest rose and fell in a steady, even rhythm.
Allie breathed hard and backed out, amazed he hadn’t awoken.
Then she turned and ran barefoot down the corridor and downstairs.
She let her senses drift behind her, but he wasn’t following her.
She sensed no one near, anywhere, and she crossed the hall.
She unbarred and opened the front door, the wood groaning, and instantly, she felt Speke’s soulless presence in the near distance.
Lust for pain and pleasure wafted from outside the walls, evil and potent, lying in wait there for her.
Allie bit her lip, feeling very much like a small prey, and she had to remind herself that Speke was the least of her problems. He was inconsequential, the messenger and the guide, and she was going to have to deal.
She stepped outside, leaving the door ajar so as not to make more noise.
She had become somewhat of an expert on castles in the past week, and she knew that every stronghold had a small door that could admit a man on foot or a single horse and rider.
Every castle also had secret exits, to be used in the event of a siege.
She did not know where the tunnels were at Blackwood, but earlier, she’d found the sally-port.
Allie crossed the bailey at a run, keeping close to the buildings and the walls.
She did not intend to be spotted by the watch.
The sally-port was on the eastern wall, and she unbolted it and stepped through.
Then she ran alongside the moat, which gleamed black as velvet in the starlight, heading south.
Still keeping as close to the wall as possible, she finally turned the corner. No watch shouted in alarm.
Her heart pounded. She had made it, but she was hardly pleased.
Speke’s sick lust was stronger now. Allie slowed, pretty sure he was thinking about her and just as certain she didn’t want to know what he was thinking.
Her gaze veered to the darkest place beneath the south wall.
She couldn’t see him, but he was there, and as she approached, her feet began to drag.
When she was a few yards away, she saw the outline of a small dinghy. His form emerged from the shadows.
Speke must have smiled, for his teeth flashed, glistening with saliva.
Her heart thundered now. Her grip on her dagger tightened. “Speke.”
“Lady.” He stepped forward and his gaze met hers. It was intense, bright, maddened.
Allie looked away, uneasy.
He dragged the rowboat to the moat and slid it silently into the water.
Allie didn’t move. His lust was hotter now, and she felt his energy roiling. She didn’t have to read his mind to know he was thinking about her in some very grotesquely sexual and sadistic ways.
How was she going to get into the rowboat with him?
How else would she cross the moat?
She could swim.
Except, her long gown would make swimming almost impossible. And she wasn’t about to strip down to almost nothing in front of this evil man.
“Come, Lady.” His teeth flashed again. Spittle dripped from his lips.
Allie could not believe she was such a coward, when she hadn’t even reached Moffat himself. She rushed past him and stepped into the rowboat, then held up her dagger threateningly. “Stop thinking about me,” she warned softly. “You touch me and you’re dead.”
His teeth flashed—as did his eyes. He stepped into the stern and picked up the oars. “So pretty…so small. So much skin to cut and taste. Have no fear, lady. I obey my master. He has forbidden me from cutting you, from tasting your blood. I’m not allowed to touch you, alas.”
Allie was not reassured. And Speke did not look upset. He looked pleased—too pleased. In that moment, she had a terrible foreboding that she would not make it to Moffat Hall in one piece.
AIDAN AWOKE.
He had been chosen ten years ago, even though his father, the earl of Moray, had been the most powerful deamhan in Alba for a thousand years.
He hadn’t understood why the Brotherhood chose him, and even though MacNeil had claimed it was his Fate, Aidan hadn’t truly believed it.
He wondered if he had been chosen because of his devout mother.
In truth, he hadn’t cared to be turned into an avenging hero of any kind, as he enjoyed his life far too much.
But once chosen, Moray had been hunting him, determined to turn him to evil.
Moray had been vanquished three years ago by his half brother, Malcolm, and his wife, Claire.
Aidan hadn’t believed it then; sometimes, in the midst of a nightmare, he did not believe it now.
How many nights had he awoken, a lover at his side, wet with sweat, oddly afraid, only to rush into his son’s chamber to make certain Ian lived and was still at Awe?
But his powerful deamhan father was dead.
Otherwise, he would have long since come back to destroy everyone—his own son and grandson included.
The vows were usually inconvenient. Rushing through time to protect the Innocent often interfered with his affairs, especially his love affairs. The Code he rarely bothered with. He hated rules in general, especially those handed down by the Ancients thousands of years ago.
But, oddly, he cared about Innocence, and he had done so even from the Choosing, when he was so ambivalent about the Brotherhood.
He could not comprehend why, as he was well aware that his nature was a selfish and hedonistic one, except, of course, when it came to his small son.
His greatest love, after little Ian, was beauty, and the pleasure that came from it in bed.
Every time he turned around, another beautiful woman awaited his attentions, or so it seemed.
And while he’d rather seduce Innocence than protect it, in the last decade, he had become a great defender after all.
He’d even heard bards sing his praise as if his powers were legendary. That had amused him to no end.
In the past few years he had come to care about his vows, too, although he would never openly admit it, and he was certainly not as fervent as the great Masters, men like his best friend, Royce.
Ruari Dubh had never condemned him for the fact of his paternity, he had never objected to his hedonistic ways and he had never criticized his failure to truly embrace the Code.
Most importantly, he had been more of a father to him than anyone.
Royce had even begged Malcolm to be a true brother to him, when Malcolm had first hated him, because of what Moray had done to their mother.
Aidan owed Royce more than he could ever repay and was acutely aware of it.
And his powers kept growing, month by month and year by year.
At first, there had been the stunning strength, the impossible stamina, the endless virility and the ability to leap time.
Then a healing power began—at first awkward and elusive, then increasingly steadfast and strong.
In the past years, his senses had begun to hone and sharpen in the most amazing manner.
He could sense evil from great distances, and identify its source.
The other week, he had sensed evil in the future, and he had leapt to 1552 in a faraway land to battle a horde of demons, in order to save a beautiful widow and her child.
The widow had repaid him handsomely in her bed. The child would one day be a King.
Now he sat up, fully awake, aware of evil very close to the castle walls. He focused. A relatively weak but sickly evil human was at the south walls.