Dark Rival (14 page)

"Mum, I couldn't breathe!"

Allie lifted her cheek so she could smile at Royce, but this time, with promise. She needed him now, as soon as they got back to Carrick. She’d never had a man with her when she'd healed, much less one like this one. She'd given back life and now, she wanted to take something from him— pleasure.

He tensed. His eyes turned silver.

There was always a feeling of euphoria after a healing. Royce was going to make it a million times better.

His hands tightened on her waist.

"I be crushed. There be nay air. There be pain, blackness—I be dyin’!"

Allie turned slowly, so she remained in Royce s arms. She was about to tell the boy that it was over now and he was fine.

But the boy was staring at her as if fascinated—or horrified. He pointed, "Ye did it. Ye saved me!"

Royce s grasp on her shoulders tightened. "God saved ye," he said firmly. "T’was not yer time to die."

But the boy shook his head. “My lord. I think she be a witch!"

The crowd gasped as if one. Murmurs began, disbelieving and even frightened.

Allie tensed.

"Lady Ailios is my guest,” Royce said, sounding like a king, not a knight. No, he sounded like the emperor. "If ye accuse her, ye accuse me."

The boy paled.

Allie pulled away. “Royce, it's all right."

He gave her a hard look, which said, be quiet.

The heavy woman grabbed her son's hand. "His lordship and the Wolf dug ye out. Garret. They be good Christians. Thank ye, my lords, thank ye." She bowed her head, flushing. But when she lifted it, she looked right at Allie.

Her eyes were wide, bright and scared.

CHAPTER SIX

THE BOY’S SUSPICION had reduced her euphoria. So had the woman's unpleasant, frightened stare. They thought her a witch—and not a good one. So much for gratitude.

Once again, Allie wished she knew something about the Middle Ages. What she did know came from Hollywood, and she was pretty sure it wasn't accurate. But ignorance was ignorance in any time. Ignorance led to prejudice and that's when bad things happened.

The last remnants of her euphoria vanished.

She sat alone on Royce's mount—he had put her there because her feet were bare and sore—but she didn't mind. She'd been riding horses since she was four. However, he didn't know she could ride like the wind, and he led the horse up the hill. She didn't mind that, either. In a medieval way, it was gentlemanly. He wasn't being a jerk and telling her to hike up the hill alone.

But his face was hard and tight, Royce was very disturbed and if the truth be told, she wasn't thrilled with the way that woman had looked at her. She'd been caught using her powers many times, and usually, after the shock wore off, there was fear. The entire village had watched them leave, no one making a sound. She had been outed.

Should she worry?

The drawbridge and first gatehouse were ahead. Allie said, "I was the worst student in high school. In my senior year I didn't open a single book! But what I do know is that in Salem,
Massachusetts
, in the 1600s, witches were burned at the stake. And I'm pretty sure they weren't even witches, just young girls accused of being witches."

He turned to look at her, “I dinna ken any witch bein’ burned in Alba in this time."

She exhaled. "Well, that is a relief." She smiled at him.

He did not soften. "Yer never to display yer powers again."

Her smile vanished. "I am a Healer. It's what I do. If someone is in need, I will heal. I can't pick and choose the victims."

"Witches are imprisoned, stoned, outlawed. Take yer pick!" he exclaimed in agitation. He now led the bay horse over the drawbridge, Aidan abreast of them but quiet and thoughtful.

He was really concerned about her. And she'd be a fool not to listen to him, considering she didn't have a clue as to how dangerous such charges could be in the medieval world. "Okay, how worried should I be?"

"I’ll do the worrying. Ye dinna need fear. I said I’d protect ye an’ I will." They entered the middle ward.

Allie stared at his broad shoulders from behind. No one had ever told her not to worry, except for her mother, and that had been in her dreams—and her mother had been dead. She worried all the time. She worried about evil hunting Innocence and about getting to its victims in time to save their lives. She tried to imagine not worrying and letting Royce worry for her, and she felt as if a hundred pounds were being taken off her shoulders. But could she trust him enough to hand that burden over to him?

Her heart was racing. No matter how medieval he was, there was a bond between them. The one thing she was certain of was his strength. She could lean on him, count on him. She wasn't alone—and it was a relief. ''Maybe I will let you worry for me," she said softly.

Royce pulled the horse to a halt and faced her. "How can I protect ye if ye defy me foolishly—thoughtlessly?" he demanded, as if he hadn't just heard her.

She stared, becoming dismayed. "Don't do this," she tried. "Not when we’re becoming friends."

"I told ye to stay at Carrick. Ye disobeyed me."

She tensed with dread. They were going to fight—just when she was beginning to think she could adjust to his being a macho man. Unhappy, she slid from the horse and winced. She had been immune to the discomfort of being barefoot while racing over a rocky dirt road to save the boy, but now, her feet hurt.

Royce cursed and swept her into his arms. Ho bellowed for someone to take his horse and strode into the next gatehouse.

Surprised, Allie held on tightly. Her senses began to fire in delight. Being in his arms was so right. ''Let's keep the truce,” she whispered. “I am trying so hard to understand you."

"Ye disobeyed me,” he exclaimed, but with far less anger, his strides long and hard.

"I don't take orders from anyone," she tried to explain. "In my time, women are their own bosses."

"T’is my time."

She sighed. "Has anyone ever told you that you are macho to the core—and as difficult?"

He glanced down at her, his mouth in kissing range. "I dinna ken macho."

She didn't smile or reply. He wasn't all that angry now, and she bet she knew why. She slid her hands into the dark gold hair at his nape. She felt him tense" she smiled.

"You are always giving orders—and treating me as if I am weak," she said softly. “I’m not weak at all. I am trying to understand you. Why don't you try to understand me?"'

"Yer a woman an' ye talk too much," he said, as if that explained everything, and in his mind, it probably did. But his gaze was on her mouth.

She smiled again. She could manage macho. She was getting used to it. It was more bark than bite. And she didn't want to argue with him. Besides, he wasn't a very reasonable man so a debate was pretty pointless. In the end, the only way to get her way was through feminine manipulation.

Yesterday had been awful. Today wasn't awful at all. "I liked having you with me while I saved the boy," she said softly.

He gave her a dark look, but his eyes were silver. "Will ye try to seduce me now?"

"You're the one who put me here," she said, and their gazes locked. "And sometimes, I don't talk at all."

He halted and she felt the tension in him explode. “Do ye think of sex all the time?"

"I'm twenty-five,” she said swiftly. "What else should I think about—especially when I'm in your arms?"

He made a sound and continued on crossing the inner ward now. His face was set ruthlessly with determination. His temples were throbbing. Allie felt his pulse rioting, strong and thick, and bet a lot more than that was throbbing, too. "Can you deny that's what you think about—half of the time?" she asked, teasing now.

"Aye—half of the time. The other half I have grave matters to contemplate!”

She laughed and hugged him harder. Hugging him felt great. "Well that's the difference between a twenty-five-year-old and someone who's, how old are you?"

''I’m eight hundred an’ fifty-five." He kicked open the great room door. “Ceit! Peigi! Better he shouted in annoyance, but he put her in one of the two thronelike chairs as if she were a china doll that was about to break.

She'd had no idea he was that old. She touched his handsome face, wanting to stroke a lot more than his cheek. "I won't break. I'm sorry I had to disobey you.” She actually was. “But that boy needed me. You know he would have died if I’d waited for you to bring him to me."

His face tight, he made a harsh, grudging sound— possibly one of admission. Then, “Yer feet are bleeding.”

“It's only cuts. I'll have that beer now." She smiled at him. Had she just won a battle with him?

He gave her a cautious look. “I dinna ken the word."

"Ale?" she tried.

"T’is mead," he said. He turned to the three maids who'd run breathlessly into the hall. “Warm water, soap, bandages."

Allie now crossed her legs so she could inspect her feet. She had a few cuts and blisters that were no big deal. "I’ll be fine. I bet I'll be as good as new in the morning." She'd be better than new if this moment led to where they both wanted it to go.

Royce gave her a look that said she was not off his hook, and lie walked away. She had been right—his tunic had that terrific fold in it. Most importantly, he wasn't acting like an enraged medieval beast.

Allie watched him pour mead into a mug, pleased. He could act like an ass, but he was really concerned about her being accused of witchcraft. He was even concerned because she had slightly bruised feet. He could act like he didn't care, but he did. In poker, it was a called a "tell." Actions were everything.

Amazingly she had been in the fifteenth century less than twenty-four hours, and they were on the verge of friendship. It might be an unusual friendship, but his anger of yesterday had been diffused. What they had just shared in the village had somehow changed everything—for her anyway.

Aidan walked in. "Ye have a powerful white light," he said.

She grinned. “I’m glad you approve."

He smiled back. "How could a man nay approve, lass?"

"Pour it on," Allie said happily.

Royce returned, handing her the mug of mead. He gave Aidan an intense, cool stare.

Allie had the feeling he felt left out. And he was still jealous. She took a sip and reached for his hand. "Aidan is gorgeous, but we both know it's you I want "

He just shook his head. "So you admit ye lust after him, too."

"No, that's not what I said. I said I lust after you."

Royce met her gaze and she felt his sexual tension rocket, sky high. So did his temper. “This is a game for ye!"

Aidan laughed and left the room.

Her smile faded. "No, Royce, this isn't a game, I wouldn't have traveled back in time five entire centuries if this was a game."

Royce stared at her, unsmiling. Allie stared back. He hadn't moved his hand. She said softly. "Doesn't it feel right to hold hands—to touch?"

He pulled away. "I need to save ye—from yerself."

Allie started. "What does that mean?"

"Yer the most reckless woman I have ever seen. Yer more reckless than Aidan." He gestured at the open doors leading to the corridor and staircase. Allie saw Aidan returning—with two large Saks bags. She cried out in delight. "You did it!"

"Aye." He handed her the bags.

Allie forgot about her feet. She dug in and gasped in more delight. A green print jersey dress. Matching shoes. A long floral print skirt in white and rain bow hues. A tiny white tank to go with it. A denim mini. Cute tops. Skinny jeans. Jeweled low-heeled sandals by Giuseppe Zanotti. A white halter dress—summery, sexy, innocent, perfect. Oh, yeah, and a red drop-dead number by Escada, floor length, with red satin evening sandals.

She looked at Aidan. "I love you."

He beamed.

Royce turned red.

"Not meant literally," she told him. now standing, sore feet be damned. She reached deeper and pulled out a pink lace bra. She looked at Aidan in amazement. “I am not going to ask how you knew the right size."

"Lots of experience." His eyes gleamed.

Royce seized the bra. "Ye’ll not wear this chemise—a gift from him!" He threw it furiously aside.

Allie grinned. "I need to wear something!" She grabbed the bra and returned it to the bag and produced a handful of Hanky Panky lace thongs in assorted jewel tones instead. "Perfect."

Aidan was silent.

So was Royce.

Allie looked up. Aidan had a very sexual look in his eyes—he knew what a thong was for. He'd probably seen it on a mannequin—or he’d seduced a pretty sales girl and had her model it. But Royce was bewildered. His gaze kept going back and forth between the very tiny pink thong she held to her face. His expression was comical He didn't know what it was or where it was supposed to go.

She bit back a laugh.

He finally said. "Is that a garment?"

Aidan choked and walked out of the room.

Allie said. "Oh, yeah." And he heard the sexy note in her tone.

Royce looked at her face again, frustration covering his features. “Where, pray tell, do ye wear it?"

"You’ll have to wait and see " she murmured.

His eyes widened. He stared at the scrap of spandex lace as if waiting for it to speak up and identify itself. "Is that for yer hair?" he finally asked.

Allie choked on her own laughter now. "Not exactly." She turned away. She owed Aidan, big-time.

He seized her shoulder—and the thong. "Ye owe him nothing. I dinna like yer laughin' at me.”

Allie tried to stop smiling. "I'm not laughing at you— not really. But in my time, many women wear the garment— and everyone knows where."

He was red, "I’m from this time.”

"Do you want me to show you where it goes?"

He became wary instantly. "Aye.”

"Now?"

Very wary, he said. “This is a trap, aye? That little scrap of lace is an undergarment—it has two holes—for yer breasts."

She kept her face straight. "Sorry. But if you come upstairs with me, I'll show you. I'd show you here, but you will be really pissed if I do, especially if Aidan walks in."