Page 64 of Dark Rival

“Aye. She’s quiet. Ye’ll manage.”

Allie didn’t try to hide her smile this time. As a child, she’d spent hundreds of hours riding without stirrups or without reins, and she’d learned to take small fences with her eyes closed. She still rode frequently, and she loved jumping—the mare or any mount would be a piece of cake. “Then let’s go.”

Royce turned. A boy handed him a folded white garment, and Royce handed it to Allie. “If ye please. Ye canna ride about Alba dressed as ye do.”

Allie took one look at the long linen caftan and sighed. “We have a truce. A pleasant one—I like your mood. Do you want to start a war?” Then, softly, she added, “Do you really want to look at me in such a sack?”

Royce seemed to want to smile. He did not. “T’is a shame,” he admitted. His gaze skidded away. “Ye can take it off at Dunroch.”

He still wouldn’t look her in the eye. Allie realized suddenly that he was embarrassed about what she’d seen—and what he’d revealed—last night. But of course he was uncomfortable with any kind of intimacy. He probably thought his emotional torment a sign of weakness on his part.

Allie touched his bare forearm. He flinched. She said softly, “The only way to heal from heartbreak is to work it out. Talking is highly recommended. I’m not a shrink, but—”

“Ye talk nonsense.” He cut her off, taking the mare’s reins and leading her forward.

Of course he wouldn’t talk about his pain, at least, not yet. Allie slid the huge garment on, thoughtful. His having opened up to her, even if he hadn’t wanted to, was a first step toward the cleansing and healing of his soul. He’d been afflicted with grief and guilt for eight hundred years. He could not go on this way. He had cancer—and it needed to be eradicated. “Just so you know, we are friends,” Allie said firmly. “I get that a medieval hunk like you thinks a woman is only for bedsport, but I am your friend—no matter what, through thick and thin. If you ever want to talk, I am here.”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “What man speaks o’ his dead wife with the woman he takes to his bed?”

“Ah, but we’re friends now—not lovers,” Allie reminded him.

Royce gave her the hottest, most promising, most significant look she had ever received. In one heartbeat, he told her it wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

Heat washed through her.

“Can ye ride at all?” Royce asked, changing the subject.

Instead of answering, Allie took the mare’s reins and led her to the stairs that went up to the ramparts. Climbing the stairs, she grasped the stirrup, designed for a tall man, and swung onto the mare. Then she gathered up her reins and trotted back to Royce.

Royce stared as if surprised—or impressed. “O’ course ye can ride. There were fine horses at yer father’s home.”

Allie shrugged modestly. He hadn’t seen anything yet.

Royce swung up into his saddle and waved his men on. Royce said, “Ye stay with Neill.”

Allie recognized the big redhead from the other day as Royce rode ahead to lead the small band of men. She didn’t want to violate their truce, but she was going to enjoy this ride with Royce. She urged her mare forward and cantered up to him. “Surely you’re not afraid to ride with me?” she asked innocently.

“I’m nay afraid of any woman,” he said.

“Really? Is that why you ran away from me last night?” She smiled sweetly.

His eyes popped. “I dinna run from ye, Ailios,” he warned.

“It sure looked like it to me,” she said tartly.

“Can we ride—or will ye try to talk my ears off this dawn?”

“I intend to talk your ears off. Tell me about Malcolm’s wife.”

He started and his gray eyes softened—Allie knew she didn’t imagine it. “She’s the daughter of a Master,” he said, surprising her. “An’ she has been married to my nephew for nigh on three years. He found her in the new city o’York, in yer time.”

So Claire was from New York. They would get along great, Allie thought with excitement.

“Malcolm was hunting a page from the Book o’ Healing. Claire had a shop where she sold old books. The chase led him to his wife.”

Allie became alert. “The Book of Healing? You mentioned the Book before.”

Royce looked grim. “The Cladich gives the holder o’the Book its powers to heal. The Brotherhood has been left with one single page; the rest is missing. An’ I worry Moffat has some pages.”