Page 45 of Dark Rival

“Thank ye,” she cried. She kissed Allie’s hand, took her son and hurried from the room.

Allie followed her to the open door. Magaidh paused before Ceit. “She healed him.” Then she ran down the corridor and outside.

Ceit turned and looked at Allie, her eyes wide with fear.

Allie sensed so much suspicion and wariness. She walked determinedly over to her. “I haven’t thanked you for helping me get out of Carrick this morning.”

Ceit shook her head, backed up, turned and ran.

“Great,” Allie muttered. She folded her arms and stood there grimly. Making rounds was not a good idea. Not right away, anyway. Besides, no one was seriously ill. If someone was suffering and in danger of losing his or her life, she would feel it.

She really hoped Ceit or Magaidh did not start a nasty rumor.

HE WAS EAGER, too eager, to return to his home.

He had been anticipating the moment for the entire day. Now, his foolish heart sped and raced, for he was riding across the drawbridge.

Images of the little Healer were suspended in his mind, and no matter the issue at hand, even as he settled a dispute with a rival chief, she remained there, hovering, like a tiny, sultry, tempting fairy. He was beginning to think himself enchanted.

He could not cease recalling her in the low-cut, linen bodice and that tiny scrap of pink lace.

And he recalled her kneeling at the rockslide, too, straining to heal the stranger buried below.

He had been stiff with lust for most of the day. Now, uncomfortable and more displeased than he could ever recall being, Royce leapt from his steed and handed the hotheaded white charger to a young lad. “Cool him well,” he said. He smiled at the boy, Donald, even though he barely saw him.

“Aye, milord,” young Donald said eagerly.

His displeasure was double-edged. Aidan had joined her in the jest, and the jest had been on him. He flushed. No man from his time would have ever dreamed she wore it as she did.

And she had ruthlessly played him. He had broken his resolve and had been able to think of nothing other than getting her into bed and beneath his body. He had been about to finally experience her very warm depths. She had then refused him. Women did not refuse him. They fought for his attention. Then they begged for more.

But she had broken him and then turned him away.

The warmth in his cheeks increased. Hadn’t he known, from the very start, that she could seduce the Pope? She was the victor here. She was lord and master, not he!

He did not like being made a fool of and he did not like being played. He could have had his way with her because she had been as hot as he was. With another woman, he would have stroked and caressed her and had her crying out in a climax before they’d ever gone to bed. He had walked away from this one, but he was still the defeated party.

He’d walked away, but not because he’d wanted to. That morning, in her chamber, he’d wanted to fuck her a hundred times—and watch her take her pleasure a hundred times, too.

Not this way. Not with anger….

He had walked away because of the torment, doubt and regret in her eyes. Was he now twice the fool? Had he really seen such emotions? And why, the gods damn it, did he care?

He strode through the gatehouse and into the inner ward. If he cared, it was because she was a Healer and she was a part of the Ancients’ plan. If he cared, it was because she was an Innocent under his protection, and he felt her pure white power every time she was near. All Innocents were good. She was far more than good; she was angelic in her motives. He had never met anyone who wanted to help and heal more than she did. Not even Elasaid.

She deserved more than his protection; she deserved his respect. Especially because his accusations of her being ruthless were a complete and selfish lie.

She was in love with him. He had lurked shamelessly in her mind, wanting to know her every thought and care and did not even try to respect her privacy. Nor would he. She had loved him in the future, and she was starting to love him now.

The gods could only know why.

He should not be savagely satisfied, but he wanted her foolish, romantic emotions! He cursed. He had to keep the greatest distance possible now.

Royce slammed open the door to the hall. And he halted in his tracks.

Ailios stood in the center of the great room with one of his peasants, an older man who, when younger, had been a great soldier. She had cocooned Coinneach’s face with her white light and it pulsed there.

And three more villagers stood in a line, as if awaiting their turn to be healed.