Page 144 of Dark Rival

Aidan came abreast of her. “Why did yer friend send ye here? T’is cruel—but she’s nay cruel at all.”

“She’s an empath, Aidan, and she also has the Sight. I don’t know why she sent me here, but I’ve learned over the years that Brie is always right. There’s a reason, and I guess we’re about to find it.”

He was silent.

Unlike the fifteenth century, the portcullis remained raised and they started to walk through the first gatehouse. Allie saw a gardener tending several of the potted plants in the courtyard. She realized that the estate was being kept up, probably because it was for sale. The gardener suddenly straightened and tipped his tweed cap at her.

Allie smiled politely back. They knocked on the front door.

Mrs. Farlane opened it. She beamed. “I thought you’d be gone for the day, Lady Maclean!” Then she glanced past her, puzzled. “Did you leave the Aston-Martin by the garage and walk all the way up?”

Allie gaped, so confused she could barely comprehend the housekeeper. Royce was a Maclean—but so was Malcolm. Had the housekeeper confused her with someone else? “The Aston-Martin? I don’t have an Aston-Martin,” she stammered.

Mrs. Farlane looked bewildered. “His Lordship gave it to you last year for your anniversary!”

Allie reeled. Aidan steadied her. “His Lordship?” he asked.

“Is Her Ladyship ill?” Mrs. Farlane became distressed. “Lady Maclean, come inside and sit down. Let me summon His Lordship!”

Allie somehow followed the housekeeper into the hall. She was being mistaken for the lady of Carrick.

Mrs. Farlane had rushed off.

Allie stumbled, facing Aidan. “Oh gods,” she whispered. “Is it possible?”

And then she heard a man’s footsteps. She whirled—and her heart sank.

A tall man who very much resembled Royce had come into the hall, his aura reeking of power. He wasn’t Royce, for his hair was dark, but those silver eyes were unmistakable. He was Royce’s son or grandson. Was this His Lordship?

His face was concerned as he approached. “Mother, are ye okay?”

Allie cried out.

“Mother?” Bewilderment crossed his face.

And Allie realized it wasn’t over.

Then Royce stepped into the hall.

Their gazes locked.

Allie took one look at him and knew he was fourteen hundred years old. The modern Royce lived. He had not been murdered on September 7. And that could only mean one thing.

Royce had vanquished Moffat as they fought through the centuries after leaping from Eoradh.

“Royce!” Allie cried, her knees buckling.

Royce’s eyes widened with disbelief. He whirled. “Thors, I need a privy word with yer mother.”

Thors said slowly, “That’s not my mother. At least, it’s not Mother now. She’s come from another time. My mother is visiting at Blayde. An’ Aidan has leapt from the past, too.” He gave Allie another serious look and left the room.

Allie ran to Royce and threw herself into his arms.

He held her for a moment. Then, “You are so young!”

“You lived—you vanquished Moffat!” She clasped his beautiful face.

“Aye! I leapt through many ages, fighting with him the entire time, an’ I was too ill to come home to ye. But I am returning to ye, Ailios. Ye canna stay here. We have children—grandchildren—great-grandchildren! Ye must go back to me in the fifteenth century so we can have this future!”