by Arial Burnz
Lilias knocked, but entered Davina’s chamber without waiting for permission. “Dear Lord, child!” she exclaimed and dashed to Davina’s side. “What happened?”
“I’m well, M’ma,” she said, pushing away her mother’s doting hands. “Heather became startled and I fell from the saddle. ‘Tis nothing serious, really.”
In spite of Davina’s protests, Lilias helped her dress the wound. While Davina changed into her nightgown, her mother cleaned the blood from the dress.
“Would you like me to bring up your supper?” Lilias offered.
Davina’s stomach protested at the mention of food. “Nay, M’ma. Too much excitement, methinks.”
Lilias nodded and planted a kiss to Davina’s brow before leaving. Davina climbed into bed. Alone in her room, her fear and dread tumbled down upon her, sending shuddering waves through her body. His passion for blood and the silver glow in his eyes—was he a madman? The silver glow had to be some trick of the moonlight. Davina shook her head. She saw such a silver glow in the parlor, too, and no moon shone indoors. She closed her mind tightly against the strange memories trying to surface, of another pair of eyes that glowed with the same silver light. Davina succumbed to waves of tears until exhaustion claimed her and she slipped into a deep sleep.
Broderick tossed the wolf carcass into the fire he built, his blood lust abated for a time until he could acquire human blood to stave the final demands of the Hunger. He paced the forest clearing, furious for not feeding before engaging with Davina. He had just awakened, lying there in the dark, thinking of her. His body already tingled with arousal from the erotic dreams that continued to leave him unfulfilled and aching for this woman, so when she rode by, he threw his senses to the winds. Chasing after her on foot was another foolish move, but with everything else that happened, he believed he distracted her enough not to question it overmuch.
Broderick moaned from the bulge nestled between his legs. Davina let loose an uninhibited and blazing fire he glimpsed in their other exchanges. He finally had a thrilling dose—and he hadn’t needed to charm her at all. Her feelings were genuine, which meant she was beginning to trust him. His loins stirred even more at the remembered encounter, and he closed his eyes a moment to relive her in his mind. Broderick wanted very much to be the one to show Davina what passion meant, how glorious indeed their lovemaking could be, and how to unleash the animal inside.
“Stay on target, man!” Broderick corrected himself. This is what Angus wants!
When Broderick tried to push away the memories of how Angus entrapped him the last time, he shook his head. Nay! Feel that pain, he encouraged. Remember how it feels to lose everything you have ever loved. Let the pain remind you of what will transpire if you let such foolishness happen again.
When he asked her about Angus, she seemed very willing to open up about the experience. He had been so close to getting the information he sought, but he didn’t know how much longer he could control himself, and if he didn’t get Davina away from him, he knew it would be the death of her. He had no choice but to send her away.
Broderick took another step forward and stepped on something hard underfoot. Davina’s dagger—still with a drying smear of her blood on the blade. The Hunger roused enough for him to lose his senses and he couldn’t help but savor this one, small bit of her. His tongue touched the blade and took her blood into his mouth. Though not enough to learn everything about Davina, he closed his eyes and tried to absorb as much as he could in this minute taste. A fury of flashes assaulted him, images of a man wielding a strap, his face twisted with rage, and a stab of fear pricked his heart. Broderick grumbled at the visions locked in his mind, at the fear he sensed as Davina’s. This man, who matched the images he’d seen from her before, who caused her such torture and blocked what Broderick wanted, generated a hatred from the black depths of his soul. He longed to erase the sorrow she experienced at the hands of this brutal man, or do his best to replace the nightmares with new, thrilling, loving encounters. Broderick moaned and closed his eyes against his yearnings. Getting married and having a family were his main goals in life. Revenge through immortality had its price, but his desires for a family never went away. Until he curbed those desires, this would be the weakness Angus would use to his advantage.
Broderick turned the small blade in his hand, and the Hunger stirred as he remembered the taste of her blood. He noted the silver Celtic designs inlaid down the length of the blade on each side. Narrowing his eyes, he wondered if this would be enough to kill a Vamsyrian. Studying the amount of silver, he honestly couldn’t be sure.
He faced the direction of Davina’s castle. Enough time passed. She wouldn’t return. Tucking the knife into his sporran, he hiked toward the village to release his anger and frustration on someone who deserved it. He set off to feed.
Stewart Glen was, by no means, a bustling town of merchantry or growth; but it had most definitely grown over the years to have enough separation of poverty from the more well-to-do portions of the society. Wandering through that poorer section of town, such living conditions still amazed Broderick, no matter how many times he saw them. The stench of death and disease permeated his senses, and each step slopped through the mud-ridden walkways, the air stagnant and spoiled. The people here had little to offer society and begged their survival, living off scraps or left over charity. Soiled, crippled men hid in dark corners here and there, holding their empty hands out for food or offerings. Women tucked back into the shambling huts to guard their sleeping children. Broderick pressed a coin into any outstretched hand on his stroll.
The corners of his mouth turned up at the stalking footsteps trailing behind him like a ghost, and the Hunger stirred. Broderick pressed another billon penny into the hand of a lad and carried on. The footsteps closed in, and Broderick sauntered down a darkened street that ended at a stone wall.
A knife held out in front of him, the stalker entered the passageway, but stopped at seeing Broderick waiting for him. The man sized up his victim. Broderick could hear his thoughts like a whisper on the wind, the chap scolding himself for making a mistake in underestimating the size of his target in the dark. The man reeked of sweat and urine.
Broderick smiled. “Looking for something, lad?”
The man’s mouth settled into a hard line. “Give me that coin, or you will never see the light of day again!”
Broderick shook his head, laughing at the threat, and stepped toward him.
Fear and desperation motivating him, the man lunged forward and pushed his knife into Broderick’s gut. Broderick grunted as the blade went deep to the hilt, then shook his head, extracting and tossing the blade aside. The wound closed. In a flash, he gripped the man’s throat in his hand, turning his head to the side. Broderick settled his gaze onto the artery drumming against his thumb, and saliva gathered around his tongue. The man gasped. Broderick’s incisors pushed against his upper lip as the familiar pain shot across his gums to his cheekbones.
Opening his mouth, he showed his fangs to the intended victim. As the man struggled against Broderick’s grip, the Hunger burned in his belly, begging to be satisfied. Maintaining control, he bit down into the man’s flesh and drank deep his blood. As he fed, though, guilt assailed his heart. As was his habit, he would fill his victim’s minds with horrific images in the hopes it would change their ways. Now he hesitated. Though these dregs of society fed from the weak like parasites, Broderick never believed he had the right to take life away from them. Everyone deserved a chance to live, but not at the expense of others. And wasn’t he a parasite, as well?
After the Hunger subsided enough, he pulled away from the encounter and let the man fall to the dirty street. Broderick stood over the man’s limp and moaning form, closing his eyes tight, struggling to regain control. He breathed heavy, pressing his fists against the cold stone as the Hunger fought to finish the man off, but Broderick reined it in. This was always a struggle of wills as Broderick forced the Hunger to retreat for another ni
ght. Eventually, it would give in, Broderick once more in control of his senses.
He straightened, drew a deep, calming breath, then propped the man against the wall. Broderick pierced the pad of his thumb and smeared his immortal blood on the wounds to heal them. He grabbed the man’s face and forced him to see eye-to-eye. “You have been spared,” Broderick hissed, and the man’s eyes grew wide with understanding. “You now know the fear to be preyed upon as you prey upon others.” Broderick pressed his palm to the man’s forehead, willing away this encounter and leaving only the fear of the consequences. He left the man dazed and confused, slipping into the shadows and vanishing from sight with hopes this new tactic would be a better approach.
Broderick entered the camp later than usual. Veronique scrunched her eyebrows and tilted her head. Where had he been?
“Bon soir, Veronique,” he mumbled. He added more wood to the fire pit and prepared himself for his night of fortune telling. Broderick avoided her. This did not sit well with Veronique.
Activity across the camp caught her attention. Nicabar rode into the site with a young woman mounted behind him, her face glowing and eyes alight. She was Davina’s handmaid, and Veronique grumbled. Nicabar dismounted, and then helped the woman down. Veronique snorted. Ugly Scottish women! What did Broderick and Nicabar see in them? Envy twisted Veronique’s heart when they embraced and kissed before Nicabar led the woman into his caravan.
Veronique stomped into her own wagon and pouted on the tiny bed. Jealousy burned her face and curled her fingers into fists. Damn that Davina! Broderick’s attraction to her left Veronique pounding her fists against her pillow in frustration. Davina’s eyes were wide and took up too much of her face, like an owl, and her nose looked like a pig’s! She was much prettier than that Scottish woman, and had much more to offer Broderick. She’d been with Broderick longer, knew all about him and his past, the losses he experienced and endured. She knew everything about him, and lay waiting—a ripe young woman filled with need for him. This Davina did nothing but fight Broderick. Why would he want someone who didn’t want him?
Veronique’s mind spun from the torrent of jealousy ripping through her. She had to find a way to make Broderick realize this Davina was not right for him. She could learn something about Davina to make Broderick not want her anymore. Veronique sat up with a new energy surging through her. She could learn something from Nicabar. She had seen his mistress trailing after Davina the night they first entered the camp. She would be very close to Davina. She must speak with Nicabar early on the morrow and try to learn what she could from him. Veronique settled into her bed with hope in her heart.
Rosselyn snuggled against Nicabar in the lamp light of his caravan. “Does the fortune teller—the large man, not Amice—does he have many love interests in the towns you travel to?”
Nicabar furrowed his brow and pushed away. He sat at the edge of the bed, his back to her. “Why?”
Confused by his behavior, she stared at his rigid form, and a wide grin spread across her face. “Are you jealous?”
He turned toward her, a frown on his mouth. “Why do you ask about the dukker while you are in my bed?”
Rosselyn didn’t want to excite his anger anymore, though his jealousy made her giddy. “I don’t ask about him for myself. ‘Tis my mistress for whom I ask.”
Shifting away from her again, he refused to twist around, in spite of Rosselyn pulling upon his arm to face her. “Nicabar, who am I here with this night?”
“Me, which is why—”
“Aye! And who has just made wonderful love to me, made my soul sing with ecstasy?”
He fidgeted and then turned his profile toward her. The corner of his mouth turned up at her compliment.
Rosselyn sat up and put her hand upon his cheek, making him face her directly. “I apologize for the timing of my question. Please forgive me?”
He nodded, but still maintained some of his guard.
“Think upon this: How can you possibly think I would be interested in anyone else when I have the perfect man before me?”
Nicabar’s defensiveness melted, replaced by embarrassment.
Rosselyn pulled him down next to her and planted a sound kiss upon his lips, joyous that he returned her kiss with as much enthusiasm. “I ask about him because methinks he and Davina are a smart match.”
“Are they, now?” Nicabar kissed the beauty mark on her right shoulder.
“Aye, but she’s having trouble seeing this match.” Rosselyn sighed. “Mistress Davina had a husband who beat her terribly and she doesn’t trust any man, especially one as large and intimidating as Broderick.” She sat up. “He would never hurt her would he? Does he give in to violent fits? I asked Amice, but I fear she may be biased.”
Nicabar laughed. “Broderick? Oh, not him. He’s a jovial spirit and takes nothing to heart.” He cradled Rosselyn’s arm and kissed the mole on the inside of her elbow.
Rosselyn smiled. “Good. Mistress Davina needs someone like him.”
“Playing match maker?” His lips trailed to the mark at her wrist. Obviously, he was in one of his moods to kiss each one of the little raisin spots decorating her skin. They never meant much to her…until she met Nicabar.
“Well, I want to see her happy.”
“You seek to make a match of her and Broderick because…?”
Rosselyn had been in turmoil about the predictions and insight Amice shared with her ever since that day she came to town with Seamus. Certainly, once she shared the secret she harbored since Parlan’s death, Davina would never speak to her again. Turning the possibilities and situation over and over in her mind, she concluded this must be the reason she was destined to be with the Gypsies. Davina would never want to see her, and her only recourse would be to disappear. All the same, leaving Davina would be easier knowing she had someone to care for her other than family.
“Rosselyn? What troubles you?”
Snapping out of her niggling thoughts, she breathed deep and lay beside Nicabar again. “I fear Davina is feeling more and more uncomfortable about the time you and I spend together.”
“I see.” He kissed the mole nestled between her breasts.
“If she had someone special, methinks she wouldn’t be reminded of her loneliness.” She sighed. “I should return to the castle even now.”
His lips claimed hers with hunger and his arousal pressed against her thigh. “We must make love one more time,” he breathed against her mouth. “Then I will take you back.”
Never had she been with a man who had as much desire for her as Nica. He rolled on top of her to make love for the third time that day, with as much energy as their first coupling. Tearing themselves away from their private time together, they dressed and Rosselyn mounted behind Nicabar, bareback on his horse.
At the castle just outside the gate, Rosselyn pressed her hand to his arm to get his attention. “Truly, Mistress Davina and I must spend more time together until I can convince her she and Broderick are a perfect pair, but methinks you and I won’t have to sacrifice time with each other, after all. Pray steer your horse to the rear of the castle.” Nicabar obeyed, and as they rounded to the back side of the curtain wall, Rosselyn pointed to the thick bushes. “There!” They dismounted and she led Nicabar over, glancing around to be sure no one was about. Rosselyn pulled him behind her and toddled around the bushes to a small space between the thick shrubs and the wall. Pressing against the stone, it rumbled beneath her fingers. As she pushed, she grunted to shove the stone aside. “Follow me,” she whispered and entered through a secret door, closing the opening behind them. They stood on the other side of the wall, behind a stone and wood building. “We can meet here after everyone has bedded down for the evening. Be sure not to let anyone see you. Tell no one of this entrance.” Pointing to the building, she said, “These are the stables.”
Rosselyn clutched his hand and led him around to the side. She gestured to be silent with an index finger over her lips, and peered around the w
all to scan the grooming area. The horses stood in their stables, and the harnesses and tack hung neatly along the wall. Fife was nowhere about, so she pulled Nicabar in after her. “There is fresh hay up there,” she said indicating the loft.
Nicabar smiled in the dim lighting of the stables and took Rosselyn by the hand. “Just how fresh is the hay?” he asked and persuaded her up the ladder before him. When they reached the top, his mouth covered hers, muffling her laughter, and they fell into the loft, fumbling around their clothes in haste. Dizzy with desire and a sense of freedom, Rosselyn tumbled and frolicked with Nicabar.
* * * * *
“Jealous?” Nicabar teased.
Veronique squared her shoulders. “Non! I am not jealous. I just want to know who she is.”
“’Tis no business of yours.” He turned and continued chopping wood. Veronique’s relentless pursuit amused Nicabar. He knew she struggled with the rampant emotions of a young woman just awakening to the sensations of her body—nothing more. Aye, he’d been there before with such emotions. He knew she was convinced it was true love, but one day she would reflect with understanding, and laugh just as he did.
“That Davina was with her the first night they were here,” she resumed. “Is she her maid?”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked, not missing a swing.
She hesitated. “I just do.”
“Then I still say it is none of your business.”
Nicabar kept swinging. He split logs, continuing his persistent pounding, occasionally glancing up at her, hiding his curiosity. On occasion, he glimpsed at her, but refused to speak. Veronique stomped her foot and cursed in French. “This Davina woman is coming between me and Broderick, and I want to know more about her. If your mistress is her maid, then she knows everything about this Davina.”
