MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (41 page)

Two months after their reconciliation, on the eve of the May Day celebrations, his brother Maxwell told him Angus Campbell asked for an audience. Their enemy awaited Broderick outside the castle keep at Glenstrae, declaring he came in peace.

“Peace is not an option,” Broderick said more to himself than Maxwell, who trailed after him holding a lantern to light their way. They stomped up the narrow staircase in the gate house, heading toward the top garret. “He’s not here for the ale.”

“Agreed,” Maxwell mumbled, and they marched the length of the allure—the walkway along the top of the curtain wall—to stand at the front of the keep, straining to see Angus in the orange glow of the torches. Night had just fallen.

Angus sat atop his horse a goodly distance from the gate, relaxed and at ease. He waved, exuding the friendly neighbor and peacemaker. Broderick didn’t like it. “State your business!”

“Why, I am here to wish the lord and lady of the castle a joyous May Day celebration,” Angus hailed merrily. “Ah! And here is the fine lady of Glenstrae! Good evening to you, milady!” Angus bowed in his saddle. Broderick could just make out Angus’s smile in the dimness.

“Do not let him out of your sight,” Broderick growled at his brother. “Get back inside, Evangeline.” Turning to face his wife and usher her back down into the keep, Broderick paused. She shook her head and put her hand over her pale lips, staring wide-eyed at their unwanted visitor.

Angus called from below, “I also came to tell you I enjoyed bedding your wife! I had a rowdy time teaching her all manner of…”

“
Him?
You were rutting with
him
?”

“I didn’t know,” she whimpered. “He said his name was—”

Broderick grabbed Evangeline and dragged her down the stone steps. He never heard anything she or Angus said, his mind numb to any noise around him, his eyes only seeing red. The cacophony of his brothers’ shouts and the pulling at his limbs went unheeded, but they at least impeded his murderous intent upon Evangeline. With a degree of control, he struggled away from his interfering brothers and dragged her to the gate, opened the latch, and threw her outside, banishing her and withdrawing his protection.

That was all the moment Angus needed. He issued his battle cry and charged the keep.

In retrospect, Broderick and his brothers should have been able to shut the gate against Angus before the reinforcements were upon them. Yet, miraculously, Angus jumped from his horse, leapt the impossible distance and blocked the opening with his body. Not so miraculous now that Broderick knew he was immortal and possessed the strength of at least twenty men.

Dread and guilt blossomed in his chest. His love for Davina illuminated the truth of Broderick’s anger. Evangeline was the means to an heir and fair to look upon. A broken heart didn’t drive him to throw her out of the keep—pride did. Rage filled him because he was made the fool, not because she betrayed his love—so, in truth, he could no longer blame Evangeline.

Broderick opened his eyes and rubbed the self-pity from his face. The same set of circumstances loomed before him once again: Angus exploited Broderick’s weakness, by hurting the ones Broderick loved. At this point, his heart was in too deep. He couldn’t walk away. Broderick brushed her coppery curls away from her brow, the beauty of her face and spirit causing his heart to ache. Aye, this love made him vulnerable enough for Angus to strike, but Broderick swore he would never let Angus harm Davina or Cailin, no matter what he had to do to ensure their protection. Even if their safety meant sacrificing revenge.

With a brief kiss to her brow, he picked up Davina and carefully set her on the bed. Grabbing Cailin and returning the lounging couch to its place before the hearth, he nestled Cailin by Davina’s body and secured the blankets around them. Davina snuggled inside their warmth, instinctively pulling her child into the protection of her arms. Broderick touched his mouth to Davina’s mended face, caressing her cheeks, her lips, her eyelids. One last lingering kiss to her mouth, and Broderick stood and sighed. At ease that both she and Cailin were well, warm, and out of danger and pain, he turned his attention to the next task—cleaning up the mess.

Broderick stomped through the lodge at a determined pace and through the front door, secured the horses, and headed toward the kitchen house just across the back courtyard from the stables, their provisions in hand. He searched the root cellar and pantry and found a half-filled cask of vinegar. That would do well to clean up the blood. Broderick grabbed the jug and headed back into the house through the back door, setting the vinegar just inside the dining hall on the floor.

Using one of the smaller dust cloths from the other bedchamber, he covered and picked up Ian, hefting the dead weight in his arms, and carried the body to the dense forest behind the stables. Trekking through the snow a good distance from the lodge, he found a rocky area containing large stones. Rock formations jutted up from the forest floor. Placing Ian’s body along one of these outcroppings, he used the loose stones around the area to bury the remains, the ground too frozen for digging.

With that done, he raced back to the lodge, performed the grisly task of cleaning up the blood, and returned to the kitchen house.

Broderick stood at the prep table, organizing the supplies, and a wave of exhaustion hit him. He leaned back against the brick oven to steady himself. Fear seized his body, and he spun to see the horizon through the open door. Dawn! He lost track of the time! Broderick needed a place to hide before the fatal powers of the sun scorched him, and just as it was for burying Ian, the ground was too frozen for digging in the forest. Very young in immortal years, no clouds could hide him. The recent cries of Clyde Samuels—still echoing in his mind—reminded him of that death. The sky lightened to charcoal gray, and Broderick’s face grew warm as he stood in the entranceway. Slamming the door, he turned to the cellar entrance in the floor, and his eyes drooped as the next wave of exhaustion hit him. His limbs went numb and his body abandoned him. Fighting to close the door behind him, he struggled into the dark chamber, and collapsed to the floor. Broderick had just enough time to roll onto his back before a deathlike slumber settled upon him, and he disappeared into the blackness.

* * * * *

Davina opened her eyes and stared at an unfamiliar bare canopy above her. Her brow creased with confusion, and then her eyes grew large as the previous night came rushing back in a wave. She moved to sit, but nestled at her side, her sweet daughter laid breathing and twitching from her dreams, a subtle smile upon her bow-like mouth. Relief washed over Davina at the sight of her daughter, warm and alive. She sobbed.
Thank God Cailin lives!

She eased up onto her elbow and groaned from the tenderness in her joints. Davina urged Cailin to wake. Her child opened her eyes enough to see her mother’s nipple and her eager little mouth latched on with obvious hunger, settling into a feeding nap. Davina winced, but then sighed from the liberation of the release. Poor little darling hadn’t eaten since the afternoon the previous day. Remembering when Ian so carelessly and cruelly snapped Cailin’s arm, she opened Cailin’s blanket and examined her delicate limbs. Davina’s mouth hung open when she found no signs of any trauma.

Her mind twirled with confusion. She recognized the room where they lay—her parents’ chamber at the New Lodge. Touching her face, she prepared for the worst. With tentative fingertips Davina explored her skin, and to her surprise, she found nothing unusual—no soreness, no swelling, no abrasions. Her breath left her in astonishment. Had it all been a nightmare? They were at the lodge, and her muscles were tender, indicating the horror did happen, yet on the surface, all seemed well.

Cailin looked for the other breast and Davina pulled her attention back to her baby. Once Cailin finished nursing, she settled back into a deep sleep. Davina showered grateful kisses across her baby’s face.
What would life have been like without her?
Tears wracked Davina’s body for a short time, but she steadied her breath. Cailin lay safe and alive—but how? After what Ian did to her little girl, Cailin’s condition before Davina lost consciousness, the child should not have survived.

Broderick!
It
had
to be Broderick.

The last thing Davina recalled, she stood over Cailin while a blood-soaked Broderick pleaded with her to let him help. Then she fell unconscious—vulnerable to him and the monster he was. Broderick must have tended to her and Cailin. Did he have more of Amice’s miracle cure? Or had he used something more supernatural to aid him in his ministrations? She shuddered.

Sitting up in the bed and pushing the dread aside, she threw the covers back to reveal her naked form. Broderick must have undressed her, as well. She covered herself and recoiled into the safety of the blankets, but then remembered the way Ian had shredded her clothes. For certain, Broderick didn’t have much choice except to remove her spoiled clothing. Shame prickled her conscience. She grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around herself.

Kissing Cailin’s cheeks, Davina left her baby on the bed, and sat on the lounging couch to ponder. If not for the soreness and being in the lodge, she would have thought this all a horrible delusion. Flashes of the night before played in her mind. Images of Ian pinning her to the floor, his hand raised and the many blows he dealt, brought stinging tears to her eyes and she covered her face, sobbing. She allowed this time to grieve over the experience.

Her tears spent, she explored the room and found the bags on the floor, the supplies scattered about, amongst which she discovered some of her clothes and her cloak. She picked what she needed out of the pile and returned to the hearth, where burned the last red, dying embers.

Someone packed a thick linen chemise and a warm woolen dress, which she thankfully donned to cover her chilled skin. Lacing up the bodice, she searched for something to plait her hair, but found nothing. Her boots were still in good order and she found some hose amongst the spare clothes. Donning her cloak, she inhaled deeply and stood before the entrance of the chamber, her trembling hand upon the latch. She pulled open the heavy door and shivered in the cold air.

The wide front hall lay bare. The front entrance, centered on the south wall to the left, lay open. Walking to the door, she pushed it shut and noticed the splintered wood of the frame. She fought the smile of pride and gratitude tugging at the corners of her mouth, imagining Broderick bursting through the door when he arrived. A flash of Ian’s throat, mangled and torn, assaulted her mind, stealing a measure of the warmth from Broderick’s deeds. She closed the door as best she could against the cold, turned around, and eyed the door to the dining hall, where the events of the previous night took place. Swallowing hard, she rubbed the cold from her arms and marched across the room. She braced and opened the door.

Davina scrunched her eyebrows in confusion as she eyed the empty room. Only minor remnants of the night before remained—the sprawled furniture spoke of the struggle Ian gave at Broderick’s hands, the heavy scent of vinegar accounted for the lack of blood on the floor, and the ash in the hearth held remnants of a blood-soaked shirt.

Stepping into the room, she went to the spot where Broderick killed Ian. What did Broderick do with Ian’s body? She saw the faded ring outline of Ian’s blood. The blood. Down Broderick’s chin. On his chest. The sickening sounds of Broderick ripping Ian’s throat apart. Davina collapsed to the floor on her knees, squeezing her eyes shut against the images pounding her mind. Shaking her aching head, she pushed the memories away and rose from the floor. “I cannot think upon this now,” she said, using her voice to silence the internal turmoil.

Davina went back into her parents’ bedchamber to make a further assessment of the supplies available. “Stay occupied, Davina,” she grumbled. She scurried to the hearth, filled with ashes, and started a fire to chase away the coldness swarming the room and her soul. With that done, she turned to the supplies on the floor, knelt and gathered them into the bags, setting them aside.

Cailin’s whimper brought her out of her activities. Davina rose to gaze over the large foot board and found her daughter sitting up in bed, looking a little lost and afraid. Cailin’s hand in her mouth, soft trails of a tear or two down each cheek, she half-giggled-half-whimpered and Davina’s heart constricted. Cailin seemed to reflect the emotions tearing through her own soul and mind, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at the sight of each other. Davina rounded the bed post toward Cailin’s outstretched hands and lifted her daughter into her arms, holding her close and crying into the crook of her downy soft neck.

“’Tis over, precious. M’ma is here.” Davina pulled back from the embrace and gazed into Cailin’s crystal blue, smiling eyes. As she wiped the tears from her baby’s cheeks, Davina’s stomach growled in protest. Cailin started at the noise and her mouth formed into a little ‘O’. She glanced down at her mother’s stomach and back up at Davina, then burst into giggles, dragging her mother into the merriment. “We should get something to eat, aye?” Davina asked through her laughter, grateful to turn her attention to simpler tasks.