Midnight Conquest (Book 1) (Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles)

by Arial Burnz

  The chill of the night air tingled on Davina’s cheeks and she held the warming cup between her palms, blowing on the amber liquid.

  A creaking sounded behind and she turned to see a young girl with tangled, golden hair peeking through the door of the Gypsy wagon. The girl appeared but a few years younger than Davina’s thirteen. Davina smiled and timidly waved. The girl frowned, stuck out her tongue, and ducked back inside. Her mouth dropping open at the rude child,

  Davina turned back and scowled over her tea. More than half of her cup was finished when she noted Amice had not yet taken a sip, but instead had set her cup on the stump. Before Davina could inquire, Rosselyn emerged from the tent, rubbing her palm and smiling. “Fascinating, milady!”

  “My goodness! That was done in haste.” Davina cast a look of regret at Amice.

  Amice beckoned Rosselyn with a wave. “Come, I have made you a cup of tea.” Leaning forward, she reached for the kettle and filled the cup on the stump. With the leaves already steeped, the fresh water made a cup of piping hot tea.

  How smart! Davina thought.

  As Rosselyn and Amice exchanged introductions, Davina finished the last of her tea—careful not to swallow the loose tea leaves—handed the cup to Amice, and stepped into the tent. The spicy aroma of incense drifted through the air and she sighed from the exotic scent. Dim lighting created a soothing atmosphere; the outside firelight cast shadows upon the cloth walls, infusing a dreamlike ambience. A table stood at the far end, a small stool set before it. Oil lamps on iron stands illuminated a basket on one corner of the tabletop, and behind the table sat not another old woman or bejeweled Gypsy girl as Davina expected, but the largest man she had ever cast her eyes upon. And very handsome! Her inexperienced heart thumped inside her reedy figure when his penetrating gaze met hers.

  This giant dwarfed everything in the room. His chest and arms bulged under the thin material of his brown linen shirt. A small opening in his collar revealed a mass of curled auburn hair, as fiery as the hair upon his head—striking in the lamplight. A flush heated Davina’s face over the mixture of unfamiliar emotions running through her at the mere sight of him, and she reached for the tent flap, thinking to run from this bewitching man.

  “Please, lass,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, like cream. He leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table and reached toward her with his other hand, the table creaking in protest. “Let me read your palm.”

  Drawn to that creamy voice and those hooded eyes, Davina released the flap and sat before him. “My name is Davina,” she offered, trying to delay.

  “An honor to meet you, mistress. I am Broderick.” He smiled and Davina’s insides melted like snow in spring.

  “Broderick,” she whispered, tasting his name. Clearing her throat, she gathered strength, put Kehr’s gift on the table and gave him her hand.

  “You have nothing to fear, lass,” he assured her, and when he touched her hand, her anxiety vanished.

  Broderick closed his eyes, letting his head fall back slightly, his hawk-like nose shadowing a chiseled cheek. Davina inclined toward him, drawn to his handsome features and the strength emanating from his body. She couldn’t help comparing him to her brother Kehr. Not one man she’d ever seen lived up to the vision of her brother—handsome, witty, charming, humorous, large in stature and character. Yet this Gypsy giant was something to behold. He smiled subtly, and an attractive dimple appeared just to the left of his mouth, enticing her to smile.

  “You have a happy life, lass. A family filled with love and warmth. You have a special place in your heart for…Kehr.”

  Davina gasped. How did he know her brother’s name? Then she pursed her lips. “Rosselyn told you of my brother.”

  He opened his eyes and grinned. “Well, I saw the lad in her life, too. But what I said of your brother is what I learned from you. You don’t believe in fortune telling?”

  Davina harrumphed. “You have said nothing to convince me you’re a marvel, sir.”

  A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, and her heart thudded against her ribs. His eyelids dipped close in concentration. “Honey. You have a particular passion for honey. And your brother shares this passion with you.” He opened his eyes and shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Come, lass. You and Kehr needs be more cautious on your night raids. You two will give yourselves away if you eat so much at once. I suggest you taper your stealing, to avoid trouble.” He winked.

  Davina’s face burned with embarrassment, but that soon gave way to wonderment. How could he know she and Kehr snuck through the castle halls at night to rob the honey supply?

  Broderick leaned forward and whispered, “Fear not, lass. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Davina bowed her head, hiding her smile, and then sat mesmerized as the giant turned her hand into the lamplight and studied the lines on her palm. She scooted forward when a furrow formed on his brow. “What do you see, sir?”

  Their faces were very close as his deep voice cautioned her. “I cannot lie to you, lass. Doing so would be a disaster.”

  “A disaster?”

  “Aye.” His emerald eyes bore into hers. “Times ahead will not be pleasant. But you must not lose faith. You have much strength. Draw on that strength and hold tight to what is most dear, for that is what will bring you through these troubled times that are yet to come.”

  “What will happen, sir?” she pressed.

  “‘Tis unknown to me. I know not the specifics. The lines on the palm do not reveal such details, only to say that strife is in your future. Just remember what I told you. Hold tight to your vision of strength.” He brought his lips to her hand and kissed her knuckles before releasing. Dazed and openmouthed, she stared at him, rooted to the chair. The corner of his mouth turned up, bringing forth his dimple, and she returned the smile, listening to her heart bang inside her chest.

  Broderick cleared his throat and nodded toward the basket. She smiled wider, still staring at him, and he nodded toward the basket once more. She returned the nod, glanced at the basket and gasped in realization. He wanted her to pay him! Too embarrassed at her ridiculous, gawking behavior, she fumbled to pull some billon pennies from the purse at her waist and placed them in the basket, scurrying from the tent without looking back.

  Davina stood near the entrance, catching her breath and willing her face to stop burning. Swallowing hard, she turned to the Gypsy woman. “Thank you for sitting with Rosselyn, Amice.” Pressing more coins into the woman’s hand, Davina offered an uneasy smile as Rosselyn surrendered her empty teacup to Amice. Snatching Rosselyn’s hand, Davina dragged her handmaid away, trying to leave her embarrassment behind.

  “Mistress, what troubles you?” Rosselyn stopped Davina, grabbing her by the shoulders and confronting her.

  The words poured from Davina’s mouth in a rush while she fluttered her hands like a wounded bird. “Oh, I acted like a fop! I sat gazing at him like a doe. He was so handsome, Rosselyn! My heart will not cease ramming in my breast! What plagues me?” Davina fanned her face in a failed attempt to cool the burning in her cheeks.

  Rosselyn laughed and hugged Davina. “My dear Davina, I do believe that Gypsy has stolen your heart!”

  Davina clapped her hands over her mouth. “By the saints! I left my brother’s gift on the table!”

  Sobering up marginally, Rosselyn turned back to the fortune teller’s tent. “Come, then, let us return and fetch it.”

  Davina tugged on Rosselyn’s hand with all her might, yanking her friend back. “Nay! I cannot face him again! I shall surely perish from…from…”

  Rosselyn rubbed Davina’s shoulders as if to warm her. “Do not fret so! I will fetch it for you. Come with me and stay behind the wagon so he won’t see you.”

  They crept alongside and peered around the fortune teller’s wagon. Amice seemed to study the teacups, tilting them to and fro. Broderick emerged from the tent and Davina clutched Rosselyn, pulling her back out of sight.

  “And just what are you up
to, Amice?” The sound of his deep voice made Davina’s knees buckle and she dared to peek around the wagon with Rosselyn.

  “A little tea leaf reading,” she said in French, keeping her eyes trained on the tea leaves.

  Rosselyn turned to Davina and shrugged, as Rosselyn did not speak French. Davina indicated she would tell her later and switched places with Rosselyn to better hear their conversation.

  “From the two young girls?” he asked.

  “Aye.” Amice smiled. “You have her heart forever, my son.”

  The giant cocked his eyebrow curiously. “Which one?”

  “The sweet Davina,” Amice said, waving one of the cups in the air as she eyed the other. Davina nearly fainted from the rapid pounding of her heart.

  “Nonsense, the girl will not remember me when she finds herself a husband.” He chuckled. “Her open admiration for me was very flattering, though. She’s pretty now, but she will be the one stealing hearts when she grows to womanhood.”

  He thinks me pretty! He thinks me pretty! Davina spent all her energy not jumping up and down like a flea. She bit her curled index finger to silence a heady giggle.

  “Your heart is the one she will steal, my son.” Amice handed him the cup, and Davina opened her mouth in awe.

  He peered into the cup, frowned and gave it back to Amice. Shrugging, he grinned and handed her Kehr’s wrapped gift. “Well, since she’ll return to be my true love, give her this.” Amice at last diverted her attention from her cup-gazing to eye the package. “She left in such haste, she forgot to take her fardel with her.” Shaking his head, he turned and went back into the tent. Amice sat smiling, reading the tea leaves.

  Davina gripped the side of the wagon, her mouth still hanging open. Seeing Broderick gone, Rosselyn stepped forward, quickly made her excuses and retrieved the wrapped boot knife. Ushering Davina away from the wagon, she spoke when they were out of earshot. “What did they say? You seemed ready to faint!”

  Davina stumbled forward as if in a trance, her mouth open and her body numb. The faintest smile appeared on her lips.

  Chapter Two

  Stewart Glen, Scotland—Summer, 1513—Eight Years Later

  “I beg you to forgive my son, Parlan.”

  Davina Stewart-Russell halted at the sound of her father-in-law’s voice and stopped short of the doorway she was just about to walk through to the parlor of her childhood home. The quick glance into the room, before she stepped back to hide, afforded her the moment she needed to see the scene. Her father, Parlan, stood before the stone hearth built from the jagged rocks of the local area, his arms crossed and his back to the room. Munro, her father-in-law, stood to the right side of the hearth, his hands clasped and resting on the hilt of his sword, addressing her father. Her husband, Ian, stood further back and between the two men, his head down and shoulders hunched in a very uncharacteristic position of submission. All of them had their backs to Davina, so didn’t see her approach or her hasty retreat. Peering around the doorway and staying hidden behind the partially opened door, she peeked through the crack at the hinges.

  Munro continued his petition for his son, talking as if Ian wasn’t in the room. “As you and I have both discussed at length, this position of responsibility isn’t sitting well with Ian. I appreciate your patience and your willingness to work with me on settling his role as husband and father.”

  “I will not make efforts toward introducing him to any royal contacts until Ian has shown some signs of maturing.” Parlan turned toward Munro and crossed his arms over his chest in that position Davina knew so well that bespoke his solidity in the matter. “And you would do well to close your coffers to him. As you know, he has already gone through Davina’s dowry.”

  “Aye, Parlan. I—”

  “Da, please!” Ian protested.

  “Hold that tongue, lad, or I will cut it out!” Munro glared at Ian until his head bowed.

  Davina’s drumming heart made her breathless with fear of being discovered and over the rare display of her husband so subservient. Davina almost swooned at the mixture of excitement and trepidation surging through her. How many times had her husband made her feel the same way? How many times had he silenced her with a heavy hand? To see Ian subject to another authority made her want to cheer. Yet, her limbs trembled at the notion of Ian catching her witnessing this moment and relishing her private victory in his discipline. She struggled to remain a silent audience.

  Parlan’s forehead creased, pensive, as he studied Ian and Munro. When Munro appeared satisfied his son would remain silent, he turned his attention back to Parlan. “I fear you’re correct, Parlan. I had hoped that he would curb his spending, and I wish I could say where the money is going…” He glared at his son. “But I agree with your next suggested course of action.”

  “Da, I have tried!” Ian disputed. “Have I not proven to be a better husband?”

  Munro stepped forward and backhanded his son, causing Ian’s head to thrash to the side, splattering blood to the stone floor. A measure of guilt pulsed at Davina’s conscience from enjoying her husband’s situation. At the same time, she pondered at what he could possibly mean by “a better husband.” If anything, Ian had become more brutal over the last four months or so. Did he think that disciplining his wife more harshly was the quality of a sound groom? Munro raised his fist and Ian shielded himself for another blow.

  “Enough!” Parlan barked. “I can see now where your son learned his order of discipline.”

  Munro drew up tall, pushing his chest out in defiance. “Harsh discipline is the only thing he’ll listen to, Parlan. Trust me on this.”

  “That may be so, as I don’t know your son well enough, but I know Davina, and that manner of punishment isn’t necessary with her. Though she can be rather dramatic, she’s a reasonable woman and can be spoken to. I realize a man has the right to do with his wife as he wishes, and some women do need to be disciplined with an element of force, but not my daughter.”

  Davina fought to see through the tears flooding her eyes over her father’s defense. She was not aware her father knew. The pride and relief swelling in her breast would surely burst her ribcage!

  “We arranged this marriage contract for mutual benefits,” Parlan continued. “As I’m second cousin to King James, this gives you valuable connections. The Russells have wealth for investments and business opportunities for me and my son, Kehr.” He stepped toward Munro with menace in his eyes, his voice barely a whisper, and Davina strained to hear him. “But I didn’t bargain the brutality of my daughter in the exchange.”

  Munro glared at his son. “Again, Parlan, I must beg you to forgive my son.” He turned toward her father more contrite. “And I implore you to forgive me for whatever I may have done to contribute to my son’s overzealous duties as a husband.”

  A chill ran through Davina. Though Munro may have sounded sincere—and the expression of acceptance on her father’s face indicated he believed her father-in-law—that same tone of feigned humility came from Ian often. Such humility always proved to be an elaborate masquerade, however. Even his words indicated he didn’t think he was at fault: “Whatever I may have done…” In the fourteen months Davina and Ian had been married, she had come to notice these veiled signs meant to draw sympathy and surrender but instead indicated the truth behind the façade.

  Munro turned his piercing eyes toward Ian as he spoke. “To show you my efforts to make this right, Parlan, I will indeed do as you suggest and close my coffers to my son.” A subtle flavor of smug satisfaction touched Munro’s features as he held this position of power over his son. Davina easily recognized Ian’s body trembling with hidden rage, his fists clenched behind his back. A foreboding terror flowed over her, like the freezing water of a winter current taking her down into its murky darkness. She would surely be the object of his frustration once they were alone and back at their own, cold manor.

  Hold on to that image of strength, Davina chanted in her head, as she had done countl
ess times before, the voice and the face of Broderick being that strength. Whenever sorrow or despair threatened to consume her and drive her mad, she focused on his flaming red hair, his broad chest and strong arms encircling her in a cocoon of safety, his full lips pressing a comforting kiss to her brow. Broderick would never treat her in the way Ian did and she found refuge in the fantasy of being the Gypsy’s wife. In that world, that realm of fantasy, Ian could not touch her, break her spirit, nor destroy her pride.

  Pivoting on his heel, Munro faced Parlan once more and gave a curt nod, drawing Davina’s attention. “A very wise counsel, indeed, and I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it sooner myself.”

  “There is more to responsibility than the managing of finances, Ian.” Parlan stood before his son-in-law, glowering down at the top of his bowed head. “Davina is a kind heart, a loving soul—”

  “All the more reason why I’m overjoyed at the union,” Munro interrupted, standing beside Ian. “She’s the sweet hand who will gentle the beast inside my son. I’m sure you have seen the wisdom in this and why you agreed to the union. Davina will succeed in wooing my son into a loving husband and father.”

  Parlan’s face grew dark and he stepped within a breath of the two men. Studying them, his eyes settled on Ian, who met his gaze. “‘Tis difficult to become a father, Ian, when you beat the vessel that contains your child.”

  Davina used the sleeve of her dress to muffle her tears of release. Loneliness had been her only companion under the brutal hands of her husband, and the unborn child she lost was more grief than she could bear. She had no idea her father knew what she had endured. Ian threatened her repeatedly, saying he only did the duty of a husband disciplining an unruly wife, and if she said anything to anyone of the constant deserved correction, she would regret it. After fighting against him proved to bring more of his dominance, she began to believe she was at fault, and indeed brought his wrath upon her. After all, many of her cousins spoke of the discipline all women must endure at the hands of their husbands, even the cruel methods their husbands chose to bed them. Why should her situation be any different?