Authors: Brenda Joyce
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #United States, #Romance, #Gothic, #Paranormal, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fantasy
Allie hesitated. “I don't want to fight. I'm sorry.” She finally smiled, meaning it. “I didn't travel back in time to fight with you.” She thought about her previous expectations that she would find him alive in 1430 and leap into his arms and his bed. “I was hoping we could start over, you know, have a truce.”
He started. “A truce? There's no war.”
“Good.” Allie smiled again—and this time, their gazes met and held.
Her heart turned over hard. He continued to stare, not searchingly, just boldly and simply. He didn't smile. Allie felt his pulse rising in his loins. She would never understand his decision last night to forsake her for someone else. Of course, it was for the best.
“Did something happen last night?” she asked. He tore his gaze away from her eyes, “I always sense evil. I can't imagine sleeping through a crisis.”
“No deamhanain attacked—the deamhanain will never attack Carrick.” He lifted a jug filled a mug and handed it to her.
Allie was surprised by the gesture. She smelled beer. “No, thanks.” His gaze lifted and their eyes held again. “Then why were you brooding last night.” She almost added, if you were brooding.
“Ye have enemies.” He reached for a trencher laden with bread, smoked fish and cheese. “Will ye break the fast?”
Having eaten the equivalent to about three meals the night before, Allie wasn't hungry. “I beg your pardon. I don't have enemies—not human ones. I'm a Healer. I have friends—tons of them, in fact.” She added. “Because I’m a nice person, in case you haven’t noticed.”
His gray gaze had drifted to the edge of her corset top. She hadn't been able to help herself and she had pulled it down as low as possible when getting dressed earlier. Another half inch would be immodest even for her. Tearing his eyes away, he said, “Moffat, a great deamhan, hunts ye or thinks to use ye against me.”
Allie looked at him, ready to laugh. Then she sobered, because Royce was dead serious.
Allie became alarmed, Moffat had killed Royce in the future. He was shrewd and dangerous. He'd seen one moment of opportunity—a moment she had inadvertently created—and he had taken it. “Moffat can't possibly have any interest in me.”
Royce s brows lifted. “Yer a great Healer. He may have powerful pages from the Boot of Healing, which belongs to the Brotherhood.”
“It was stolen centuries ago,” Aidan told her, “from its shrine in Iona.”
Allie tried to put the puzzle together. “I’m a Healer, but I don't know anything about the Book of Healing. I am certain Moffat isn't after me.”
Neither man appeared convinced. Worse, they exchanged looks she did not comprehend. “Moffat needs to die,” Royce said flatly, brooding now.
“I don't think you should hunt Moffat, Royce!” Allie was so alarmed at the notion that she seized his hand. Touching his skin was electric. Instantly she released him. “Please.” She tried to smile but was so worried, she failed.
He stared. “Ye dinna think me strong enough to vanquish him?”
She knew when to soothe ruffled male feathers. “Of course I do!”
Ho made a harsh sound. “I’m nay afraid to die, even now, an’ I'll do what I must do.” He stood.
Allie looked helplessly at Aidan.
As if reading her mind, Aidan said. “He kens Moffat murdered him in the future. I willna let him hunt the deamhanain alone.”
“Thank you,” Allie whispered. Surely, surely, Moffat would not murder Royce now, in 1430? And in the moment, her fear knew no bounds.
But Royce had turned and he stared coldly at them both.
Allie realized she was holding Aidan hand. She let go and said, “Royce's murder was not Fate. It was a mistake.”
Aidan returned. “Then why are ye so afraid? Why do ye believe Royce canna kill Moffat—that Moffat will live to kill him?”
Allie wrung her hands. “How can I not be afraid when I watched Royce die? Are you reading my mind?”
“Aye.”
Royce slammed his hand on the table, causing the jug, mugs and trenchers to leap. “The two of ye are fast friends? Since when? Since last night—when she bathed? What else happened last night?”
Allie gaped at him. He was jealous. Aidan didn't seem perturbed. “I like the lass. An’ she's worried for ye, jackal, not for me.”
Allie stood. "Royce, Aidan is my friend," she said carefully, still stunned and wondering if she was misreading him. “And he is becoming a good friend.”
Aidan smiled and said softly. “I'm her Knight of Swords.”
Royce s face hardened so she said quickly. “In my time, men and women are often friends!”
“Now ye'll tell me men an’ women are friends an' they dinna sleep in the same bed?”
“Yes, actually, most men and women do not share abed, just conversation, supper, wine.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aidan leaves today. Yer good friend has his own lands an’ affairs. And, Ailios? He keeps a mistress, one he is fond of.”
Allie said stubbornly, wishing she had something to knock over Royce's head. “He's my friend. A friend for conversation, nothing else.”
“Unfortunate as that may be,” Aidan murmured.
By now, Allie had realized he loved being an instigator. She gave him a dirty look.
“But ye wish to share wine with him,” Royce shot. “An' what else do ye wish to share?”
Allie shook her head in denial—when torment racked her.
She gasped, the flood of pain taking her by surprise, doubling her over. She could not breathe. Pressure crushed her. She was trapped. She could not move.
“Ailios!” Royce crouched beside her. holding her shoulders.
She was breathing without any difficulty, but she knew someone had just been terribly hurt, and whoever that person was, he or she was suffocating under a terrible weight. She looked up into Royce's wide eyes. And now, she felt the bleeding, inside his or her chest, and she felt sharp, stabbing pains, from the ribs. “Someone is hurt.” She stood. “Really badly hurt. He or she is going to die.” She stepped back from the table, Royce moving in unison with her.
“No!” She warded him off and moved into the center of the room, alone and sweating. She focused intently. So much pain. A lack of air. That awful crushing weight. Acid fear, gut wrenching fear.
She opened her eyes. “There's a village, close by, below us. Take me there.”
Royce took two strides and confronted her. “I'll go. Ye’ll stay here at Carrick. where it's safe. Whoever is hurt, I'll bring him to ye.”
Allie shook her head, trying not to erupt in anger. “There is no time, Royce. Someone has been crushed by stone. He or she will die, soon. I have to go!”
“Ye’ll stay here.” Royce said harshly. “Aidan—let's go.” He wheeled, Aidan already halfway to the door.
Allie was in disbelief. “Damn it! I’m coming, too!” She ran after them.
Royce caught her arm. “Ye willna heal in any public manner! Or do ye wish to be accused of witchcraft?”
She tried to free herself from his ruthless grasp. He gave her a dangerous loot and followed Aidan outside, slamming the door in her face.
She gasped, reeling. Didn't he understand? Who cared if the damn villagers thought her a witch? She flung the door open and saw Aidan and Royce galloping through the gatehouse. She ran after them and tripped in her platforms, falling hard. She spit dirt and got to her knees, watching the portcullis closing.
She began to shake wildly. The fear had escalated—and there was so little air!
“My lady, let me help ye,” Ceit whispered.
Allie looked at her. Then she unbuckled her shoes and stood without them. “Help me get out of here.”
Ceit paled. “His lordship—“
“His lordship is just a man—and he is wrong,” Allie cried.
Ceit turned even whiter.
Allie took a deep breath. It did not take a genius to know that Ceit was programmed to believe Royce as flawless as a god. She said, “Ceit, look at me.”
Ceit met her gaze.
“A boy has been hurt in the village, I can help him I have skills with broken bones! Please help me.”
Ceit nodded. “I can help ye, lady. Come.”
Her heart leapt, Ceit led her past the large, four-towered gatehouse, where both portcullises were closed. A huge circular corner tower was ahead. Allie realized it was another entry point—for through its passageway, she saw a closed portcullis and a second raised drawbridge. “Aye,” Ceit said. “But ye’ll never get out that way.”
Ceit led her into the tower, but not to the passageway leading through both iron gates to the bridge. They passed to the farthest corner, out into the next ward, and Allie saw a wooden door set in the castle's stone outer walls. It was so small that a man Royce's size would have to really squeeze himself through.
They darted to the door and leaned close to the wall in the shadows cast by the still-rising sun. Allie trembled. "What do I do when I get out? Isn't that a ravine surrounding the castle?"
Ceit nodded. "Go left. Follow the castle walls. There's a small bridge bangin' by ropes. Ye can cross the ravine that way."
Allie nodded, adrenaline pumping. "Is there a road to the village?"
Ceit nodded. "Keep goin' down the hill. The road will be on yer right. The village be but moments away, if ye hurry."
Allie hugged her and opened the door. She slid out, closing it, and then she hurried left along the castle walls. She knew there were men in the watchtowers, but she didn't dare look up. She prayed to the Ancients for their blessing, hoping one of them might hear her and put a spell of invisibility upon her.
She saw the bridge and stopped short. Holy shit.
It was made of planks of wood, hanging by two ropes, and it looked about as secure as a tightrope—no, less. The frigging ropes looked old and worn and rotten. But she had no time to linger and worry. A life was at stake. She started forward, and as she did. she could see into the ravine. She faltered.
It was a hundred feet below the grass where she stood. And she took one look at the jagged, deadly rocks at the bottom and she knew that if she fell, it was over. Those rocks were not an act of nature or of God. Men had put those rocks there, to kill anyone who fell from the bridge or castle walls.
She sucked air, seized the upper ropes and started crossing.
The wood groaned. The bridge swung. Something snapped.
Allie hurried across, the bridge swinging violently now, hoping that snap had not been the rope but one of her joints instead. She saw die other side. She ordered herself not to look down. She'd never minded heights before, but now, she hated them.
A plank broke away beneath her right foot.
She screamed and seized the upper rope, her heart thundering, and she watched the plank hit the rocks below, breaking into pieces as it did so.
But the bridge remained suspended. Breathing hard, she crossed the remaining distance, and hit solid ground.
Allie ran.
A ROCKSLIDE. Allie stumbled into the village, a collection of thatch and wattle huts, and saw the mound of rocks. Royce and Aid an were throwing boulders aside with their superhuman power. A dozen other men were helping, and no one seemed to care about the Masters' exceptional strength. A big woman stood weeping, two small girls holding on to her skirts. The entire village was probably present, perhaps two dozen men, women and children having gathered about the slide.
Allie ran forward, ignoring the sharp pain that every step caused her. Her experience of being barefoot was on the beach or at a picnic on a manicured lawn or while at the Korean pedicurist.
Royce straightened and looked over his shoulder at her. His gaze went wide with disbelief.
Allie ran to the pile of rocks and knelt there. And she felt that the boy—it was a boy, perhaps fifteen—was now unconscious. She poured her white light on him.
Royce started tossing more rocks and boulders aside.
Allie was vaguely aware of him and the other men. There was almost no air left and there was so much blood. She pushed more white light through the rockslide onto the boy, into him, healing his broken bones and crushed chest.
"I have a hand," Aidan said sharply.
Royce and Aidan redoubled their efforts.
Allie redoubled hers.
Suddenly Royce bent over her. "Can ye move for a moment?" he asked.
She nodded, stepping back, but she kept her light flowing over the boy, who was about to become exposed.
They tore at more rocks and his dirt-encrusted, bleeding face was revealed. Then she saw his shoulders, arms and chest. The woman screamed. "Is he alive? Does my Garret live?"
Allie scrambled to him. She held his young face in her hands and showered him with more white light. His eyelids lifted. His fingers moved. His gaze met hers.
She reached deep. The ribs were healed, but the lungs were sore and straining. She covered his chest. And she felt them begin to pump, at first faintly, then more distinctly. She saw his chest rising and falling now in a normal pattern. He would live. His pain finally vanished. She closed her eyes, filled with relief.
Royce laid his hand on her shoulder.
It crossed her mind that he was standing over her while she healed, a powerful guardian, and it was right. She smiled, eyes still closed.
"Garret!" the woman cried, kneeling beside Allie and seizing her son's hands.
Allie opened her eyes as Garret muttered and began to sit up.
"Yer alive.” The woman wept.
Garret sat up, seeming dazed but otherwise unhurt. Allie felt Royce’s hands on both her shoulders now. His grasp was warm, strong, impossibly reassuring. She twisted to look up at him and she smiled.
His gaze was unwavering, searching, and then his mouth softened. He slid his hands to her waist and lifted her to her feet. Allie turned so she was in his arms. She reached up, clasped his huge shoulders and laid her face on his chest. His tunic was soaking wet.
She smiled again. The sexiest man in the world, she thought. Desire began.
She had just saved an innocent life and her blood started to pump. Yeah. It felt good.
"Are ye weak?" he asked roughly.
"Give me a moment," she murmured, not wanting to move. She didn't care that he was covered in sweat. His sweat was sexy and exciting. He was sexy and exciting. In fact, she felt his manhood full and throbbing between them, but that was right, too.