Dark Rival by Brenda Joyce Page A

not care—and no matter what she claimed, he never would. “Ye'll stay here. Ye need protection. I’ll see if MacNeil will allow ye to stay at the Sanctuary. Then ye go to Iona.”
    Her stare intensified. “The only place I'm going is home! Ask Aidan to take me, I don't want—or need—your protection.”
    She seemed ready to shed tears. It was time to end the conversation. “Ye have my protection, whether ye wish it or ye dinna wish it.” And he started to walk away.
    “And to think I thought you were a tyrant in my time,” she whispered.
    He did not pause, but he did not understand. Curious, he lurked in her mind. He inhaled, seeing her very graphic thoughts about his prowess in bed, seeing him slowly entering her, purposefully teasing her, as she wept and begged. He even heard her cries of pleasure. His pulse raged, almost blinding him. He tried lo think of something else, but it was simply too late. He had given her so much pleasure. He was pleased—he was tortured. He whirled. Their gazes clashed, hers wide, as if she knew his thoughts, too.
    When he could push the erotic images aside, he spoke. “I am lord here, Lady Ailios, an' I demand to know why ye remain so hurt, I saved ye from my men, I'm taking ye under my roof when I never wanted ye here. Ye dinna have to find shelter or food. Ye willna sleep in the rain. Ye should be pleased,’ he added firmly. “Another lord would turn ye to the wolves—or force ye into bed.”
    “I should be pleased?” She laughed, the sound shrill. “I came back to this barbaric time to find you…. Instead I find a ruthless stranger with no heart whatsoever. What would please me is some courtesy, some respect….and some sign that the man I made love to all night really exists.”
    He wondered if this was her way of seduction—to remind him at every turn of the pleasure she’d enjoyed—pleasure and satisfaction he would not have for six centuries. Now, he refused to lurk in her thoughts. He did not dare.
    “Where are you, Royce?” she cried.
    Her desperation to find his future self washed over him. He stiffened. Why did she want him so? “I'm here in my time, an’ the man ye love doesna exist. I dinna believe he ever will.”
    She inhaled raggedly.
    “I'm sorry,” he added, meaning it, “that ye grieve so. I'm sorry ye think me cruel but ye’ll never find yer lover here. Aidan shouldn't have brought ye back with him.”
    She wet her lips. “Is that an apology?”
    He was surprised, even confused. “Why would I apologize? I have done nothing wrong.” Dismay twisted her mouth and she fought for her composure. “I don't believe,” she finally said, low and slow. “That you are indifferent to me. We both know how manly you are, but there is more—I am certain.”
    He tensed. She was right—and she must never know. “Think as ye will.” He shrugged. “But tonight ye willna be the wench in my bed.”
    She turned starkly white and he regretted his words. “That's right. Because I won't be here.” She leapt away, spilling the wine. She shoved the glass at him, red wine stained his leine. “Aidan? Would you mind?” She stared at Royce, her eyes filling with tears.
    Annoyance quickly rose. “Ye go nowhere, Lady Ailios, not until I give ye permission an’ then I’ll be telling ye where to go. Leave Aidan be.”
    She gasped. “I beg your pardon. I decide what is in my best interest. I always have…. I always will.”
    He was incredulous. She was arguing with him—defying him—and not for the first time. “I am lord an’ master here,” he said, holding his anger in check.
    “No one is my master,” she cried.
    He felt his world still as it always did when he was poised for battle and ready to attack. Did she not understand that she would obey him? Did she wish to war with him? She a maid! Did she not obey her father or her man, Brian, in her time? “Those are words of great disrespect.”
    She shrugged. “Sorry! Here's more disrespect. You are a