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Moffat's soldiers attacked his lands, his men. and once, an innocent village, Royce’s retribution was always swift and severe—he'd besieged the Cathedral where Moffat held reign as bishop with bombards and battering rams, and had destroyed three of its four walls. That had been decades ago. The Regent Albany had ordered him to cease before he’d beaten down the Cathedral itself.
    Three months ago, in the darkest winter days of late January, the stakes had increased. Royce had encountered a deamhan in the throes of taking life from an Innocent— Moffat's new and favorite lover. He'd vanquished Kaz with little effort, but too late to save the Innocent's life. And ever since, Moffat had been enraged, harassing his people at every turn, bringing death and destruction as he could, without arousing the King's complete ire. That is, he did not dare openly declare war.
    It was too soon to know Moffat's intent. The answer would eventually become clear.
    She stirred in his arms. His body remained hot and hard, but he ignored it easily enough. Slowly, he looked around.
    He had leapt forward a single day into the future, to his own home in Scotland. Although she was a powerful Healer, he'd felt her weakness and pain the moment she’d begun to heal her lover. Aware of her being somehow hurt and compromised, he'd made certain to only leap forward slightly, hoping to lessen the torment for her.
    He had never been to the future before, as there had been no need, and a Master wasn't allowed to leap for his own plea sine or gain. He was in the Great Hall at
Carrick
Castle
, but lie barely recognized his borne. Everything had changed. There were so many fine furnishings, many of which lie did not understand, such as the posts with cloth heads on the small tables, Even the rugs and paintings were different. The room was beautiful—the kind of home his friend Aidan would enjoy. Who was lord of Carrick now? He would not bother to furnish this room so luxuriously. Or would he? For there was a collection of swords on one wall, and he recognized every one. They belonged to him. If there was a new lord and master now, why did that man own his weapons?
    He considered the possibility that he was still lord of Carrick and earl of Morvern. If so, it would mean he had lived another five hundred and seventy-seven years. He didn't know how he felt about the prospect. But the Code was clear. It forbade in the most certain terms a Master leaping forward or back in time to a place where he could encounter his younger or older self. He felt certain no good would come if he walked into the corridor and encountered his future self there. If he remained the lord of Carrick, he must exercise caution.
    He glanced at the woman, Ailios, again. Her thick, almost black hair was covering her cheek and without thinking, he slid his hand beneath it and pushed it back over her shoulder. Instantly more lust began. It was impossible not to keep thinking about sex and pleasure with such a woman in his arms. So much desire was almost inexplicable—and he sensed it could even threaten his vows.
    No man would bed this woman once and walk away. Yet that was how he lived. A Master must refuse all attachments, and he had learned that lesson the hard way, when the deamhanain had captured and tortured his wife.
    He should leave this one alone.
    He lifted her and stood, then glanced into the corridor and saw that it was empty. He started down it, intending to go up to the
North
Tower
, where he had his rooms in the fifteenth century. A housemaid appeared, coming down the stairs. Royce tensed, awaiting her scream of alarm, hut she smiled at him, pausing to curtsy. “My lord.”
    He smiled grimly back. He was still the lord of Carrick. Had he somehow sensed he would be alive on this day in the future? Had he thought to take her to his future self?
    Satisfaction began, hard, primitive and male.
    He strode into the bedchamber, laying her in the center of a large canopied bed with