Page 44 of Dark Rival

“Royce!”

“Ye amused yerself—ye and Aidan, with the fucking lace.” He was furious now. He wheeled, striding for the door.

“I thought we could become close this way!” she cried, aghast.

He paused, his face livid. “Ye thought wrong!”

Allie cried out. He stormed from the chamber and she started to run after him, then stopped herself. She had done the right thing.

Trapping him was wrong.

Sex in the heat of lust and anger was wrong.

Because she was falling in love with the medieval Royce, too.

ALLIE SAT ALONE at the trestle table in the great room, having eaten a midday meal. Royce was gone. He’d left Carrick with a band of armed men, but no one had been in armor, which was somewhat comforting. Ceit said he had clan matters to attend.

She owed him a huge apology. And she didn’t have to know him well to guess that he wasn’t going to be inclined to accept it, either.

But she wasn’t going backward. They’d formed a bond, a partnership of sorts. One step at a time, one day at a time, and no more rash seduction. Too much was at stake.

She hated herself for hurting his pride with the stupid thong.

Allie took a sip of wine. Then she tensed, aware of discomfort. Somewhere at Carrick a young child was feeling ill and running a low fever. In fact, the child was close by.

She stood. There were probably a few ill people on the castle grounds. Suddenly she was serious and intent. Like a doctor, she’d make rounds.

“Lady?” Ceit hesitated on the threshold of the room.

Allie smiled. “Yes?”

Ceit seemed nervous. “A woman from the village wishes to see ye.”

Allie was alarmed. “Is it Garret’s mother? The mother of the boy who was caught in the rockslide?” But the sick child was even closer now.

Ceit shook her head. “Nay, t’is Magaidh an’ her bairn.”

Allie’s eyes went wide. Instantly she realized that the boy was the sick child she had been sensing. “Send them in,” she said quickly.

A moment later Ceit showed a thin woman Allie’s age into the great room. The woman was carrying a sick toddler. Recalling Royce’s orders not to heal publicly, she firmly asked Ceit to leave them alone, and when she had stepped out, Allie closed the doors. Then she turned to Magaidh, who was gaunt and worried.

Allie smiled reassuringly at her.

Magaidh bit her lip. “Lady, thank ye for seein’ me.” She trembled and Allie felt how nervous she was.

“It’s all right,” Allie said, taking her hand. “Your son is sick. But he won’t die.”

Magaidh’s eyes shot to Allie’s. “Can ye heal him? He’s been poorly fer days,” she whispered.

“Can you keep this a secret?” Allie asked, thinking about Royce again. She owed him. If he thought she should be discreet, she would try.

Magaidh nodded.

Allie took the toddler in her arms. He started crying. He did have a fever, but it wasn’t terribly high. He had a sore throat, though, and Allie knew it could be strep—which could be fatal without the proper care. Allie stroked his brow and smiled at him, sending a white healing light through him. As he wasn’t very sick, he was easy to heal. The little boy started smiling and playing with her hair.

Magaidh’s eyes were popping. She touched her son’s brow. Her eyes went impossibly wide.

Allie looked at her. “I am not a witch. I am a Healer.”