Page 86 of Dark Rival

Allie stepped from the galley without help, trembling with excitement. She’d spent the few hours since dawn torn between despair over Royce’s determination to avoid her, and her own determination to break through the walls he’d erected around his heart. She had despaired over the apparent depth of his love for his dead wife, too. Apparently Brigdhe was a rival after all, even as a ghost.

But then they had taken their leave of Claire and Malcolm, boarding a single-masted galley, and they had been rowed the few miles to the small island. Royce was not on her mind, as she took in the rolling green hills behind the beaches. Even the ocean sparkled like sapphires that day.

Allie stared toward a walled compound, within which were several medieval buildings, including a church. She knew from her previous tours to the island that a medieval abbey had once stood there, as had a Benedictine monastery. In fact, the chapel bells began ringing as she focused on the compound to determine which it was. She felt the soft, serene, giving presence of women, and realized she faced the abbey.

She slowly turned. Up the pale dirt road was another fortified compound, this one far larger. So much power came from behind those solid walls that she became breathless. Testosterone and strength wafted from the fortress, so strong that she paused, aware of a new tension, gathering within her, tightening her, calling to her womanhood. Masters were there, and she was acutely aware of it.

The Ancients were nearby, too.

She felt their power and their majesty most of all.

“Ailios? Come.”

Royce stood on the pier, waiting for her. She smiled at him, another rush of excitement consuming her. “I have been drawn to this island many times! I’ve felt so much holiness here—and I always thought I could feel people, power. I’d hear voices and then I’d laugh at that and tell myself the island was haunted.”

Royce met her gaze. “Ye sensed us in other times.”

“Damn right I did,” Allie cried. Happy, she seized his hand. “Let’s go. And smile—it doesn’t hurt.”

He pulled his hand from hers, his mouth remaining in a rigid line. Allie felt some of her joy vanish, her excitement fade. He’d been deadly serious since boarding the galley. His tension was huge, none of it sexual. His aura roiled, as if with distress that bordered on anguish. She wished she could read his mind so she could understand what was tormenting him now.

She was fairly certain it had something to do with their conversation about the future. As they started up the road, the men leaving the galley at anchor by the pier, she said, “It’s a beautiful day. What’s wrong?”

He glanced at her, his strides swift enough that she had to break into a trot to keep up with him. “There’s nothin’ wrong. I have affairs to attend with MacNeil. I dinna ken what he wishes of me now.”

“You seem sad.”

He gave her a dark look. “I dinna have time to be sad. We’ll stay an hour or two, then we’ll return to Carrick.” And he outdistanced her.

Allie followed, aware that on some level he was hurting. She hesitated, then gave in to her urge. She showered him with her healing white light.

He whirled, his aura sucking up the white light like a sponge. “What do ye think to do?” he demanded.

“Let me try to ease the pain, Royce,” she said quietly, coming up to him. She reached for him.

He swatted her hand away. “Ye can ease my pain with yer body, not with yer power,” he said furiously. “My pain is between my legs—nowhere else!”

“Of course,” she said, not meaning it. “I want to heal you and you turn the discussion to sex.”

He leaned close. “I dinna need healing,” he said, hard. “An’ when ye change yer mind about love, ye can ease my pain anytime.” He walked away from her, jerking open the heavy, studded door set in the monastery’s thick walls. It wasn’t locked or bolted, but of course, no demon would ever set foot on the island. It was too holy.

Allie hesitated, telling herself not to be hurt. He still grieved for his lost love, and he still carried that crushing guilt, although he would never admit it. She wondered what kind of woman his wife had been. She had to have been some kind of saint.

She was competing for Royce’s heart with a saintly ghost. That was just great.

Allie walked after him, and as she did, some wounded anger began. No matter what he said, he was hurt and he needed her. She flung a bolt of white healing light at him, through him.

He whirled, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Try to tell me that doesn’t feel good!” she cried, closing the door behind her.

He breathed hard. “Ye do so again, I’ll lock ye in Carrick’s tower.”

“You would never treat me that way.” Allie had no doubt.

He flushed. “Dinna try yer healin’ on me again,” he warned.

“Do you feel better?” she asked.