Page 66 of Dark Rival

Malcolm’s gaze flickered and he glanced down at her feet. Allie suspected he knew she was from the future, but wasn’t sure why he was looking at her toes.

Royce murmured, “He’s looking for some sign—like yer bejeweled shoes.”

She was wearing her jeweled Giuseppe Zanotti sandals, as they were the only low-heeled shoes Aidan had brought her. Allie smiled and lifted her skirt, and Malcolm chuckled at the sight of her sandals and jeans. “Welcome to Dunroch. Ye must meet my wife.” He turned to Royce, his gaze filled with speculation. “Do ye wish a word with me alone?”

“Aye. I have a great favor to ask ye.”

Allie knew what that favor would be and she tensed. He was going to ask Malcolm to protect her from Moffat, so he could return to his dark, solitary, tormented life.

“Ask. Ye ken I willna deny ye.” Malcolm gestured at Allie and she walked with both men through the gatehouse and into a small courtyard filled with flowers and shrubs. Instantly she knew the gardens were Malcolm’s wife’s work.

And the moment she stepped into Dunroch’s large great room, Allie saw a tall, auburn-haired woman in jeans. She was thrilled—and relieved.

The woman was at the table—with a laptop computer! The moment they entered, she slammed the lid down, flushing, as if caught in a grave transgression. “Malcolm! You didn’t tell me we had guests,” she cried, standing.

“Dinna fear,” Malcolm said softly.

The striking woman looked at him and Allie knew they were silently communicating. Then her eyes widened and she looked at Allie in surprise.

Allie smiled, her heart racing. “Hey. I’m Allie. You must be Malcolm’s wife, Claire.” She strode forward and held out her hand.

The woman took it, towering over her—she had to be five foot ten or so—and smiled warmly. “Hello! This is such a surprise.” She looked at Royce with some confusion, and then back at Allie, this time dissecting her features. Then she turned back to Royce, her gaze wide with speculation and interest.

“Hallo a Chlaire,” Royce said with a genuine smile.

Claire smiled back. “Hallo a Ruari.”

“We’ll be outside,” Malcolm said, and both men left.

Allie stared after Royce and was rewarded with a single, backward glance. She hoped she saw regret in his eyes, but he only nodded.

Then she turned, pulling the god-awful caftan over her head and laying it on the table. Claire made a sound. Allie saw her staring at her skinny jeans and tiny top and trying to hide a smile. “Well…this is interesting. How is Royce, er, doing, these days?”

“Mr. Medieval? Oh, same old, same old—bossy, arrogant, a jerk and a tyrant.” Allie smiled at her. “I so hope you and I will get along because I need a friend!”

Claire laughed. “Royce must sweat bullets every time you walk into the room.”

Allie blushed. “He’s pretty attracted.”

Claire just looked at her. “And you’re in love?”

Allie felt her smile fade. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, it’s not, but Royce is a handsome, powerful man. Men like him and Malcolm do not exist in the twenty-first century, at least, not openly.” Claire took her hand. “Come and sit…tell me everything.”

Allie sat down with her and Claire called for wine. “I was hoping,” Allie said, suddenly nervous, “that you could tell me everything.”

Claire looked at her, puzzled.

Allie gave in to a moment of doubt and despair. “What is wrong with him?” she exclaimed. “One minute he can be kind, the next cold and even cruel! But I love him—even though no sane woman should love a medieval man, ever!”

Claire sat up. “When I met Malcolm, I was insanely attracted to him. But I’ve studied medieval history, and I knew—I knew—it would never work. It was like he was from Mars, while I’m from New York City.”

Allie smiled just a little.

“Even so, it did work. Malcolm and I fell in love and we’ve worked out our differences—we still do.” But then Claire said, “Royce is one of the hardest men I know.”

Allie felt a pang of fear.