Dark Rival (12 page)

She was a Healer before anything else, but she was a fighter, too. She'd been fighting demons since she was thirteen, and she’d managed to survive evil, in spite of her small size and her lack of warrior power. Fighting was instinctive for her. She was going to fight for a future with Royce. She was going to figure out how to prevent his murder in September 2007. And somehow, she'd survive his current and very unpleasant self.

Allie breathed hard. Her composure had returned, and so had her optimism. But then, she was an optimist by nature. Every time she failed to save a vie, it hurt and she cried. But the next night, she was out cruising again, trying to save the next Innocent. Giving up was not in her nature, not now, not ever.

She just couldn't help wishing she’d see a glimmer of her Royce somewhere behind that tunic and plaid. She loved the modern Royce, but she didn't like his antiquated self at all. Did Mr. Medieval even know how to smile?

And why wasn't she the one in his bed? Not that she'd let him touch her, after he’d been such a complete jerk!

She groaned. He was with another woman; she was still in love with his future self, and obsessed with his present self. Not good, but considering the high stakes, she'd have to deal.

Her door opened. As two lanky boys lugged in a wooden tub, keeping their eyes firmly on the stone floor. Allie smiled, her attention turning to her imminent bath—which she desperately needed. Their shyness amused her. Two men carrying buckets of steaming water followed. They kept their gazes averted, too, and Allie became suspicious. Surely these men hadn't heard about Royce almost emasculating that giant outside of the gatehouse?

“Thank you.” She smiled at them. “Thanks so much.”

They nodded but didn't look at her or even speak as they left.

Allie decided she should not be surprised—Royce probably instilled the fear of the gods in everyone at Carrick. Then she looked at the steaming bath and realized she'd have to put on her dirty clothes when she was done. Either that, or dress like the Highland women in those long, shapeless linen dresses.

She had a moment of doubt. Would Royce even look twice at her in such clothing?

She told herself that she was pretty no matter what she wore—and a good, decent person with a big heart. But Mr. Macho Man didn't give a damn about any woman's heart— he was interested in their bodies. She was sure of that! And she was shocked because she was suddenly uncertain and insecure. She had never worried about appearing attractive before, or about attracting anyone.

If at all possible, clothes from the future would be a big help. Instantly she thought of Aidan, who liked to shop. He hadn't seemed bothered by her anger toward him. Maybe she could convince him to help her out. She was pretty certain he was the Knight of Swords in Tabby's reading. In fact, he was truly decent—it was too bad the medieval Royce didn't have any of his charm or consideration.

A knock sounded on her door. Allie sensed male power, but not Royce's. She wasn't surprised to find Aidan standing there, smiling. There was a slight, mischievous gleam in his very blue eyes. He was still wearing jeans and his beloved jacket.

Allie grinned. “Telepathy? You knew I want to talk to you?”

“I heard ye thinking my name—quite a few times.” He shrugged but his bright gaze veered to the hot tub. “I do hope ye need someone to scrub yer back?”

Allie laughed. “When have you ever scrubbed a woman's back—without doing anything else?”

He grinned back at her. “Did I say I’d only wash ye?” But his gaze was direct.

This man could seduce a nun, Allie thought. “I'm taken; otherwise I’d share the bath with you.”

His smile flashed. “Aye, I ken. Royce is a fool in this time, eh?"

Allie tensed, imagining him with another woman.

Aidan touched her arm lightly. “I warned ye.”

“Yes, you did.” She couldn't smile now. “What is his problem?”

“Ye ken, he has no heart. Not yet”

“I can't even imagine how that is possible. You have a heart.”

Aidan's dimples deepened, “I like women, lass. I canna help but be nice to ye. Otherwise my bed would be cold.”

Allie hoped Royce did not become charming when he was intent on seduction. She hated the idea of even his medieval self charming anyone but her.

And Aidan seemed to read her thoughts. He said quickly. “He's cold in his soul, lass. He doesna speak warmly to anyone.”

“Why?”

Aidan shrugged. “Ye’ll be stay in’ on a bit, then?”

She became serious. “I won't let Moffat kill him in the future.”

Aidan sobered. “That be six hundred years from now— a very long time.”

“So you won't help me?”

“I dinna believe ye can change the future. When the Ancients write a man's Fate, t'is in stone.” His smile appeared. “So ye love him even if he is an ass?”

She flushed. “I do not love the jerk that just left the great room. But, one day, he will be the man I do love.” She hesitated and added. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

Aidan folded his aims. “And if ye dinna wish fer me to wash yer back, ye want what from me?”

“Don't you want me to apologize first for attacking you?” she asked softly.

His smile faded. “Lass, ye watched yer man die. I dinna need an apology.”

“You are so reasonable!” she exclaimed. She wished Royce had an ounce of Aidan's compassion. Then she smiled at Aidan again. “You do know that you're my Knight of Swords?”

Aidan looked mildly at her, amused. ‘I dinna think Royce would care to hear ye say so.”

She took his hand. “I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

He looked at their clasped hands. Allie felt his male interest escalate and she released his palm. “Could you please bring me some clothes from my time? I am not giving up on Royce and I need a few secret weapons.” She thought about Brian. He had really liked her. All of her boyfriends had adored her—and wanted her. Why should a medieval warrior be any different? Maybe a few sexy things would tame the beast.

Aidan's mouth curved. “He's a Master, lass. He doesna care what garments ye wear.”

She smiled grimly. “Actually you’re wrong. All men respond to the light red flags—just like bulls.”

Aidan laughed. “I’ll do as ye wish. I dinna mind seeing Royce acting like a bull.”

Allie sobered. “Why is he so angry? Why is he so set against me? Why is he with another woman, when I know he still wants me?”

“I dinna comprehend Royce at all. If I were him, I’d be in
 
that bath with ye, now. But, lass, he has made it clear he willna allow, another man near ye. And he dinna have to speak so boldly. I'd lose more than my head if I did share yer bath.”

Allie didn't hesitate, she touched his cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for being so generous of nature, so kind and for helping me through this really hard time. I can't thank you enough.”

Aidan's eyes gleamed. But he stepped away from her. Softly he murmured. “If ye decide to give up on Royce...”

“I will never give up on Royce.”

Their gazes locked. “Ah, well, a man must try.” He saluted her. “I'll find yer clothes.”

Allie watched him walk out.

ROYCE LAY IN THE BED, on his back, naked, hands beneath his head. He was more irate and frustrated than earlier, and the maid creeping out of his room did not help matters.

He sighed. "Peigi. I’m sorry….another time I’ll be more pleasing.”

She blushed, facing him and curtsied. “Ye be pleasin’ all the time.” That was a lie and she fled.

He hadn't been pleasing—he had been selfish and crude. He had spent ten minutes with her, no more, unable to stop thinking about Ailios. And he had the terrible suspicion that if he hadn't been thinking of the Healer, he might not have become aroused enough to climax.

That was unbelievable. It was all unbelievable. Bedsport was meant to last for hours—or an entire night. And he was always aroused. What the hell was this failure?

He was immune to witchcraft, otherwise, he’d think Ailios had put a spell on him.

He wasn't even sated, how could he be? He felt even hotter than before.

But now, he had to make amends to the wench, who was a good maid. She worked hard and never complained. She was lusty in bed. He'd find her a husband with a small farm. She had to be eighteen, maybe twenty. She was ready for bairns. As he sat up, the door opened. Only one man would enter without knocking. He considered Aidan the son he’d never had, as he did Malcolm, so he merely frowned.

Aidan glanced at him and grinned. “I wanted to thank ye for yer hospitality,” he said, clearly about to depart Carrick.

Royce stood, stalking to a huge chair and shrugging his leine on. His heavy leather belt followed. He never went unarmed, so his short sword and a dagger were added to the ensemble. “Since when do ye ever bother to say goodbye— or to thank me for anything, much less my hospitality?” He was annoyed and suspicious as he sat and yanked on his boots. And he did not like the amused look on his friend's face. It was as if Aidan knew he'd just had the one and only single failure of his life in bed with a woman.

“Yer guest asked me for a few things, so I'll be back in a few hours,” Aidan said innocently.

Royce stiffened and looked into Aidan’s eyes, then lurked.

Ailios lounged naked in a steaming bath tub, speaking to Aidan, smiling at him, as he stood admiring her face and figure.

“Ye watched her bathe?” he cried, aghast.

“Nay, I spent a moment with her before her bath, but Royce, for the gods, of course I am thinking about her in her bath.” He grinned and vanished.

Royce just stood there, hot and hard, steaming. Did Aidan want him to go to the tower and seduce the Healer? Did he desire such a union? If so, why?

Or had the sultry little Healer somehow seduced him to her will? Was she in her bath now? Did she think, he'd fall for such a ploy? Did she think to seduce him against his will? Did she not trust that he had a damned good reason for staying far from her bed?

He grunted and hit his fist against the wall. His stiff body cried out for release, but he was not going to Ailios now.

He knew a conspiracy when one was formed.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Allie hesitated on the threshold of the Great Hall. After a huge meal with a ton of meat— which she rarely ate at home—two glasses of wine and that steaming bath, she'd crawled into bed and passed out, the sun still in the sky. Not only had she slept deeply, but her sleep had been dreamless, which had to be a good thing.

Royce sat with Aidan at the table, having breakfast. He was already staring at the threshold when she paused there, clearly having sensed her coming downstairs.

Her resolve had strengthened from the afternoon before. She could survive the beast, and maybe even tame him. She would change the future, no matter what. She was well rested and she felt good, although she'd finger-combed her hair and wished she'd had clean clothes, a good brush and a mirror. She had known he was still in the castle. She'd felt his power below. What she hadn't expected was his eyes to turn bright silver when he saw her.

Her heart sped wildly with excitement and anticipation, as if he was her lover, not some nameless, faceless woman's. And damn it, medieval version or not, he looked so good— and his heat and powder pulled at lien. But he was not her Royce, and she damn well knew it. So she stared and her heart eventually got it and began to slow.

As if he knew of her initial excitement, a satisfied look settled on his face.

She smiled grimly, to herself. He had been impossibly rude last night, but she wasn't holding a grudge. They were going to have to get along, somehow, for the moment.

His gaze turned wary.

“Good morning,” she said, a bit too brightly. She crossed to the table, Aidan standing, as did Royce. That he would get to his feet in this persona surprised her.

Aidan smiled. “Ye look rested.”

“I slept like a log,” she told him, but she kept one eye on Royce, who merely nodded at her. However, he was acutely tuned to their every gesture and word. “Did you know my mother was from Kintyre, my father's parents from Aberdeen and Glasgow? This feels like home. The air is amazing. The views are amazing.” She turned her megawatt smile on Royce. She refused to let it falter, but now, she saw that he looked tired.

Of course he was tired—he'd been up all night with a housemaid. She increased the wattage. “How are you? Didn’t you sleep well?” she asked in a sugary tone.

He gave her an odd look. “I spent the night thinking about the deamhanain,” he said, and abruptly sat down.

She sobered. What did that mean? She glanced at Aidan, who gave her a heavy-lidded, enigmatic look. Was he telling her that Royce hadn't been amusing himself with a lover? Was he encouraging her? She walked around the table and sat down on the bench next to Aidan. Royce stiffened, seated alone across from them.

She ignored him and smiled at Aidan. “Did you sleep well?”

He grinned, “I had dreams,” he said. “Very pleasant ones.”

Allie got it and laughed.

Royce shoved his plate at them both. “Ye seduce her at the breakfast in my home?”

“If I wished to seduce her, I'd have done so last night.”

“Are you always so suspicious?” Allie was actually amused. If she didn't know better, she'd think Royce was jealous. ‘We’re just having a friendly conversation.” She kept glancing at his strong, bare forearms. He wore a huge gold cuff on his right bleep. It was damned sexy. She knew, what that arm felt like, too. He might be a helluva lot younger than her Royce, but she was pretty certain his body hadn't changed at all. “I am a friendly person.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ye weren't so cheery yesterday.”

“Yesterday I was dealing with a boor. I'm cheery, now.”

Royce shook his head, his eyes filled with annoyance. “Ye called me an ass yesterday, an’ now, ye call me a boor?”

If the shoe fits, she thought. A perplexed expression crossed his face. “You are my gracious host. You do know what that means?”

Aidan laughed.

Royce flushed. “Do I appear the village idiot? I ken yer English words, even with yer strange accent.”