MIDNIGHT CAPTIVE: Book 2 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

by arial@arialburnz. com

  Broderick considered Alistair, who shrugged. Though James had expected his father’s lack of support or indifference, it still irked him that his father seemed to care so little about his efforts to show himself a responsible man. His opinion matters not. MacDougal’s is the approval I seek.

  In the silence drawing out between them, James felt the strength of his argument fading. “I think of myself as a practical man,” he dared proclaiming, hoping to impress Broderick with his confidence. “Because Cailin and I have developed a friendship and loyalty toward each other, I think it’s smart to build on that and plan for a stable future for us both. You and my father are business partners and I have ambitions to captain a ship for the company. Since our families will be united for many years to come, it only seems logical to solidify the union with a marriage of families. Cailin and I have a reasonable amount of years betwixt us.”

  “A little full of yourself there, lad,” Alistair grumbled. “Remember, Broderick here’s a Lord and you’re still a commoner. You had better watch yoursel—”

  “Those answers will do for now, young Knightly.” Broderick nodded. “We will draw up the papers for a promise, not a betrothal. A betrothal is too binding at this point and I want Cailin to have the final word. She will make that choice when she is of an age to do so.”

  Only now did James understand what Broderick had sought. The answers James provided, though satisfying for Broderick as a father, did not address the spirit of the relationship, but James had been too young to be aware. He had been too inexperienced to voice the true meaning behind his request and somehow Broderick had known all along. There had been a kinship between him and Cailin that sparked the moment they met. She was six years of age, him thirteen, when Broderick introduced his family to the Knightlys. She had carrot-red hair falling in ringlets around her face dotted with freckles. Large cerulean eyes gazed up at him when she stepped forward. He crouched to meet her height and smiled. “Well met, Cailin.”

  A grin spread across her face and she blushed. “Wewl met, James,” her mousy little voice intoned. Cailin placed her palms on James’s cheeks, her little hands cool against his skin. He laughed when she pulled at his flesh and tugged his bottom lip.

  “Oh, she fancies you,” Davina said through her chuckles. “The first time she met Broderick as an infant, she mauled his face. That is a rare gesture she has granted no one else.”

  Even now, James smiled at the memory of their first meeting. And since that day, they had spent many childhood hours together playing games, conversing about the world around them and learning about life in general. That kindred spirit they shared, that union of their souls, is what had unknowingly prompted James to request their union. He felt…at home with Cailin. There was a peace he experienced around her. Aye, they made a fine match for many reasons. He would find out why she had changed her mind and dispel her fears…even if she had learned the truth.

  The road they journeyed led out of Leith toward Edinburgh, the seat of the royal house of Scotland. Halfway between was where James’s future father-in-law built his home for his family. A year before James had left for Fechtschulen—when Alistair had disappeared—the MacDougals insisted James stay with them. The home had been a cottage only slightly larger than the one James’s family kept within the city. Now that James and Cailin were older, it would hardly be appropriate for him to stay in such close quarters, so he had gone straight to the house in Leith. Greeting Broderick at the docks the night before, he’d learned from his future father-in-law that he had made considerable improvements on the MacDougal holdings, and he insisted James continue to stay with them. James respectfully declined. After dueling with Cailin in the alley, he conceded it was a wise decision not to be under the same roof. His loins stirred when he recalled the ice-blue fire in her eyes and her flush-pink breasts pushing over her torn neckline.

  As they rounded a bend in the road, getting closer to the home of his in-laws, a slight anticipation rose over discovering these “considerable improvements” Broderick mentioned. The trees parted to reveal the horizon and James had to make a conscious effort to close his mouth and not gawk. Though he had helped Broderick build a gate and curtain wall about the cottage, it had been a meager attempt to provide the family privacy and a small measure of protection. He never imagined it would grow to the massive stone fortification he gaped at in the distance.

  “Building more than just ships, I see,” he muttered, regarding the towering curtain walls surrounding the formidable fortress.

  A curious circumstance, to be sure. They were merchants. Most people of such profession chose to live within the city of Leith to be close to their business and affairs, just as James and his family had. But then his family didn’t have a beautiful young daughter to keep safe. Leith was a hard place in which to live…the murder of his own mother Fiona evidenced the brutality running rampant through its streets. James pushed his grief aside and redirected his thoughts.

  He appreciated any man’s efforts to build from his success and respected the desire to provide the best for his family—but MacDougal had created a structure to stave off an army.

  “M’ma!”

  Cailin’s voice interrupted James’s awe-inspired trance and he kicked his hackney into action, chasing both Cailin and Davina as their jennets galloped down the road. The two guards kept pace with James. Just ahead, a cluster of colorful caravans, tents and campfires nestled beside the trees edging the bordering forest. The small and temporary establishment stood back several paces from the road. Davina yanked on the reins and leapt from her horse, running into the waiting arms of a chestnut-haired woman, the two of them spinning and laughing like children. Cailin slowed her jennet and shook her head. Turning to James, she flashed him a smile…and his breath caught in his chest.

  “Friends of yours?” he asked, once he’d gathered his wits, and came along side Cailin.

  “Family, actually.” She pointed to the joyful pair. “’Tis my Aunt Rosselyn, my mother’s sister.”

  James cocked an eyebrow at the gathering people. Gypsies. He knew of Rosselyn, but had never met her…nor did he know she was a Gypsy. He smirked. What other surprises lie in wait from the MacDougals? Jumping from his saddle, James urged Cailin’s horse forward and, when they neared Davina and Rosselyn, he helped Cailin from her mount. He grinned and eyed her swaying hips as she sauntered toward her mother. Swaggering after them, he settled at the edge of the small crowd.

  “Look how you have grown!” Rosselyn exclaimed and took Cailin into her arms. “I never thought it possible, but you are even more bonnie than your mother.”

  “Nay, no one is more beautiful than she!” Cailin protested and hugged both women.

  “Tell the man to get off his horse!” The dark-haired Gypsy with a Spanish accent waved toward James and strolled forward, his raven eyebrow raised as his eyes assessed James’s height.

  Davina laughed. “Nicabar, allow me to introduce you to my future son-in-law, James Knightly. James, this is my sister’s husband, Nicabar Mendoza.”

  James stepped forward and offered his hand to the stocky Spaniard.

  “He is almost as tall as Broderick,” he said with a hearty greeting, the two of them grasping each other by the forearms. “Saludos, James Knightly.”

  “Well met, Nicabar.”

  Pulling a pair of strapping young lads forward, Nicabar presented them with pride. “My sons, Andre and Dion.”

  James nodded at Andre, who seemed to be a tad younger than Cailin’s age. The lad returned the nod. The younger Dion smiled and James clasped forearms with him as well.

  “And this is Zarita.” Nicabar gleamed, sweeping a thin girl into his arms. All three children had the curling ebony hair of their father. The little Zarita shared the hazel of her mother’s eyes.

  The various Gypsies approached and greeted the circle of friends and family. Rosselyn pulled Davina aside from the noise, but still close enough for him to hear their exchange.

  “We have
much to share, Davina,” Rosselyn began, “but we are here for more than a family visit. I have a message to deliver from Amice to Broderick.”

  Davina’s eyes flitted over the band of Gypsies, her smile fading. “Forgive me for not even thinking of her. Where is she?”

  Rosselyn’s eyes welled with tears. “She passed this last winter, Davina. I am so sorry.”

  Davina covered her mouth with her hand and the two women hugged, sharing their grief. Not wanting to intrude on the moment further, James advanced toward Cailin to give the sisters their privacy. Sliding up beside her, he touched her elbow to catch her attention. She twirled to face him with that heart-breaking grin. The smile faltered when she saw who addressed her, fading to a memory on her full lips.

  James stepped closer and pressed his mouth to her ear. “Your smile is more radiant than a sunset over the North Sea.” He pulled back to gaze into her cerulean eyes. “Pray do not let it diminish in my presence.”

  Her lips parted in surprise and the doe eyes of the young girl he’d once known stared up at him. The grin returned and she gave him a saucy bump with her hip. “It seems school taught you to use more than blades, Master James. Such a silver tongue you wield to coax a smile from me!”

  Thankfully, she wheeled away before he could remark about what else he would coax from her with his tongue.

  Chapter Two

  Broderick MacDougal’s heart ached over the sweet sobbing of his beloved wife. “Davina! Where are you, Blossom?”

  Sifting through the surrounding fog, he stepped into a clearing in the woods—the meadow between their property and the road to Leith. In the center of the clearing stood the band of Gypsies he’d traveled with when he’d first met Davina seventeen years ago. Weaving in and out of the trees bordering the space, Cailin dodged shadows…and Broderick shook his head. The faint clash of blades echoed through the forest and he squinted his eyes in speculation.

  Diverting his attention back to Davina’s crying, he faced the gathering group. Their backs to him, they encircled a large stone. As Broderick neared the small assembly, people parted, revealing Davina’s weeping figure kneeling beside the stone, holding the limp hand of Amice, who lay upon the altar-like slab. The old Gypsy’s long silver braid had been draped neatly across her chest, her body dressed in her favorite rainbow-colored garb with tattered edges, her skin pale and gray in a shroud of death. He laid a comforting hand upon his wife’s shoulder and knelt at her side.

  “She’s gone, Rick,” Davina whispered through her tears. “I am so sorry, my love.”

  Rosselyn, Nicabar and young people bearing their features and coloring, all stepped forward and soothed Broderick’s heart with gentle hands. Grief threatened to consume him. “’Tis the natural cycle of life,” he reminded himself. And yet the dull ache in his chest echoed the emptiness of those words.

  Stretched out on the large canopy bed deep within the chamber of his fortress, Broderick opened his eyes. His senses returned as he stared at the stone ceiling, tears slipping over his temples and wetting his ears. “Farewell, my old friend.”

  Drawing a deep, calming breath to soothe the grief over the visions he received from his wife, he groped the void next to him. Davina usually lay at his side, waiting for him to awaken, but not tonight. And he understood. Guessing from the images of his dreams, she would be visiting with her sister, Rosselyn. Since the day they had met, he and Davina had shared a spiritual bond—a connection that allowed him to receive images from her as he slept during the day. Strange, to be sure, inasmuch Vamsyrians didn’t dream. He’d become accustomed to a blank veil during his daytime slumber during his five-and-forty years since joining their race. But, somehow, in meeting his spiritual mate and equal, he’d not only discovered a deep love, but had been blessed with her silent communication. All she need do was concentrate on him and the issues at hand, and he would dream. The visions varied between literal and symbolic and imbued him with the spirit of the woman he could not get enough of, no matter how much time they spent together. The only real limitation was proximity. If he ventured out more than a mile or two from Davina, the images faded to nothing.

  He stood, shook off the lethargy of his daytime repose and dressed. Ascending the lengthy stone staircase, he exited his underground chamber and pushed the hidden panel in the wall to reveal the entrance to their master bedchamber. Only Davina and Cailin knew of the entryway leading to the room sequestered under the foundation of their castle; the place where he slept while the sun scorched the sky and the earth kept him safe.

  Greeting him—as she did every night—was the enchanting visage of his wife Davina. Her sapphire eyes gazed at him with that knowing glint, forever immortalized in the paint strokes hewn by his own hand. Closing the panel behind him, Broderick stepped into their bedchamber and sauntered to the portrait he’d painted over a decade ago. He had insisted she pose with her cinnamon curls unfurled about her. She wore a gown the same deep blue of her eyes. She’d blushed when he’d loosed the neckline and pulled the garment aside to reveal her creamy shoulders and a hint of the top curves of her lush breasts. In response to her giggling protests, he’d assured her this painting would only be in their bedchamber. A few cups of wine and several languorously passionate sessions in bed…over several delicious nights of posing…Broderick was proud to have captured the essence of the woman he worshiped. The heated blush of her skin tones from the wine and lovemaking. The desire burning in her eyes. Her lips as red as crushed strawberries and plump from his kisses. “My Blossom,” he whispered.

  Stretching out his senses, he searched through the castle for Davina and her spirit became a beacon, her sadness drawing him to her. After stalking through the high-ceilinged hallways of gray stone, passing the tapestries, imported furniture and artwork, he meandered down to the kitchen hearth where Davina and Rosselyn sat talking. Judging by the spiced apple aroma, he spied cups of hot cider steaming before each of them at the trestle table. Straddling the bench beside his wife, he kissed her neck as she leaned against him. “Good evening, Blossom.”

  She nodded and hugged his arms as he wrapped them around her.

  “Good evening, Rosselyn,” Broderick greeted with a gentle voice. “’Tis good to see you.”

  Rosselyn stared at him a moment, her mouth agape and eyes wide. Though he refrained from listening to her thoughts, her astonishment over his agelessness swirled around him like a breeze.

  Davina squeezed his wrist in their silent signal, giving him permission to hear her thoughts. I have explained all to Rosselyn. She knows the nature of what you are.

  He kissed the top of her head as a response.

  Once Rosselyn cleared her throat and straightened her posture, she tried a smile. “’Tis good to see you as well, Broderick. I wish the circumstances were more joyful. How do you fare?” She slouched a bit and her hazel eyes glassed with tears.

  He offered her a wilting grin. “I’m saddened at the loss of our friend, Amice, but that is all I know. Pray tell me what happened.”

  His wife’s sister sighed and nodded. “As I told Davina, she passed this last winter. She was very insistent we make it back to you to deliver this.” Rosselyn pushed a small, wooden box he hadn’t noticed across the table to rest in front of him. “An amulet of some kind, I believe.”

  The box was simple and the size of his fist, banded with iron hardware and beaten with age and use. Opening the box, an odd, yet familiar, oppression radiate from within. The interior, including the underside of the lid, seemed lined with doeskin. He tilted the box. A thick, coin-like medallion slid to the corner. Broderick narrowed his eyes at the strange writing and symbols gouged into its surface. A leather cord laced through the ring linked to the piece, indicating it was to be worn about the neck. He reached in to pick up the amulet…and hissed as it burned his fingertips, his hand jerking back involuntarily. A wave of weakness traveled up his arm and caused his eyelids to droop. Shaking the drowsiness from his head, he pushed away the box.

&nbs
p; Davina sat forward and scooted along the bench to give Broderick some space. Both she and Rosselyn stared at him with large eyes and raised brows.

  “What did Amice tell you about this?” He glared at the box, uncomfortable with the sense his energy drained from his body. Standing up, he put some distance between him and the medallion and a measure of relief seeped into his muscles.

  “Nothing. She actually handed the box to me right before she died.” Crimson mottled Rosselyn’s cheeks and she cast sheepish eyes at him and Davina. “In all the years we spent with her, I never learned much French. As she passed, she said a number of things in her native tongue I wish I could relay to you now. I know only that she mentioned ‘family’ and your name a few times. I am sorry.”

  “Please come to me, Rosselyn.”

  She glanced at Davina, who nodded with assurance, and scuffled to stand in front of Broderick.

  Placing tender hands upon her shoulders, he radiated a calmness to his sister-in-law. “Please close your eyes and think to the moments you had with Amice before she died.”

  Rosselyn nodded and her eyes fluttered closed.

  Framing her face with his palms, Broderick also closed his eyes and opened himself to the images whirling in her mind. Seeing the world as if he were Rosselyn, feeling her sadness, he saw Amice in his arms on her tiny bed in her caravan.

  Age had broken her frail body and her time on this earth drew to a close. “Broderick, my son” she rasped in French. “I am sorry I could not deliver this to you myself.” Amice grabbed the box from the floor of the cramped space and held it to her chest. “This is to protect your family from other Vamsyrians. The wearer of this medallion cannot be harmed by an immortal like yourself. As I understand it, there is a way to create more of these to further protect those you love, but I do not know how.” Labored breaths interrupted her speech. “There is a sorceress, a keeper of secrets, named Malloren Rune. She lives by the circle of stones in England. I believe this place is called Stanenges. You must journey to see her if you wish to discover the secrets of the medallion. This is my gift to you, my son, to give you peace at last, to guard those close to your heart from the clan enemy, who I know must still plague you.” Amice’s lips trembled and tears raced down her cheeks. “My love to sweet Davina and Cailin. My love to you and farewell.”