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

by arial@arialburnz. com

  She touched Rosselyn’s face and said in Gaelic, “You must take this to Broderick. This is my dying wish and all that I ask of you and Nicabar.”

  Broderick sobbed with Rosselyn in his arms, both of them reliving the moment of the old Gypsy’s passing. She had been like a mother to him, and thus he grieved. With a kiss to her brow, Broderick encouraged Rosselyn to sit at the table again. He closed the box and the oppression subsided, so he sat beside his wife once more.

  “Take this,” he urged and pushed the box to Davina. “The medallion inside will protect anyone who wears it against Vamsyrians.”

  Davina’s lips parted in surprise. “You mean Angus cannot harm Cailin or myself if we wear it?”

  “So it would seem. When I touched the metal, it burned my skin.” He examined his fingertips, his skin still pink and tender. “The piece also drained me, making me weak. At least until I closed the lid.”

  Davina’s face brightened at the news and she clutched the box as if she’d found a chest of gold. “Oh, Rick! This is wonderful.” She turned her sapphire eyes to him, but the glee melted from her face. “Pray tell me what troubles you,” she whispered with a gentle hand to his cheek.

  He kissed her palm and pressed it to his heart. “I must make a short journey.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “Thankfully, the medallion can offer some protection while I’m away, but since we don’t know its full power or use, do not trust to take chances. I suggest you and Cailin still keep to the guidelines we have set for our family.” He rolled his eyes. “Though I see Cailin still needs to be told to obey such precautions.” The images of his step-daughter running through the shadows of the trees in his dream came to mind and Davina nodded. Such visions usually indicated Cailin had ventured out alone again. He explained to Davina and Rosselyn what Amice had said on her deathbed. “Perhaps through this Malloren Rune we can gain a full understanding of what this medallion can do, and other insights into how to further protect you both—and anyone else in our household, for that matter—from Angus.”

  “’Tis several years since Angus has troubled us,” Davina ventured with hope in her voice. “I pray that peace lasts long enough for your journey.”

  Broderick sighed an uneasy breath. “Aye, as do I.” Kissing the curve of Davina’s neck, he rose from the bench. “I will leave you two to your conversation.” He communicated silently to Davina, I must feed, my love.

  She nodded and grasped Rosselyn’s hand affectionately. “Aye, we still have six years of catching up to do since we last saw each other.”

  “Again, ’tis good to see you, Rosselyn.” Broderick excused himself from their presence, exiting through the back kitchen doorway. As he swaggered across the courtyard, he spied Cailin talking with Fife at the stables, and approached with his arms crossed and his eyebrow cocked in disapproval.

  “Och, lassie!” the elderly stable master exclaimed. “I know that look.”

  Cailin frowned. “Aye, Fife. I also know it well.”

  “Evenin’, Lord Broderick,” Fife greeted pleasantly.

  Broderick nodded—glancing only for a moment to the man out of courtesy—his eyes still trained on his daughter.

  She huffed and pouted, crossing her arms. “Ranald and Will were right behind me, Da.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He opened his arms to her. “May I?”

  Cailin huffed again, but nodded and stepped into his embrace. Fife chuckled and shuffled into the stables, closing the doors behind him. Though Davina and Cailin both knew the nature of Broderick’s immortality, they did their best to keep such things from most of the household. His request for a hug gave the outwardly appearance of fatherly affections. And though the gesture was indeed a show of love, it was also a private agreement for Broderick to delve into Cailin’s memories for the accounts of the day. The images flashed through his mind: Cailin genuinely thought Ranald and Will were right behind her—as they always were—when she followed the young boy into the alleyway; a man named Jasper had jumped her unawares; Cailin’s apprehensions about his connection to Angus; her exchange with James; Davina confronting Will and Ranald at the stables and finding they were conversing with prostitutes when they lost sight of Cailin; the arrival of the Gypsies; and other benign happenings up until this moment.

  Kissing the top of Cailin’s head, he encouraged her to walk beside him, his arm still about her shoulders. When he was sure they were out of earshot from Fife or anyone else, he said, “I know you have had such encounters in Leith before and they have not amounted to any connection to Campbell. But based on your exchange with this Jasper, I would have to agree with you about Angus’s possible involvement.” They stopped and faced each other and Broderick sighed. “I’m glad you’re safe and I’m proud of your ability to protect yourself.” He chucked her under the chin and she frowned.

  “I truly wish it didn’t have to be this way,” she complained.

  Guilt washed over him and he nodded. “I know, little one.” He embraced her and her frustration swirled around him in a heavy haze. He had apologized to her many times over the years and though another was pointless, he offered one anyway. “Cailin, please know—”

  “Unnecessary,” she whispered, the warmth of her breath seeping through the linen of his shirt and over his heart.

  He nodded again. “Then I also do not need to remind you—”

  “To be more careful,” she finished. “Aye, Da.”

  They’d been through this countless times. Pushing her back to peer into her sorrowful eyes, he cocked an eyebrow. “So you let a stranger kiss you?”

  Cailin rolled her eyes and shoved away, marching ahead of him. “You know it was James.”

  “But you did not know that during the time he kissed you,” he countered, striding after her.

  She whirled, a disapproving scowl on her mouth and hands on her hips. “I am not going to discuss this with you.”

  He crossed his arms and maintained a reflecting scowl of disapproval. “I’m glad you fancy him, but you still didn’t know who he was when you fell victim to his charms. How do—”

  She huffed and turned away, stomping toward the gate. “Why is everyone scolding me? He’s the one who took liberties with that kiss. Why is he not being reprimanded for kissing a stranger when he has a promised bride waiting for him?”

  “Do not change the subject, little one. I am addressing—”

  “Nay, you are not. I am not going to discuss this with you!”

  Broderick caught up with her, pulling her into his arms again. She resisted, but he refused to let her go. “Forgive me for being so protective.”

  Her protests eventually melted into returning the hug.

  “I am finding it difficult to accept that you’re…well…”

  She chuckled and peered up at him. “A woman?”

  Broderick frowned.

  She laughed. “Off with you now,” she said, pulling him down to her height so she could plant a kiss upon his cheek.

  He gave her one last parting hug, pushed open the gate and waved over his shoulder. Once the gate thundered close behind him, he dashed down the road and followed it into Leith. A woman? When had that happened? He shook the idea from his mind.

  Fog coming off the Firth of Forth hung in thick banks as Broderick strolled through the streets of the dirty, port city. The stench of horse manure, the fishy residue of the docks and the oppression of the crime hung just as heavy as the moisture in the air—a perfect hunting ground for the likes of his kind. Though the summer months made the days longer, thereby the nights shorter, it was still early enough in the evening for the bustle and commotion of the ale houses. Using his acute hearing, he studied the sounds for any indications of mayhem—gasps, screams, struggling, grunts, etc. He gravitated toward the busier sections, hiding in the shadows.

  “I got some pride in meself!” a raspy female voice protested. “This ’ere ain’t the place for it.”

  Broderick winced at the distinct slap of a hand agai
nst flesh. “Ye do it where I tell ye to, whore!” a man grumbled in response.

  After dashing across the street, Broderick slinked through the darkened byway and toward the voices in the alcove ahead. A familiar discomfort pierced his gums as his mouth watered and fangs extended, pushing against his upper lip. The rustling of clothes, thumping that indicated a struggle, and a muffled cry guided him the rest of the way. As anticipated, he found a man cornering a woman, his hand clamped over her mouth as his other hand fumbled with their clothes to get at what he wanted. The doxy’s eyes grew wide when Broderick approached and grabbed the man off her.

  “Oy! What—”

  Broderick silenced him with a punch to the gut, knocking the wind from him. Rick turned to the woman, snatched her by the nape, and pressed his palm to her forehead. She slumped into unconsciousness in his arms. He set her gingerly on the ground, willing her to forget him. Spinning toward the lout kneeling and nursing his breath back into his lungs, Broderick heaved him up by the lapels and propped him against the wall. The man’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, gaping and struggling for sustenance. Broderick turned the man’s head to the side, exposing his neck, and sank his fangs into the tender flesh, drinking deep the warm flow of sweet blood filling his mouth. The man he now knew as Gavand ceased struggling, went limp and sighed.

  When he had his fill, Broderick reined in the Hunger and pulled away from his victim before taking his life. Years of practice made the task of stopping in the middle of feeding so much easier than it had been when he first learned to control the urges. Vamsyrians seemed, by nature, to desire the kill, and those first few years were impossible for him to stop. Though he had always fed from thieves, murderers and thugs, those deaths would forever weigh upon his soul, as did the souls he had condemned to madness when he made a feeble attempt at trying to reform such criminals. Implanting horrific visions to scare them into changing their ways had only served to drive them mad. A fact Angus Campbell had brought to his attention those many years ago at Stewart Glen, where Broderick met Davina.

  Shaking off the past, he focused on the now. Gavand moaned, still in Broderick’s grasp, and he pressed his palm to the man’s forehead, willing the experience to vanish from his mind and render him unconscious. Gavand slumped to the ground. Broderick turned to the woman—Nan by the accounts of Gavand’s memories. Relocating her to another place was useless. She lived with Gavand and though she did sell herself for money or favors, theirs was a mutual arrangement. Broderick fed from her, then sliced open his thumb to smear his healing immortal blood on the wound at her neck. He did the same to Gavand, then shook his head and left them both in the alcove between the two buildings at the docks.

  * * * * *

  James stood in the parlor of MacDougal Castle, waiting. The fire crackled and popped in the hearth, ticking his nerves and increasing the mounting tension. He pulled the missive from his breast pocket and needlessly scrutinized the words once again.

  Please come at once to discuss the matters concerning your future.

  —Broderick MacDougal

  He replaced the paper and paced. Though Davina had prepared him earlier today for their meeting this eve, the wording in the note had him wonder if something was amiss. Had Cailin convinced her parents to dissolve the union? Had his little skirmish in the alley with his betrothed cause them second thoughts? How was I to know who she was? James wiped his face and grumbled.

  The door swung open. “Greetings Lady Dav—” He stopped himself. “My pardons to you. I thought you were the lady of the manor.”

  The woman of similar build and color to Lady Davina chuckled. “Aye, yer not the first to make that mistake, laddie.”

  Cailin trailed in after the older woman, a tight grin on her face and a tray with a pitcher and mug in her hands. “Master James, I’d like you to meet my handmaid, Margeret.”

  James nodded. “Greetings Margeret. Greetings Cailin.”

  Margeret stood in the doorway, beaming proudly at Cailin as she set the tray on the center table. Cailin stood by, her eyes locked to James’s. Margeret cleared her throat and Cailin gasped.

  “Some refreshments of small beer, Master James?” she offered and blushed.

  He crossed his arms, sizing up this docile and formal woman…such a contrast to the dagger-toting hellion in the alleyway. “I thank you very kindly, Cailin.” He reached for the pitcher, but Margeret cleared her throat…quite loudly.

  Cailin gasped again and shooed his hands away. “Allow me, Master James,” she twittered and poured the common drink from the earthen vessel into the mug before pushing the tray toward him.

  “Something amiss, my ladies?” James eyed them both with suspicion.

  Cailin and Margeret both frowned and exchanged glances. “Naught is amiss, lad,” Margeret assured him. “What troubles ye?”

  This did not bode well. “Nothing, save for the unusual behavior coming from you both.” James peered into the mug. “Have you poisoned my drink, I wonder?”

  Cailin covered her mouth, laughing. “Nay, James,” she said through her chortles and peeked at Margeret’s disapproving scowl. Gaining her composure, Cailin clasped her hands behind her back and resumed her dutiful posture. “’Tis our own home brew and fine for the likes of a common drink.”

  He clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Margeret. “Is it now?”

  The women exchanged glances again before nodding.

  Cailin frowned. “’Tis obvious something does bothers you, Master James.”

  He remained standing with his arms crossed. “Aye, Mistress Cailin. Care to explain the sudden change in disposition?”

  Her lips parted and she glimpsed over her shoulder at Margeret, who shrugged. “Come again?”

  “I’m uncertain why you feel the need to assert the appearance of a dutiful servant. ’Tis unseemly of you.”

  “Dutiful ser—” Her eyebrows and full lips leveled in a straight line and she clenched her fists before stomping to him. In one swift movement, she dumped the contents of his mug over his head and slammed it to the table. “Enjoy your libations.”

  “Cailin MacDougal!” Margeret huffed after Cailin’s retreating figure.

  The two women left James to stew in the weak beer dripping down his face and into the collar of his linen shirt. Obviously, Margeret was in charge of schooling Cailin in the matters of manners and maintaining a household. At her age, Cailin should be well versed enough to handle such tasks. But why did Margeret seemed so strict and untrusting of Cailin’s actions? Furthermore, why did Cailin feel the need to be someone she was not? He’d find out soon enough, to be sure. He plopped onto the bench and licked the brew dribbling over his lips. “’Tis actually quite tasty,” he mused with a frown.

  Broderick MacDougal entered, his wife Davina trailing behind with a small scroll of parchment in her hand. She closed the door as Broderick advanced, cocking an eyebrow at James, who scrambled to his feet. Davina gasped and scuttled toward him, pushing past her husband and snatching the cloth from the tray Cailin had brought in. Fussing over him, she wiped his face and shoulders. “Cailin’s foul temper, no doubt?”

  He stilled Davina’s hands. “I’m not so sure I didn’t deserve her wrath. I believe I insulted her by calling her a…dutiful servant.” His face grew warm and Davina smirked, retreating to a cushioned chair in the corner of the room.

  James stared a moment at the man before him. Almost a decade had passed since he’d last seen Broderick and it seemed as if no time had gone by. The years have been kind. Davina, in all her grace and exotic beauty, appeared as he had expected—hair streaked with gray, attractive age lines around her eyes and mouth, which bespoke of years of laughter and smiles. Gaining his composure, James stepped forward in greeting. “Well met, Lord and Lady MacDougal.”

  “What folly, lad! Why the formality?” His future father-in-law grasped him into a fierce hug and the two slapped each other’s backs in their embrace. Stepping back, Broderick assessed the front of his shir
t, now wet with the beer. Humor twisted MacDougal’s mouth into a grin. “I take full responsibility for spoiling Cailin and apologize in advance for what you will be inheriting in the union.” Waving to the bench, the large and imposing man encouraged James to sit, yet Broderick remained standing, hands on his hips. “However, ’tis nothing she wilna do for you if you win her heart, lad.” He winked. “Forgive me for the late call, but I’m leaving my family on the morrow for a short journey, and we have much about which to speak.” As if in afterthought, Broderick poured James a fresh mug of beer.

  “Thank you, sir, and think nothing of the late hour. Your family has been a blessing to me and I wouldn’t be where I am today if not for your generosity.”

  Broderick nodded thoughtfully. Crossing his arms, he narrowed assessing eyes on James. “’Tis a long time you’ve been away, lad. You’ve had the opportunity to see a world most men of our status can only dream of, and did very well for yourself for someone of your age. Five-and-twenty is it?”

  James nodded.

  “Congratulations are in order for your attainment of Grandmaster at the Fechtschullen—a title, I understand, that is granted to few and awarded by the Emperor himself?”

  James dipped his head and an uncharacteristic lump formed in his throat at the overwhelming pride on MacDougal’s face. He swallowed and coughed into his fist to remove the uncomfortable sensation. “I could do no less, sir, since you were the one to provide for my schooling. I’m glad my efforts pleased you.”

  “Pleased me?” Broderick shook his head and chuckled, a deep rumble that moved through the room like thunder. “They surpassed my expectations, lad.”