Page 119 of Dark Rival

He had been chosen ten years ago, even though his father, the earl of Moray, had been the most powerful deamhan in Alba for a thousand years. He hadn’t understood why the Brotherhood chose him, and even though MacNeil had claimed it was his Fate, Aidan hadn’t truly believed it. He wondered if he had been chosen because of his devout mother. In truth, he hadn’t cared to be turned into an avenging hero of any kind, as he enjoyed his life far too much. But once chosen, Moray had been hunting him, determined to turn him to evil.

Moray had been vanquished three years ago by his half brother, Malcolm, and his wife, Claire. Aidan hadn’t believed it then; sometimes, in the midst of a nightmare, he did not believe it now. How many nights had he awoken, a lover at his side, wet with sweat, oddly afraid, only to rush into his son’s chamber to make certain Ian lived and was still at Awe? But his powerful deamhan father was dead. Otherwise, he would have long since come back to destroy everyone—his own son and grandson included.

The vows were usually inconvenient. Rushing through time to protect the Innocent often interfered with his affairs, especially his love affairs. The Code he rarely bothered with. He hated rules in general, especially those handed down by the Ancients thousands of years ago.

But, oddly, he cared about Innocence, and he had done so even from the Choosing, when he was so ambivalent about the Brotherhood. He could not comprehend why, as he was well aware that his nature was a selfish and hedonistic one, except, of course, when it came to his small son. His greatest love, after little Ian, was beauty, and the pleasure that came from it in bed. Every time he turned around, another beautiful woman awaited his attentions, or so it seemed. And while he’d rather seduce Innocence than protect it, in the last decade, he had become a great defender after all. He’d even heard bards sing his praise as if his powers were legendary. That had amused him to no end.

In the past few years he had come to care about his vows, too, although he would never openly admit it, and he was certainly not as fervent as the great Masters, men like his best friend, Royce. Ruari Dubh had never condemned him for the fact of his paternity, he had never objected to his hedonistic ways and he had never criticized his failure to truly embrace the Code. Most importantly, he had been more of a father to him than anyone. Royce had even begged Malcolm to be a true brother to him, when Malcolm had first hated him, because of what Moray had done to their mother. Aidan owed Royce more than he could ever repay and was acutely aware of it.

And his powers kept growing, month by month and year by year. At first, there had been the stunning strength, the impossible stamina, the endless virility and the ability to leap time. Then a healing power began—at first awkward and elusive, then increasingly steadfast and strong. In the past years, his senses had begun to hone and sharpen in the most amazing manner. He could sense evil from great distances, and identify its source. The other week, he had sensed evil in the future, and he had leapt to 1552 in a faraway land to battle a horde of demons, in order to save a beautiful widow and her child. The widow had repaid him handsomely in her bed. The child would one day be a King.

Now he sat up, fully awake, aware of evil very close to the castle walls. He focused. A relatively weak but sickly evil human was at the south walls.

And instantly he felt the Healer’s white power there, as well. Aidan tensed, surprised. Her power was usually blinding, for it was such a huge healing light. But now, it was faded and weak, almost imperceptible. He knew she had disguised it.

Alarm filled him.

What ruse was this?

But hadn’t she wished to trade herself for her mother from the start?

Where was Royce?

He leapt from the bed, seizing his belt and swords, which lay on the floor by the head of the bed, in easy reach. He was buckling the belt as he strode into the corridor. At the far end, Royce’s door flew open and he came out, his face hard. “Evil comes,” he said tersely.

And Royce flung open the Healer’s door. He froze.

Aidan felt his shock and then his disbelief. He hurried to him. “She’s nay there. She’s at the south wall—with the blackened human.”

Royce turned to him, the terrible comprehension filling his eyes.

Aidan said urgently, “She’s disguised her power, mayhap with a spell. But I can sense her.” His focus sharpened. “She’s with evil named Speke, a henchman o’ Moffat.”

Royce shook. “She gave me her word that she would obey me.”

Aidan already knew his friend was in love with the Healer, even if he would never admit it. It still surprised him that Royce, a true soldier of the gods, a man committed to his vows, had become smitten by a woman, for it was against the foolish rules. But he was gladdened, for he liked Allie and knew how deeply she loved Royce. It was pleasant to see actual expressions on Royce’s face, to sense his happiness and even see him smile. Now, he feared for them both. He grasped Royce’s arm. “We need to hurry.”

Royce looked at him, his gaze as cold as ice. “She betrayed me.”

And Aidan knew that comprehension was the knife in his heart, severing their bond and sealing their discordant Fate.

Sorrow crossed Royce’s features, followed by a terrible look of anguish, and then all emotion was gone. He strode down the hall. He slammed his fist on Blackwood’s door but did not stop. Aidan followed him, wishing the Healer had thought about what breaking her word would mean to a man like Royce. She was in trouble, but when the trouble was ended, Royce would turn from her. Aidan felt sorry for them both.

And then he felt her pain.

So did Royce, for he paled—and he began to run.

THEY HAD BEEN TREKKING across the rolling, wooded hills for about twenty minutes, Allie clutching her knife, her palms wet with sweat. She was acutely aware of the pressure building in Speke. He didn’t look at her, but his energy had been roiling ever since they had rowed across the moat together. It had been growing hotter and hotter by the minute. His head was down now. She didn’t like what was happening. She felt his mind racing in frantic circles. It was as if he was tormenting himself with his thoughts of her.

She sensed him losing control. She prayed it was her imagination. She walked several steps behind him now, ready to defend herself at the slightest provocation.

He stopped.

Allie almost crashed into his back. She halted and leapt away from him. Past him, below in a small valley, she saw the light from the fires of a small village. But she did not sense Moffat’s huge black power there.

Speke turned, his eyes gleaming red in the starlight. “You’re afraid.”

“Not at all,” she lied thickly. She held up the knife, pointing it at him.