MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (9 page)

Munro also fell in battle, leaving Davina the inheritance of his estate and funds. She couldn’t bear returning to the place where Ian terrorized her, so she returned home. That chapter now closed upon her life, new responsibilities awaited her, assisting her mother in the care of Stewart Glen. In addition, Tammus took upon the role of guardian for them, spending half his time at Stewart Glen and the other half at his own holdings. With his son also fallen in battle, and his wife dead at childbirth, Tammus welcomed the family responsibilities.

So if her torment was over, if Ian was dead and long in the grave, as her mother said…why did he still haunt her dreams? Why could she not escape this dread of his return? Maybe the nightmares came from never finding his body, and Ian’s hanging threat. Maybe she just needed to forgive him at last and release her hatred.

Myrna entered the room, cradling a crying babe. “She calls for you, Mistress Davina.”

Davina could feel the milk in her breasts rush forth and seep through her gown at the sound of her child’s baying, and she winced in discomfort. She reached out and took her eight-month-old daughter from her mother’s handmaid. “Aye, precious,” she cooed, and soothed the infant with kisses and strokes to her tiny face. “Thank you, Myrna.” Davina noted how much weight Myrna lost over this last year, the death of Parlan and Kehr seeming to take its toll on her as well. Davina turned to her mother. “I will be fine, M’ma. Cailin can stay with me for the rest of the night.”

Lilias gave mother and child a kiss to their brows and left them alone in the candlelight, Myrna following close behind. The glow of the flame flickered and danced in the silence, casting soft illumination upon her baby’s face. Davina’s lips touched Cailin’s cheeks, and she wiped the tears away. Her infant in her arms made the nightmares so easy to forget. Positioning her child at her side, she opened her damp gown, and the eager mouth closed around her nipple. Cailin stopped crying and breathed soft, warm puffs against Davina’s skin.

Davina studied her nursing child—her tiny nose, soft lashes upon her pudgy cheeks, cinnamon hair, thick and curling, around her angelic face. Burying her face in her daughter’s silky curls, Davina shed silent tears into Cailin’s downy locks. “What a blessing from the curse,” she whispered. She vowed, as she had a hundred times since Ian’s death, she would never let a man brutalize her again.

* * * * *

The morning sunlight kissed Davina’s face and she stretched in its warmth. She watched her handmaid, who opened the curtains, humming a simple tune while fetching Davina’s clothes from the wardrobe.

“Good morrow, Davina.”

Davina smiled. “Good morrow, Rosselyn.” Rising from her bed, she held Cailin in her arms and carried her half-sleeping daughter through the double doors to the landing outside. She drew a deep, cool breath of air and sighed. With the winter months coming upon them, the morning sky was still shadowed, and not yet brightened by the late-rising sun. She placed her hand atop the cold, gritting stone wall. Pride swelled in her breast over her father’s ingenuity. He had used the remnants of a walkway atop the curtain wall of the older structure, creating a terrace. This was Davina’s favorite feature of her bedchamber, providing a view over the courtyard, the dense forest off to the left, and the village far in the distance. For no apparent reason, a tickle of excitement fluttered in her stomach, not unlike the anticipation of a long-awaited gift.
Curious.

Davina grinned and stepped back inside to sit down in an embroidered chair, where she cradled her baby. Davina opened her robe and gown and offered one of her swollen breasts. With greedy enthusiasm, Cailin suckled as she clutched a handful of Davina’s hair and closed her eyes. A live-in wet nurse was expensive, and though she had a sizable inheritance from her late husband’s family, Davina erred on the side of caution in maintaining those funds. She and her family held no titles, their connections to the crown through her father’s illegitimate birth too distant for such luxuries. But they fared well enough to own land and have a mutual relationship with the growing community of Stewart Glen. This arrangement suited Davina well. Her age and position allowed her to maintain a low profile, so finding suitors was not a concern. All that aside, neither would she send her daughter away to be nursed, as she enjoyed the bonding breast feeding Cailin afforded.

After a while, Cailin stopped suckling and Davina turned her around to offer her other breast. Lilias strolled into the room and kissed Davina on the crown of her head. “I would like you to help Caitrina and her girls with the laundry today, Davina. Rosselyn, Myrna, and I will have Anna help us with the sweeping and changing of the wormwood.”

“Of course, M’ma,” Davina said, rising and handing Cailin to Myrna, who took the baby to the nursery. “Are we still for the markets this day?”

“As to be expected!” Lilias said with mock astonishment. “I must continue my eternal quest for ribbon!” They snickered and Lilias left to be about her chores.

Rosselyn smiled. “I shall make haste with our food.” She broke her fast with Davina when she returned with a tray, then helped Davina finish dressing. To prepare for the morning of laundry chores, she gathered Davina’s long coppery tresses cascading down her back into a tight braid and tied it up under her coif.

How should I breach the subject?
Davina pondered as Rosselyn worked at securing the last of her hair. As of late, Davina ached to talk about her brother and father.
What would be a subtle way of easing into the topic without springing it upon her from nowhere?
She glanced at their trenchers and eyed the honey.

“Where is your mind, Davina?”

Relief washed over her that Rosselyn created the perfect opportunity. “I was thinking upon my brother, Roz. The honey with our meal made me recall how many years Kehr and I went on our little midnight raids.”

Rosselyn made no comment while she helped Davina dress in her chemise. Rosselyn laced the brown wool kirtle, avoiding eye contact, tears building in her eyes as distress marred her brow.

Davina’s cheeks flushed warm over Rosselyn’s silence, but she pressed onward. “Up until the day I married, Kehr and I snuck through the dark halls to the pantry, giggling like babes in the nursery.”

Rosselyn never took her eyes off her duties, worrying her lip between her teeth.

Davina turned to Rosselyn and stayed her thin hands. “Please share this with me, Rosselyn. Since the death of my father and brother, no one will speak to me about them. I fear I will lose their memory.”

Rosselyn’s bottom lip trembled. Tears spilled down her cheeks and past the attractive mole on her jaw line. “Davina, I…” She stared at Davina for a long moment.

When Davina thought her friend would say something more, Rosselyn stepped away and disappeared into the wardrobe. As much as Davina wanted to go and comfort her, feeling responsible for her current mood, Rosselyn’s retreat meant she needed time, so Davina granted her a few moments alone.

Davina turned when Rosselyn emerged from the wardrobe with pink-rimmed eyes. “Thank you for helping me dress, Roz.”

Rosselyn nodded and excused herself, leaving Davina with an uncomfortable silence and an empty heart at another failed attempt to reminisce with someone. Davina pulled a fresh kerchief from her dresser drawer and sat on the lounging couch before the hearth, burying her face in the soft linen. Wiping her face and tucking her kerchief into her sleeve, she straightened her shoulders and focused on the day ahead. The chores would be a welcome distraction.

With most of the larger chores finished for the day, Davina and Lilias freshened up and dressed more appropriately for their trip to the village. Davina wore a gown of pleated gold and maroon, embroidered with moss-green designs across her breast. Gold embroidery trimmed the square neckline of the kirtle, laced tight for support. The soft moss-green linen of her chemise peeked through the slits of the maroon sleeves.

“Oh, none of this will do!” Lilias complained to Davina in front of the vendor. “All my ribbons are old. ‘Tis nothing bonnie here for a replacement!”

The merchant frowned at her as they strolled away. Davina cast an apologetic glance back at the man. “Oh, you do carry on, M’ma. I only just bought some ribbon for you a few months ago.”

“Aye! ‘Tis old!”

A chuckle fluttered from between Davina’s lips and she ushered her mother through the market, making their way past the hawkers and sing-song calls of the merchants, trying to entice them to buy their wares. The gathering crowd by the entrance to the square gave Davina pause and caused her eyebrows to rise with curiosity. “M’ma, look,” she said, pointing.

They craned their necks, trying to see over the crowd. Laughter rippled through the congestion, and the gathered people parted to let the procession through.

“Gypsies!” a young woman squealed as she squeezed through the crowd to join the people standing to Lilias’s side. “The Gypsies are in town!”

Davina’s heart hammered against her ribs, and her hand flew to her chest. At least two years had passed since any Gypsies came through Stewart Glen, and not since nine years ago had she seen the group her giant Gypsy belonged to. Davina mumbled a hopeful prayer.

Lilias patted Davina’s arm with authority. “They’ll surely have a bonnie selection of ribbons from all over the world.”

“Aye, M’ma,” she said, surprised at her own breathlessness.

Davina and Lilias pushed their way through the forest of bodies to see the parade go by. With festive music tinkling over the crowd, acrobats tumbled in the street, and jugglers tossed flashing blades and torches into the air. Caravans rumbled by in a rainbow, all of them painted in bright blues, greens, yellows and reds, trimmed in brass or copper. Some had carved, wooden designs of excellent craftsmanship; all teetered, loaded with wares, pots and utensils, beads and scarves, happy faces and waving hands. A caravan painted with stars and mystic symbols lumbered by, driven by a pretty young woman with mounds of golden hair about her shoulders. Beside her sat a dark, wrinkled woman, who ogled Davina, her lips parted and eyes wide with recognition.

“He has returned,” Davina whispered.

She watched the great wagon roll by. The old woman strained to look at Davina over her shoulder, pushing aside the dangling scarves and beads.

Excitement surged through Davina.
He has come back! He’s truly here!
She watched the caravans wobble through the square and disappear down the center street. Her eyes jumped from one face to the next in the procession as the people passed by, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

Lilias nodded, watching the trailing acrobats throw each other into the air. “We should come back tonight and watch them perform, Davina. This promises to be a very entertaining evening. “

“Aye, M’ma,” Davina said at last with a growing smile. “That it does!”

* * * * *

A cry sliced through the blackness and Broderick MacDougal ran toward it, urgency knotting his gut. She ran out of the forest toward him, her carrot-red hair flowing behind her like a banner, her eyes wide and filled with terror.

“Broderick!” the young girl yelped. She glanced back over her shoulder, as if running from some hideous monster. Her thin, frail body ran into his arms and he encased her in his comforting embrace, soothing the freckle-faced child. “There, there, lassie. ‘Tis safe you are.”

Broderick pulled back to wipe her tears, but no longer held the youth in his arms. A mature woman, who resembled the maid, clung to him now, cascading mounds of rich auburn hair framing her exotic face. Her sapphire eyes, glassed with tears, gazed at him with hope, her bow-like mouth trembling and tempting. Her full breasts pressed against his chest, and Broderick moaned in response.

A guttural growl in the distance returned his attention to the one who pursued her. Turning away from the darkened trees and carrying her in his arms, he headed for a white fog bank in the glen where she would be safe. She nestled her head against his chest, clinging to him, her warmth seeping into his flesh.

Once they reached the safety of the fog, she pressed her palm to his cheek. “I knew you would return.” The huskiness of her voice teased the desire stirring his loins.

Broderick let her figure slide down the front of him, and against his arousal, as he set her to stand. He groaned as his hands caressed her curves, realizing the only barrier between his touch and her skin was her whisper-thin night dress.

“Broderick, I knew you would return,” she breathed and touched his lips with her fingertips.

Broderick bent forward and seized her mouth in a hungry kiss, and she opened to him, inviting him to delve into her sweetness. The physical contact alone was enough to excite his cravings —the heat of her skin, the scent of roses and her blood, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her sighing his name—and yet a deeper connection caused his body to respond with a surging need that settled in his groin. His hands sought the hem of her night dress, pulling the material up to her hips where Broderick smoothed his palms over the soft mounds of her bottom. Lifting her into his arms once more, he persuaded her to wrap her long legs around his waist, and his fingers explored the wet folds of her quim. She gasped and threw her head back, clutching at his shoulders.