Page 115 of Dark Rival

He hesitated. “I lurked while ye slept last night.”

She tensed.

“I was in yer dream with ye. Aye, I believe yer mother may be alive—an’ in Moffat’s cage.”

Allie went to him.

He tossed the package aside and wrapped her in his arms.

“Please,” she begged. “Why can’t we do as Blackwood first suggested? Why not pretend to trade—and use that pretense to find my mother? I am strong! If he hurts me, I will heal—and quickly!”

Royce breathed hard, gripping her arms. “I’ll nay see ye in Moffat’s hands—ever. I’ll nay see ye burned an’ beaten, filled with his seed, an’ maybe with his spawn!”

Allie recoiled. Brigdhe’s shadowy image washed through her mind. “Is that how you found Brigdhe?”

“Aye!” His stare was as bright and as hard as diamonds.

And Allie saw him kneeling over a hurt woman with titian hair. Suddenly she felt so much pain. And she saw the woman recoil. She saw her rejection, her revulsion and hatred. And she saw Royce backing away, ice-cold in his heart, his soul. Except for the guilt that began to sink its claws into him.

Stunned, Allie realized she had just seen into Royce’s mind. She slid her hands to his chest. His heart thundered there. “But you left her,” she whispered. “You blessed her marriage to another man.”

His face was hard. “Aye.”

Allie shook her head, sympathy flooding her. “Oh, Royce. Tell me that was my imagination—tell me she didn’t hate you for what happened.”

He stared down at her, his face twisted beyond recognition. “She hated me. An’ I willna rescue ye from Moffat an’ have ye hate me that way, too.”

She trembled, wanting to cry for him. She clasped his face. “I could never hate you. I love you too much.”

“Ye’d hate me if he raped an’ beat ye an’ chained ye like a dog. Ye’d hate me, Ailios, yer hero, for failing to keep ye safe.”

“No,” she tried, meaning it. “I would love you still.”

He flinched. Then, stepping back he said, “Well, I hate myself now for failin’ ye this way. I hate seeing yer eyes black with sorrow, instead of light with joy an’ laughter.”

“I’m scared,” she cried.

He took her by the shoulders. “Aye. But we have only begun the hunt. I mean my words, always. Ye must have patience now.”

“I can’t be patient. What’s he doing to her, right now?”

“Dinna allow yer mind to wander so freely,” he said, his grasp tightening. “It serves no one but Moffat.”

Allie felt the tears begin to run. “I’m out of all patience and I’m scared sick,” she whispered, running her hands over his linen-clad chest. He tensed—and then his heart thundered. She smiled weakly and slid her hand into the neckline of the leine, over the hot skin there. She felt his pulse explode with excitement.

But he caught her wrist. “Our union remains forbidden,” he said.

“I don’t care,” she cried, her urgency blinding. Beneath her skirt, wet heat trickled down her thighs. The little scrap of silk lace suddenly hurt her oversensitive flesh. And she slid her free hand beneath his tunic, scraping the hot, turgid skin of his erection with her nails. His eyes widened; she traced the bulging vein running on the underside of the length there.

Dark color suffused his cheeks. “The watch is above and it’s the light o’ day,” he said roughly.

Allie caught him in her hand. “As if you care.”

He didn’t move, except for his manhood, which leapt and quivered beneath her fingers. Their gazes locked.

Allie smiled and stepped closer, and she guided him toward her.

He seized her bottom beneath denim and lace, lifting her. Allie cried out, exultant, as he whirled, impaling her. She wrapped her thighs around his waist and begged for a climax. He caught her mouth, covering it, pumping deep.