LITMIR.BIZ

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approaching looked almost like a stranger. But he was the same man, when push came to shove, and she needed to remember that. He was her golden warrior, her lover, the man who fought demons no matter the time, the golden Master her mother had told her to trust.

      The portcullis was waist high; Allie ducked through it and ran down the stone passageway. As she did, something made her look up and she saw gaps in the ceiling above. A face appeared, shocking her.

      Allie ran faster, sensing hostile intent. Just before she made it to the second portcullis, this one almost the height of her head, an arrow whizzed past her. And then a dozen arrows scorched her path.

      They were shooting at her.

      Frantic, she ducked beneath the last portcullis, and she heard Royce shout, “Cease yer fire!”

      She burst into the gray Highland daylight.

      His gray eyes wide, he galloped his horse across the dirt ward, thrusting himself between her and the gatehouse. Allie halted, shaken by the attack, but so overjoyed to see him. The horse reared and Royce jerked mercilessly on its reins, making it submit to his halt. His gaze slammed to hers.

      It was hard and incredulous.

      Allie smiled, trembling. The moment he took her into his arms, all of her anxiety would vanish. Wouldn’t it?

      But his hard eyes slammed down her rather exposed bosom to her skirt and bare legs. The sexual appraisal was raw, ruthless. Then he leapt from the horse, which reared again. Royce turned and kicked it in the ribs, hard.

      The animal stood docilely, head down.

      Allie tried to breathe. He didn’t look at her now, his expression strained, and she wasn’t sure she’d liked how he’d looked at her before dismounting. He was handing his helmet to a boy, then his gauntlets, his gestures forceful, almost angry.

      They needed to speak. She tried to assimilate what was happening. He was the same man—she would swear it—but he was so different, too. He was so medieval. “Royce?” she asked uncertainly.

      He whirled to face her, eyes blazing.

      He was angry, she realized, shocked. But he couldn’t be angry with her. He might not know they were lovers, but he was in love with her. She had no doubt he’d told her he’d waited so many centuries for her.

      And then he closed the short distance between them, towering over her. “I left ye in yer time,” he ground out.

      What was this? As Allie stared blankly at him, her joy really faded. “Royce.” She wet her lips, terribly uncertain. Where was her warm welcome? She laid her hand on his chest. His strong heart thundered there. “I am so happy to see you. I have so much to tell you.”

      His eyes widened with surprise. For one moment, he stared at her and she stared back, waiting for him to smile and erase all her doubt and confusion. Instead, slowly, he said, “Ye touch me as if we’re familiar.” His gaze had narrowed with cool speculation.

      A sick feeling began. This was Royce five hundred and seventy-seven years before they’d made love. He didn’t know they were lovers, but he did love her, right? “We are very familiar,” she whispered. “In my time.”

      His expression changed. A satisfied, smug and hard look settled on his gorgeous face. But then he said, “Ye need to go back to yer time.”

      Allie dropped her hand. “You’re not…happy to see me?” She was shocked. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that she knew him intimately, but he did not know her.

      Then she added silently, yet.

      “Do I look pleased?” he demanded.

      He did not look pleased at all. What was happening? Where was her lover—the man she had traveled through time to be with?

      “Yer lover,” he said, his eyes glittering, “awaits ye in yer time, not this one.”

      Allie could not react. Royce was cold and rude, terribly so. He was not welcoming, and he had put her in an uncomfortable and defensive position. She was far more than off balance, she was starting to feel rejected. But men did not reject her. They courted her, chased her, fell in love with her. Why was he being so harsh, so mean? Could he be so different from the man she’d slept with last night?

      “Royce.” Aidan approached from the gatehouse.

      Royce stiffened and turned. “Of course it was ye, Aidan. Ye brought her back. Are ye very amused?”

      Aidan did not smile. He looked so incongruous, standing there in his jeans and leather jacket, confronting Royce in his mail and plaid. “There has been nothin’ amusin’ about this day. Ye need to be pleasant to the lady.”

      Royce stared, his gaze narrowing. Allie saw the red in his aura explode. “So ye defend her?” he asked very softly.

      Aidan shook his head, grimacing “Ye fool! Dinna start. I brought her to Carrick, not to Awe.”

      Royce folded his arms, biceps bulging, a gold cuff glinting on one arm, a terribly dangerous expression on his face. His smile was ruthless. “Then ye be the fool. Take her with ye when ye leave.”

      Allie bit her lip, aghast. He didn’t want her there.

      Aidan flushed. “Ye dinna mean such cruel words.”

      “If I’d wished to bring her back with me, I’d have done so,” he told Aidan. “I left her in her time for my reasons—I dinna like being crossed.” He glared at Allie.

      Allie wanted to cry. He acted as if he hated her. He wasn’t even the same man as the Highlander who’d come to her aid at the fund-raiser.

      “I dinna cross ye!” Aidan erupted, seeming as angry as Royce now. “Ye left her behind because yer afraid.”

      “I left her behind at Carrick to protect her,” Royce said as furiously.

      “Stop,” Allie cried. “Stop fighting like small boys.”

      They ignored her. Aidan said, “There’s no one at Carrick in her time to protect her.”

      Royce stiffened.

      Allie looked back and forth between the two men, certain Royce had instantly understood Aidan’s inference. And he slowly faced her.

      Uneasy, she tried to decipher his feelings. Most men would be shocked to learn of their death. Most men would be distressed to learn of the event, and the date. Royce’s gray gaze met hers.

      And she saw the stark comprehension in his eyes. She wanted to ease any distress he might feel, to soothe any anxiety, any fear. She wanted to tell him that it was not the end, that they would fix it, change it somehow.

      But a mask settled over his face. “I die in her time.” He was still looking at Allie as he spoke to Aidan. And he did not seem to care.

      “Aye,” Aidan said. “Ye died in bravery for her, as any Master would.”

      He nodded at that.

      Allie still wanted to comfort him, not that he looked as if he needed comfort from her or anyone. He didn’t even seem upset. She laid her hand on his hard chest again, hating the feel of the sharp mail. And in spite of the vest, she felt him tense. “It was a mistake. An awful mistake. It doesn’t have to happen that way.” She tried to smile. Instead, horrified, she felt tears well. It was going to be a long time before she got over his death.

      His thick, dark lashes lowered. “Yer fond of me. Ye grieved.”

      Allie nodded slowly. “You’re fond of me, too, Royce.”

      He made a harsh sound, and it was dismissive. Only then did he look up. Allie forgot to breathe. Everything was the same—she felt his lust, huge and bold, a presence throbbing between them, and she was overcome by it. It was as if a bond was there between them, connecting their desires, their bodies. She moved her hand lower, across the sharp mail, toward

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