Page 107 of Dark Rival

Royce didn’t speak. Incredibly his face was now a mask of indifference. He inclined his head.

Joan clapped her hands. A lady ran to her and Joan handed her the dress, then she and her women marched out.

Allie turned into his arms. “Bring me the puppy,” she cried frantically.

ALLIE HUGGED THE PUP, who licked her cheek enthusiastically. Healing the dog had taken about three minutes, an indication that she had her powers back.

Then, the pup nestling in her lap as she sat in her bed, stroking it, she thought about the bitchy Queen. There was no question as to what she must do.

She was a Healer and her power was white. Just then, she wished it were black and that she could cast spells like Tabby, or even Sam, who was not that good at them.

But she wasn’t a witch and she had never cast a spell in her life. However, she was the granddaughter of a great and powerful god. She had to try to use her power to incapacitate Joan.

It went against her very nature and even her every instinct. She had been put on this earth to help people. Joan was a very unpleasant, power-mad woman, but she wasn’t evil. But Joan had made herself clear. She was going to use Royce as if he were a gigolo. Allie wasn’t going to share her man.

As Allie stood, leaving the puppy napping on her bed, unhappy with what she had to try to do, she suddenly saw her mother in the mirror over a chest. Her reflection was frightened.

She whirled, but no one was standing behind her. She faced the mirror, breathless, but the image of Elasaid was gone.

So much had happened since yesterday afternoon, when she had thought she’d seen her mother at the shrine on Iona. She’d forgotten to mention it to Royce—she’d pretty much forgotten it herself.

“Mom, what is it?” she cried. Oddly she was starting to think of her mother by her Gaelic name—her real name, not the English translation.

Elasaid did not reappear.

This was the third time her mother had visited her since the South Hampton fund-raiser. What did that mean? Allie was certain she’d been warning her last time, but this time, her message, if there was one, had been impossible to decipher. However, there had been no mistaking her expression of fear.

Allie scooped up the pup, which wriggled happily, licking her cheek. She hugged it, wishing she could communicate with Elasaid, when she felt evil.

It stopped her in her tracks.

It was coming from the hall below.

Not the great, overpowering evil of someone like Moffat, for this presence was weaker, far different, and very human. Allie felt so much depraved lust. Not for power and pleasure, but for physical pain and monetary gain.

Allie hurried downstairs toward the great room. There she faltered in surprise, because Aidan was with Royce. They were standing by the table, a small, slender man clad in English dress with him. His black stench turned her stomach instantly and Allie knew he was the source of the evil she had sensed.

He had seen her, too. As he stared at her with dark, soulless eyes, she knew he could not wait to find someone or something to torture. She knew he’d done so a thousand times, and would do so again.

Royce strode to her, his face hard and grim.

Allie looked toward the table and saw a document there. Their visitor’s presence was disconcerting her, but like smoke, true evil wafted from the page. It was a hundred times more powerful than their human guest. “Who has called, Royce?” she asked, putting the puppy down.

“Godfrey Speke. He brings a missive from the south.” Royce’s tone was noncommittal.

Allie stared into his gray eyes and froze. Instead of Royce, she saw the bishop of Moffat, tall, golden, sinfully handsome, sitting at an ebony desk, a crystal glass of wine in hand. He was clad in crimson velvet robes. A quill and more parchment were upon the desk in front of him. She did not have the power of Sight, but the image was so vivid and strong, she was certain that Moffat sat at a desk somewhere just then, thinking about her—reaching out to her with telepathy. And the bishop lifted the glass and saluted her with it.

Allie jerked herself back to the hall, shaken. Her gaze moved to the small man standing by the table. It was hard to focus on Speke, when Moffat had just sent his version of a greeting to her, over hundreds of miles and perhaps, hundreds of years.

Wait here. I’ll send Speke on his way. Royce communicated with her silently.

A good idea, Allie responded. I don’t think he should spend the night inside Carrick’s walls. She walked over to Aidan, who appeared entirely unperturbed.

Speke smiled obsequiously and greedily at Royce. “What reply shall I bring His Lordship?”

“This is my reply,” Royce said. He took the parchment and ripped it in two, then handed the parts of the page to Speke. “A guard will see you off Morvern lands. If the dawn finds any man, woman or child missing, hurt in any way or dead, I will dispatch ye to hell myself.”

Speke snarled. “I have ridden hard for two days. You do not offer me a meal, wine and a bed?”