Page 96 of Dark Rival

“No good,” Royce said slowly, “can come of yer being in my life.”

She cried out. “You’re turning away from me now?”

His face hardened, and that was answer enough.

Her heart seemed to break apart. She had not expected this. And it was hard to think clearly, when she was beginning to hurt so much. Royce was trying to protect her once again. In a way, they were right. She and Royce had compromised her destiny last night. She needed all of her powers back. But as soon as they were back, she could join Royce. She would simply make certain he never took any power from her again.

And an image flashed in her mind’s eye, a terrible recollection of how his aura and his body had rapidly soaked up her white light the few times she had tried to heal him.

She faced MacNeil. “How long will you keep us apart?” she demanded.

MacNeil turned his intense green regard on Royce. “Until he forgets what yer power can bring him.”

Allie cried out. “What does that mean?”

Royce now refused to meet her eyes.

Allie knew she was never going to forget the passion of that night. Neither would Royce. “Like hell,” she spat. “This is temporary. As soon as I am better, as soon as my power is back, I am going to Carrick!”

“Ye canna have both worlds. Ye belong to mankind or ye belong to love. And we both ken yer choice.”

Allie felt dazed. The ground under her feet felt skewed. Her entire life she had known her Fate was far bigger, far grander, and far more significant than finding a romantic or true love. She’d never dreamed there would even be a choice. But damn it, secretly she had dreamed of someone like Royce; she had dreamed of finding her soul mate.

“I’m sorry, lass,” MacNeil said. “I must think o’the greater good, not worldly passion an’ not worldly love. Say yer farewells.” He smiled grimly at her and walked back into the rectory.

Allie couldn’t move. Her heart shrieked in protest. Her mind, however, began reminding her that people needed her. The world would be a horrific place without her white healing powers.

Royce smiled sadly at her. “Ye’ll see me again. This is best for us all.”

“No! It’s not best! What’s best is having both worlds—you and me together—and my powers as strong as ever!” she cried, seizing his hands, afraid if she let go, it might be forever. “When will I see you again, Royce? When?”

He grasped her hands firmly. “Have I ever told ye that yer light is the most beautiful part of ye?” he asked softly.

She was crying. “That’s because you need my healing,” she whispered.

“I have lived this way for hundreds of years. Save yer healing for those who truly need it,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. He needed her healing—he needed her—and she needed him. But mankind needed her, too. “We have just started, Royce. This cannot be the ending,” she implored, sliding her hands up to his chest. “Please, fight this stupidity with me. Help me find a way…why did you have to take power from me last night?”

“I dinna mean to,” he exclaimed. “I wanted yer body, Ailios, an’ then, it wasn’t enough.”

Allie leaned against him and he embraced her. “This is not the ending. This is the beginning.”

Against her hair, he said, “MacNeil is the wisest of men. And he must think of the gods, the Brotherhood an’ Alba. I’m no ordinary mortal man—an’ yer nay an ordinary woman. Ye belong to Alba, Ailios.” His tone had become strange and thick.

She looked up at him and saw that his gaze glistened. “Will you admit now that this saddens you? Will you admit now how much you care?”

He took her face in his hands. “I care.”

She inhaled and began trembling wildly.

Royce let her go. A moment later, she was staring at him as he walked through the buildings and out the monastery gates, upon the road that would take him away from her.

ALLIE SAT BENEATH a towering fir tree, her knees clasped to her chest. She had been left alone for the morning, which was just as well. No matter how many times she told herself that she and Royce would be together—for a lifetime—and that they would get past this dreadful dilemma, just then, her optimism refused to arise. Her heart hurt. She wanted to cry. She was uncertain and hope eluded her. She just didn’t want anyone witnessing her grief and sorrow.

It began, finally, to rain.

She was wearing a plaid over her jeans and T-shirt and she pulled it closer. Worse, she was worried about Royce, and it was more than fear over his hunting Moffat, the man who would one day kill him if they did not change the future. She had a strong sense of unease, even of dread. Something was wrong—she could feel it—and whatever was happening, it was about Royce.