by Arial Burnz
“I have been waiting for you,” she said in a soft voice.
“Did you not give yourself time to sleep? Amice is awake at this time, needing your help. You will be no good to her tired.”
“I have rested. I rose early to meet you before—”
“Veronique—”
She stepped toward him and smoothed her hands over his chest, up his neck where she tried to pull him down to meet her. She pressed her soft and eager body against him. He pushed her away and yanked her blouse and shawl over her shoulders.
“Veronique, you need to go back to the camp.”
“Pourquoi, Broderick?” She tried to kiss him a second time, and once more he pushed her away. “Je t’aime, Broderick. Can you not see?”
“Veronique, you don’t love me. ‘Tis just a passing infatuation. You need to understand—”
“I understand you, Broderick. I embrace what you are. Will she? I am much more woman than that Davina. If she was any kind of woman, you would not have left her chamber that night.”
He grabbed Veronique’s wrist. “Back to the camp!” he said, dragging her behind him.
“This is true, Broderick, and you know it is!” Veronique struggled against his grip. “She will never love you like I do! She will hate you once she finds out what you are!”
“Enough!” he thundered, silencing her for a moment. Dawn threatened on the horizon. Pulling her shirt closed, he hoisted her struggling body over his shoulder. “‘Tis not the time to argue, Veronique!” Broderick raced her to camp with his immortal speed, dumped her before their caravan with little care, and then raced back to his cave. He grumbled as he ducked inside the safety of his black velvet curtain, a pinkening sky on the horizon.
* * * * *
“You cannot take everything I have!” the woman shrieked at the man atop her horse. The surrounding farm lay in ruin, decomposing from neglect and lack of funds. “You have taken every piece of silver I have and now you’re taking my horse! How do you expect me to live?”
“What makes you think this concerns me?” he asked, not interested in her answer. Such a pitiful display, with her mousy-brown hair, tangled and dirty, her clothes, rags, her calloused hands. He shuddered over the last several months he lived with her.
“After all I’ve done for you?” She fell to her knees in the freezing mud, clenching her hair in fists. “You used me!” She glared at him with her tear-filled eyes. “I should have let you rot! I should have never taken you in! I should have—”
He trotted over to her and kicked her face, silencing her pleas. She lay sprawled in the mud, weeping. She did what he needed, provided what any woman was bred for. She nursed him back to health from his near-fatal wounds given to him by Davina’s brother Kehr; gave him a dry place to lay his head, a wench to bed, food in his belly, and now the means to leave. Snorting at her pathetic figure, he turned the horse toward the road and left the smells, decay, and tears behind. Her sobbing faded in the distance as he urged his horse down the road.
He had just enough money for his journey north, and then he would get what he needed from his father—if he was still alive. The relief of journeying to his destination and finally having his own life back blew over his body like a warm summer breeze. This will work! Ian gritted his teeth in apprehension of the unknown. Had he stayed away long enough for people to think him dead? This time away from his father and his controlling nature gave Ian plenty of time to ponder his options. Ian grunted. Munro wouldn’t think any differently than before. Gratitude over having the prodigal son home at last wouldn’t change his demeanor. Nay, Munro would still be the one holding the purse strings.
“Not anymore,” Ian growled and rubbed the beard on his face. Enough of being the puppet. The time had come to reap the rewards of his suffering and patience. “Welcome home, son,” Ian said, and a self-satisfied smile spread across his lips.
* * * * *
“You squeal like a piglet!” Davina screamed over her daughter’s uncontrollable titters. She continued to scrub her baby’s ribs, causing more peals of laughter to pour from the child.
Lilias glanced from her needlework, smiling and shaking her head. “The poor child is going to suffocate if you continue to plague her so!”
Davina stopped for a moment, letting her daughter catch her breath, but Cailin wanted more. She pulled on her mother’s hands to continue her tickling. And Davina did.
Lilias shook her head and resumed her needlework. “Well, at least she’ll be exhausted when her nap-time arrives.”
“Cailin is wearing me out, M’ma. I will have to nap with her!” Davina buried her face in her daughter’s neck, making loud smacking noises.
“You were just as tiring as she,” Lilias informed Davina. “Now you know what I had to contend with.”
“You must have been a happy mother, then,” Davina countered.
“Aye, m’darlin’. That I am.”
Davina rose from the bed and picked up her daughter. “I believe the time has come, precious.” She cradled her child and turned toward the nursery. As she suspected, Cailin began to cry. “There, there, Cailin. You’ll be unbearable if I don’t lay you down.” Davina unlaced her bodice, and her daughter quieted as her eager little mouth latched onto her breast. She watched as Cailin’s little ragged sobs softened to an easy breathing, tears glistening on the lashes of her closed eyelids, which Davina wiped away. When Cailin stopped her suckling, Davina laid her down and left her swaddled in her cradle.
Davina joined her mother back in her bedchamber, and they conversed over their needlework until Lilias excused herself to ready the kitchen for the evening meal. Davina put her work aside, and Rosselyn helped her dress for her daily ride. Over her chemise, she wore a simple woolen gown of dove gray, trimmed with maroon embroidery work Davina had sewn herself. Maroon cord laced up the front of her bodice for support. The net over her braided hair reflected the same maroon, and a low headdress of dove gray with matching maroon embroidery topped off the ensemble. Donning her heavy, rabbit lined, black cloak, she went downstairs to the stables where Fife readied her mare.
Davina studied the clouds overhead as she set down the path, into the woods bordering their property. A gray blanket of clouds hovering in the sky and set above the horizon, let the distant setting sun nestle between the two linear planes. The sun bathed everything in red, pink, and amber hues, bringing an accenting warmth to the contrasting shadows created by the clouds, which cast an equal aura of dusk and cold. The scene cast a strange essence of being caught between two worlds. The bitter breeze moving through her reminded Davina the fall months were ending much sooner this year. Winter frosted the air, which meant she wouldn’t be enjoying her daily rides as often. With that in mind, she urged her horse Heather into a full gallop, as if to make up for the stagnant winter months to come.
Davina slowed when her mare began to show slight signs of fatigue. “Forgive me, Heather.” She stroked her silky mane. “I was not mindful of you.”
Heather nodded her massive head, as if in response to her phrase.
Davina chuckled and they continued at a lazy pace, crunching through the dried leaves carpeting the forest floor. She surveyed their surroundings and recognized the circle clearing where she had been over a year ago, when she met the dark stranger named Angus. She pulled the reins to stop her horse and a quiver rippled over her body. Angus never returned as he said he would in his parting comment. She urged Heather forward into the forest, enjoying the solitude of the trees.
A rustling of leaves in the distance snatched her attention, and she hugged her cloak tighter. Another rustling and she grabbed the knife tucked into her boot, the boot dagger with the silver inlaid design she bought for Kehr that night she first met Broderick. Holding the blade out in defense, she waited and listened. A light, frozen breeze blew past her, stinging her cheeks…but nothing else. No sounds in the distance, just the thrumming of her heart in her ears. Nothing came out of the darkness but the wind. The dagger gave her
some peace of mind. She sighed and shook her head, scolding herself for being so jumpy at the slightest noise.
Davina laughed. “Peace of mind, indeed.”
Heather nodded again in response to her mistress’s voice.
Urging Heather forward, she kept her leisurely pace. As of late, her heart had been more troubled than ever in her life. And why? Because of some wandering Gypsy. She forever dwelled on their encounters—the feel of his lips and his hands on her body; the tremors vibrating through her from his kisses; the fire he ignited in her belly and other intimate places. All of these were new to her, something at which Ian’s courting only hinted. Just as Ian’s true nature had been unknown to her, she didn’t know Broderick’s true nature.
She corrected herself and turned her horse back toward Stewart Glen. She had a pretty good idea of the kind of nature Broderick possessed. He revealed it the first night he came back into her life—a rogue, a womanizer, a man who loved a challenge and went after what he wanted without mercy. “Nay,” she said aloud. “Broderick MacDougal is not the kind of man I want in my life.” Why did her words not sound convincing upon her ears? Davina harrumphed. What reason did she have to envy Rosselyn and the freedom she expressed with her body? What did such freedom buy her but a broken heart and emptiness? At least this remained the argument Davina told herself to keep hold of her convictions. Her shoulders hunched in defeat.
Heather stomped and jumped forward. Davina pulled on the reins to stop her mare and listened. A rider in the distance? The sound was strange, not quite like the hooves of a horse. Almost as if someone ran at an unnatural pace, but she shook her head at the improbability of such a notion. She turned toward the sound, but could see nothing in the shadows. The darkness startled her. How had the dusk faded into night upon her without notice? Davina gripped the knife and kicked her mount into a steady pace on toward the castle and away from the unseen person approaching. She could be running from nothing, she reminded herself, trying to calm the fear stabbing her gut. But when the pace of the pursuer quickened to match her speed, she unleashed her fear with full force. Davina leaned forward against her mare’s head and slapped her crop against Heather’s neck.
The nightmares of Ian came rushing back, and she whimpered. Gripping the knife in one hand for strength and the crop in the other, she glanced over her shoulder. She could see nothing, but he sounded as if he were right on top of her. Davina urged Heather faster, but the mare labored under her demands, more so now than normal if Davina hadn’t run her so hard at the beginning of their ride. The curse for herself never left her lips as her pursuer yanked her from her saddle. She let out a blood-curdling scream and flailed her arms and legs about, trying to escape the solid embrace about her waist. Her captor landed squarely on the ground, still holding her. When Davina had a slight footing, she turned her knife on him, but he knocked the blade from her hand in one swipe. With ease, he wrestled her to the ground, and the air left her in one gust when he fell, full-weight, on top of her.
“Woman, you didn’t even give me a chance to identify myself before you took off like a wild banshee!”
His creamy voice rumbled from his broad chest, moving over her body, leaving relief in its wake, followed by a trembling rage. At last, she had her breath back. “You inconsiderate, bumbling ox!” she screeched. She struggled to get out from under Broderick, but surrendered from the useless effort. “How could I have known you rode after me? I heard a rider coming and I dared not linger to discover who it was!” She scanned the clearing, seeing only Heather. “And where is your horse?”
Broderick chuckled.
“Besides, if I had known it was you, I might have tried harder to get away!”
Broderick rolled over, taking Davina with him, laughter pouring from his mouth. He continued laughing, her words—it seemed—more than he could bear.
A combination of the tension easing from her body, his weight lifted off of her, and the relief over being safe, caused her to drop her guard and get caught up in his merriment. Her muffled giggles soon grew to healthy guffaws, and the two of them rolled around in the leaves, their mouths hanging open with no sound coming forth from laughing so hard. When the amusement abated and they caught their breath, Broderick pulled Davina on top of him and pushed her hair off her face, some of which had come loose from the net. The darkness around them didn’t afford her a clear view of him, but she could see he smiled at her. His thumbs caressed her cheeks, as his hands framed her face, then touched her parted lips and her breathing became shallow with yearning. The fierce heart beating beneath her hand in his chest seemed to pump her excitement to a fevered level, and when Broderick pulled her in for a kiss, she surrendered.
Broderick spread intoxicating kisses over her cheeks, brow, lips, and chin. His mouth fluttered lower as his hands unfastened her cloak. She gasped when his hot tongue trailed a molten path to her neckline. In seconds his fingers pulled the cord lacing her bodice and exposed her breasts to the chilling night air. With gentle hands cupping her flesh, his tongue flicked across her nipples. Davina reveled at the touch of his mouth on her bare skin, his hair between her fingers and against her lips as she kissed his brow and smelled the fragrance of lavender mixed with his own masculine essence. His mouth met hers again, their tongues performing a sensual dance, swirling, touching, teasing, and his hard shaft pressed against her belly. Broderick grabbed Davina’s thighs, spreading them until she straddled him. She ground her mons against him, her breathing fast and desperate.
Davina gasped as his hands smoothed up her legs to the center of her craving. She arched into his fingers and her tongue probed the depths of his mouth, tasting every part she could explore. She nibbled at his lips, his chin, and his earlobe as he stroked the moistness between her legs. Oh, what a divine feeling! No one talks about the wondrous sensations!
“‘Tis only the beginning,” Broderick whispered devilishly, his hot breath against her ear.
Her face flushed self-consciously at how far she’d let him go, but before she could push off him, he brought her face down for another seeking kiss. Davina melted into the flavor of him. His mouth seared more exhilarating kisses across her jaw to her throat, as he rolled on top of her. Davina cried out. A sharp pain pierced her neck, and she froze in Broderick’s embrace.
The sharp pain at her throat. His face buried in her neck. The euphoric feeling moving through her body. These unknown, yet familiar, memories assailed her mind.
Broderick leapt away from her, leaving her to stare at his back in a daze. Searching the ground where she laid, Davina found the dagger Broderick had knocked from her hands and realized she had rolled on top of the blade and grazed her neck. Her fingers sought the wound and came back wet and sticky. “Broderick?”
“You bleed,” his voice rasped.
“I know.” She rose to her feet and felt the cut again. Though a shallow nick, it bled enough for her to grab the kerchief from her sleeve. “All is well.” She winced as she patted the cloth on her neck. Refastening her cloak, she reached toward him, but he retreated. How odd that such a fierce and domineering man would let something like blood bother him. “You are not afraid of a little blood, are you?” She meant the words to be a tease, but they came out much more serious in light of the strange images in her mind.
Broderick spun around, and Davina froze when his silver, glowing gaze penetrated the darkness. “The only thing that frightens me about blood,” he said with a harsh rasp, “is my passion for it.” The deep grating of his voice sent a shiver through Davina’s flesh. Broderick seemed to tremble as his hands gripped her shoulders. “I can hear your thoughts, Davina. You know I can. What happened out here? Who was the man who attacked you?”
Her mouth fell open and she reminded herself of his mystic gifts. “I…I know not.”
“What were you doing out here?” His voice grew more gruff and hoarse with each word he spoke. “Were you out riding like tonight?”
“Nay, I was—” She stopped, not comfortable
enough with Broderick to tell him of the attempt at taking her own life; but then, he probably knew that now, too.
The glow in Broderick’s eyes grew more luminescent and he turned away, hiding his face, his breathing ragged. Too fast for her to understand every detail of what happened, Broderick planted her on her saddle. With a sound slap to Heather’s rump, the animal dashed through the trees and biting wind, Davina clutching Heather’s mane in an attempt to stay mounted. Several times she tried pulling the reins to stop, but failed, the frightened animal never slowing her pace until the castle torches came into view in the distance.
With great effort, Davina pulled Heather to a stop outside the castle gate, staring back into the forest from where she came. His passion for blood? Did she imagine the molten silver glow in his eyes? Even in the darkness, harsh lines marred his face and he held a menacing glare. And what of his interest in Angus? How were they connected? Or were they? And what of Broderick’s pursuit of her? She didn’t see his horse, and yet how else could he have chased her? She urged Heather to go back and demand some answers, but her mare reared up, a whining protest shrieking out of her. Surveying the darkness and trees, Davina shivered in the lashing wind, and resigned to confront him another time. The icy breeze fondled her, and she shook from the cold penetrating her breasts. She realized in a gasp that the front of her gown still lay open, her bosom bare to the elements. Blushing and turning her horse into the shadows, she fixed her gown with trembling fingers, and then turned to trot into the courtyard.
She handed Heather’s reins to Fife and hurried upstairs to her room. When she found her chamber empty, Davina concluded with relief that Rosselyn was probably at the camp with her Gypsy lover. She poured water into her basin and, examining her reflection, washed the blood from her throat and dabbed what little bled onto her gown and cloak. Her appearance disheveled, she imagined the impression she must have made on Fife and the others who witnessed her return—leaves tangled in her hair and strands which escaped the net, blood on her neckline, her mouth red and swollen from Broderick’s kisses.
