CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
Moffat sat; Royce seized him, so he could not leap. In that moment, he felt the deamhan’s black power returning. He struck, intending to behead him this time.
And Moffat leapt anyway.
But Royce was ready. Anticipating the leap, he went with him, his blade cutting into his throat and jugular artery as they were hurled past the huge towers and into the void of timeless space.
Moffat howled in rage and pain.
Flying through the stars and moons, through meteors and rock, past suns, the force now threatening to tear him limb from limb, Royce finished the thrust, slicing through Moffat’s neck.
For one more instant, their gazes remained locked.
Royce felt savage triumph. He released his sword and watched it spin away into infinity.
Moffat’s gaze became incredulous, and then his head and body separated and were hurled away toward other galaxies.
Royce gave over to the leap with his body, and, suddenly exhausted, he willed a landing, any landing, anywhere…in any time.
WHERE WAS ROYCE?
Allie huddled in one of the two large chairs in Carrick’s hall, sick with fear and despair.
She’d arrived home in the late afternoon of the exact day she’d been seized by Moffat at Blackwood Hall.
It was almost midnight. Royce had vanished into time, pursued by Moffat, over twelve hours ago, if she dared count the hours in a normal way.
Where was he? What was happening? Why hadn’t he returned to her?
Allie was so afraid, and no matter how Ceit and Peigi hovered, how kind they were, how attentive, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach would not subside.
She felt power approaching and cried out but it was Aidan who strode into the hall, his face hard and grim.
Allie gasped, “Where is Royce?”
“I dinna ken,” he said.
Allie shivered, a terrible cold stealing over her already chilled body. “What does that mean?”
He paused by her chair. “I followed them to a French city in the seventh century, but they leapt so quickly, I landed after them. I managed to chase them to the eighteenth century but they were long gone by then—an’ I could not find their trail.”
Allie choked on more fear. Moffat was hunting Royce through the centuries. “Try again!”
“I canna,” Aidan said fiercely. “Ye dinna think I wish to find the man I love as a friend, a brother and a father, all at once? They’re gone, Allie, long gone, an’ they could be anywhere, in any time.”
She felt her tears finally falling. “It’s been hours and hours. Oh God. What could be happening?”
Aidan did not answer, laying his large hand on her back. “Have ye eaten? Have ye taken some wine? Ye need to do so an’ get rest.”
“I am not resting,” she flashed furiously. “I am sitting right here, waiting for Royce to come home!”
His expression grave, he left her to go to the table, where he poured a mug of wine and began sipping it. Allie stared. She had never seen him so somber. In that moment, she knew he thought Royce dead.
She would never believe it.
But when midnight came and went, she curled up in her chair and wept.
FIVE DAYS LATER, Allie was standing on the ramparts of the southern walls, staring listlessly across the ravine and adjoining lands, wishing Royce would miraculously appear before her very eyes.
She was so afraid he would not. As she stood there, one of his heavy plaids wrapped around her green velvet dress, she saw three riders approaching.
Not a one was Royce, although they were Masters all, and she let the tears freely fall.
She wasn’t going to believe he was dead. She would never believe it. But why didn’t he come home?
She didn’t move as the riders galloped closer, finally crossing the drawbridge. A moment later she turned and saw MacNeil, Seoc and another Master whom she did not know dismounting in the bailey below. MacNeil glanced up and raised his hand. Allie could not wave back.
She turned away, her back to the men. She prayed to her grandfather that MacNeil brought good news, but his expression had been severe.
Power approached. It was a power she had yet to feel, hot and impatient, battle ready. She turned and stared at a dark, blue-eyed man clad in thigh-high boots, a red and black plaid worn over his leine. In spite of his intense presence, his searching blue gaze was soft with sympathy.
Allie tensed.
He was reading her mind, because he smiled. “Aye, lady, I’m yer brother, Guy Macleod.”
Allie breathed hard. She looked at him, thinking about the fact that he was a powerful man she could depend on—her only family in this time.
Aidan had stayed at Carrick, but she knew he was ready to go home to his small son.
Guy was a stranger, but she needed him. “Thank you,” she managed to say, realizing she might break down at any moment. “Thank you for coming.”
He studied her for a moment. “Do ye wish for me to call ye Ailios or Allie?”
“Allie,” she said, because there was only one person whom she wished to hear the name Ailios from. “I need Royce,” she heard herself say brokenly.
His slight smile vanished. “It has been five days since he was last seen outside Eoradh in the sixth century. T’is time to grieve.”
“No! Is that why you came? To tell me to give up hope?”
“Yer my sister. I came to invite ye to Blayde. I have a wife an’ she can comfort ye.”
“I am not leaving Carrick,” Allie cried. Tears fell. “I appreciate your offer. I can’t leave…not yet.”
He said carefully, “If Royce could return, he would.”
Allie began to cry.
Guy Macleod laid his large hand clumsily on her shoulder. “Ye need to come with me to Blayde,” he said. “Yer my sister. T’is my duty to care for ye now.”
Allie shook her head, backing away.
He became coaxing. “My wife is very kind. Ye’ll like her.” He hesitated. “She’s from yer time.”
“I have to wait for Royce,” Allie tried desperately.
“Then wait with me and Lady Tabitha at Blayde.”
She shook her head to clear it; she couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon. You didn’t say your wife’s name is Tabitha?”
He seemed perplexed. “Aye, I did. Ye’d like her greatly—everyone likes Lady Tabitha,” he said.
She was in disbelief. “Not Tabby…my Tabby?”
“I dinna ken.”
“Is she dark blond and beautiful, a good hand taller than I am? Does she cast spells?” Allie cried. “Does she use Tarot? Did you find her in New York?”
Guy’s eyes went wide. “Keep yer voice down. She’s no witch. But aye, I found her there in the year 2008.”
Allie simply stared, stunned.
ALLIE STOOD at the canopied entrance of her Park Avenue home.
The city hadn’t changed. Park Avenue was bumper to bumper with yellow cabs and luxury black sedans. Horns blared. Pedestrians rushed up and down the sidewalks. The center of the street was abloom with flowers. No litter marred the clean, swept sidewalks.
It was September 21. She could have returned home at any time, but it had seemed appropriate to return two weeks after Royce had been murdered by Moffat at modern-day Carrick—because she’d been waiting in the fifteenth century for two weeks for him to return.
Royce’s Fate was engraved in stone. Moffat had been meant to murder him, and apparently, he had done just that in 1430.