by Arial Burnz
The torment on Broderick’s face seemed to mirror the thrashing of her insides. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and she knew Broderick could read every thought running through her mind. For a long span of time, they stared at each other, until finally Davina surrendered, ready to compromise. One night. What if we only spent one night—?
“Nay, Davina. One night would never be enough for me.” Broderick pulled her against him, driving all his yearning into the kiss he lavished on her, and with obvious reluctance, he pulled away. Covering Davina with her bedclothes, he sat beside her and pressed his lips to her palm. “I want all of you, Davina, for more than one night, and I won’t stop until you beg me.” After he put his boots back on, he lounged back upon his elbow, drawing close to her. A chuckle whispered out of him. He peeked under the covers at her thinly clad figure, and then grunted. “Even if you beg me, I may not stop.”
Davina smiled and pulled the covers close to her. Kissing her brow and rising, he cleared his throat and bent forward for a deep and ceremonious bow, like a true gentleman. Sitting up, Davina covered her giggles with her pillow, for he was anything but a gentleman. With his roguish smile and maddening dimple, he winked and let himself out by the double doors.
Broderick took a very long hike in the cold night air, trying hard to ease his erection back down and bank the desire racing through his body. How close he’d been to tasting Davina, but he didn’t want to take any chance she would feel guilty on the morrow, and blame him for seducing her while she slept. He couldn’t win her trust by seducing her unawares, and he could see tonight she held no animosity toward him. That proved to him she had just been caught up in the dream. If she had her senses about her, he knew she would have resisted.
That failure came rushing back to him and dampened his arousal. Again, he came so close to getting the information. He dove into her mind, had her right where he needed her, and she resisted what he pressed for. Broderick chose the wrong words, but it was difficult for him to see Angus as any kind of savior. He gritted his teeth. His pride ruined his chance at getting the truth. He could have instead fed from her, but the more he grew to know her, the more that thought seemed abhorrent.
After what must have been several hours of brisk walking, Broderick managed to douse the fires burning within and marched back to the Gypsy camp. People stirred and began their daily preparations, and dawn approached in haste. He checked in with Amice to be sure all was well.
“Veronique is not in her bed,” Amice informed him with a scowl.
He sighed. “I will send her to you if she’s in my cave.” Shaking his head, he headed to his lair. As he neared, Broderick slowed his pace and cursed under his breath. He could smell her. Resigned to the encounter, he braced for the state of undress she might be in. What better time to confront her? As he entered the cave, he lit an oil lamp for her benefit. He wanted to make sure she witnessed the full display of his disapproval and anger.
Veronique was not in the front of the cave, but the soft hush of her sleeping breath drifted on the air from the back. Shaking his head, he strode deep inside, parted the first set of heavy black curtains, and then the next. Pity filled his heart. Veronique lay like a child, curled up in the furs of his bedding, breathing the steady cadence of deep sleep. He studied her for a moment. He liked her like this—the innocent little sister he witnessed growing up, no deception or deviousness in her eyes. No ulterior motives or plans swirling around in her little head. A deep sigh escaped his lips. Veronique did more than scheme to get Davina to turn against him. She opened Broderick up to incredible risks—both by revealing what he was, as well as where he slept, coming to his cave over and over. Broderick took care to ensure no one followed him, and he came and went using his immortal speed and gifts to hide his tracks. Veronique left a blatant trail right up to the front door—a trail he had to conceal too many times.
Her clothes lay in a pile, beside her on the ground, and he cursed. Picking them up, he nudged her with his foot. “Réveillez-tu, petite soeur.” He used his pet name for her with purpose this time, knowing it would hit home. “And don’t start your protests. I’m getting very tired of them.”
Veronique rubbed her eyes and sat up, the furs dropping from her body and revealing her nakedness. Broderick threw her clothes at her face. “Get dressed!”
Wide-eyed, she searched her surroundings and clutched the clothes to her chest. Settling her eyes upon Broderick, she came to realize her whereabouts. Broderick glared at her, his arms crossed, waiting for her to dress. Self-consciously she donned her clothing, her cheeks blotchy with color, and stumbled out to the front of the cave. Veronique turned to face Broderick, tapped her foot and clenched her jaw—but the tears welling in her eyes softened his heart, and he scolded himself for being such a bastard. Nevertheless, Amice was right. He needed to be more stern with her.
Broderick turned away, not wanting to see her tears. “I’m very aware of who and what you have become. I know you care a great deal for me.” He addressed her then. “I care for you, too, Veronique.”
Veronique’s face brightened and she stepped toward him, but stopped when he held up a scolding finger.
“Listen to me and listen well, young lady. We will not…ever…be together the way you want.”
“Because of that Davina,” she squeaked.
“Speaking of Davina, you had no business telling her about me.”
“She deserves to know the truth.”
“Aye, she does, but not from you. ‘Tis my truth to tell. And what I do with Davina is no business of yours. You are putting me at risk, Veronique! You exposed me when you told her what I was, and you expose me every time you come to my dwelling. Do you not see how you put me in danger during the daylight hours when I cannot defend myself?” Veronique stared at him with doe eyes. Broderick shook his head and rubbed his hands over his face. “You have never cared much about the women I have in my life. Why does this one bother you so much?”
Veronique remained silent, staring at some crack on the cave floor.
“Listen to me, Veronique. Quit wasting your time on me. We cannot have a relationship together for several reasons, and methinks you know what they are. I don’t need to go into them. Your grandmother says them enough. She’s right, so mind her well.” Broderick, not wanting to start a debate, picked up her cloak and gave her the garment, then blew out the lamp. “I’m taking you back to the camp, little sister.”
She huffed her disapproval and rattled in French obscenities as he threw her over his shoulder and raced toward the camp, using his immortal speed to avoid leaving footprints.
* * * * *
Veronique pounded her fist against Nicabar’s caravan door, squinting at the late afternoon sun. She paused only a moment before she continued pounding.
“It’s a good thing I am not in there having an afternoon nap,” he said from behind her.
Veronique jumped so high, she almost fell off the makeshift wooden stairs. “Well, I am glad to see you are alone…for once!”
Nicabar shook his head and ambled toward his caravan. “No one in your kingdom has anything else to do but come to your beckoning call, eh?” He shoved past her and stepped into his dwelling. “Now if you will—”
Veronique followed him into the small wagon, slammed the door, and sat upon his bed, her fingers fumbling to unlace her bodice.
“Veronique—”
“Tell me, Nicabar!” she snapped. “Tell me everything I want to know about Davina! You will get what you asked for!”
Rosselyn stood with her mouth open as Veronique hefted up into Nicabar’s caravan, eagerly following him inside. The door slammed and the wagon jostled a bit. Rosselyn’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. Her stomach churned and she lost her breath. She tried to reason with herself about the several weeks she shared with Nicabar. He made no declarations of love. Their intimate moments together, as precious as they were to her and seemed to be to him, did not result in discussions of marriage or children or
even future nights to come. Then why did her heart constrict so tight in her chest she feared it would crack?
A burning heat radiated from her cheeks against the cold. As a man of free will, Nicabar could bed whomever he wanted…but she would no longer be an option for him to choose. Marching over to his wagon, she took at deep breath before reaching for the door and yanking it open.
Too stunned for words, Veronique and Nicabar stood before his bed in the crouched space. Veronique’s shoulders were bare and her breasts half covered. Nicabar’s hands were upon Veronique’s arms, just above her elbows. Both stood staring at Rosselyn with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Veronique’s face changed from surprise to gloating satisfaction, and she grabbed Nicabar by the neck and brought him down for an open-mouthed kiss.
Before anyone had a moment more to respond, Rosselyn stepped into the wagon, seized Veronique by the hair, and tossed her out of the caravan onto the dirt. Slamming the door to the French whore’s babbling protests, Rosselyn faced Nicabar. He had the nerve to smirk, which she promptly slapped from his face. “I may have held lofty ideas about spending my life with someone like you, but I’m not going to have such ideas about settling to be someone’s whore! You want her, you can have her!”
“Rosselyn, I—”
“I don’t need a man to help me accomplish my dreams.” Rosselyn fought the tears stinging her eyes. “I have skills I can offer the Gypsies, and there are plenty of honest people among this camp who will take me with them, Amice being one of them.” Before she made any more a fool of herself, she turned to leave the wagon.
“Rosselyn!” Nicabar spun her around to face him. When she twisted her head away, not wanting to see his bonnie dark eyes, he held her face in his hands, forcing her to face him. “You don’t understand! I want nothing to do with her!”
“Then what was she doing half naked in your arms!” Rosselyn hated that tears coursed down her cheeks as she screamed at him.
“Veronique is a selfish child who will stop at nothing to get what she wants.” Rosselyn struggled from his grip, but he wouldn’t release her. “I may have made a mistake in trying to prove a point, but she asked for information from me about you and Davina, just so she could keep Davina away from Broderick. I told her if she wanted information…” He hesitated, obviously not comfortable about his next words. “…I told her I had to be her first.” As Rosselyn wrestled with him, he protested louder, “I know that was wrong, but I was trying to show her how stupid she was, chasing after Broderick. When you saw her come in here, she was offering her virginity, tearing off her clothes. You came in as I stopped her and tried to point out how ridiculous she was being.”
Rosselyn stared at him, no longer struggling, her heart breaking. “That is the most horrid excuse I have ever heard!” She stomped out of the caravan.
Nicabar came outside behind her and turned her to face him once more. “Rosselyn, please!” Eyes pleading, he wouldn’t let her escape. “When you came in there and threw Veronique out, I smiled because I was proud of you, not because I was laughing at you.”
Rosselyn clenched her jaw, fighting to stay angry with him, to not believe the words that sounded so sincere.
“And when you stood by what you believed, when you told me being with the Gypsies was your dream, my chest filled with more pride.” He brushed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, wiping away her tears. “Though you were not born in a wagon or on the side of a road, you are a true Gypsy in your fiery heart, and I want no other woman by my side but you.” Nicabar dropped to one knee before her and reverently kissed her hands. “I realize this is quick and we’ve had such little time together, but I know this deep in my heart as sure as I’ve known anything in my life. I want you to be my wife. Say you will be my wife and I will show you the world, mi amor.”
Rosselyn stood before this man who stole her heart with such haste, her lips quivering with her tears.
“Answer the man!” a voice shouted.
A crowd had gathered, enclosing them within a ring of eager faces. Laughter bubbled up as joy overflowed from her heart. Gazing down at Nicabar’s hopeful and handsome face, she nodded. “Aye, I will marry you.”
As the crowd cheered, Nicabar leapt to his feet and swept her into his arms, twirling her around before planting her back on the ground and searing her with a kiss.
* * * * *
Ian Russell stared at the grave marker bearing his name. Beside it, another grave marker bore the name of his father, Munro. A mixture of fear and grief troubled his heart for a moment before he made room for relief. He was free. Ian straightened to reflect the independent man standing in his shoes.
“Can I help you?”
Ian faced a vaguely familiar man around his own age. Where had he seen him before? A name tickled his memory as a younger face, resembling the man before him, came to mind. Brian? Aye, a cousin he’d not seen since childhood.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Brian asked with a more firm voice.
“Aye, forgive me for not responding.” Ian put on his best performance of grief. “I had come here expecting to find friends, and instead I find graves.” He stared at the headstones again to make his point.
Brian seemed to drop his guard and approached Ian with compassion in his eyes. “‘Tis sorry I am you had to find out like this. Poor souls. The Battle of Flodden.”
“Aye, I guessed as much. Just coming back from that horrible experience myself.” Ian lifted his shirt to display the ragged and blotchy scars along the right side of his ribs and belly.
Brian winced sympathetically. “A lucky one you are, my friend. Not many can say they walked away as we can.”
Ian nodded and pulled his shirt back down.
“You look vaguely familiar. You knew Ian and Munro well? “
Ian offered a weak smile and nodded, scratching his beard. “That I did. You also look familiar to me.”
The man stretched his hand out in greeting. “Brian Russell.”
“Ian.” He stayed his tongue before he said the rest of his name out of habit. “Ian Grant.”
“Oh, the same name?”
“Aye, ‘tis a common curse.” Ian laughed and Brian laughed with him. “So, with the last name Russell, how are you related to Ian and Munro?”
“I be a distant cousin. When they passed on, the lands were sold to us.”
“Sold to you?” Ian put on a mask of concern. “Pray, do not tell me Ian’s wife—”
“Oh, nay, sir!” Brian reassured him with haste. “She’s alive and well, thank our Lord. Nay, though we didn’t get to see her, as her Uncle… What was his name? Oh, Tammus. Tammus Keith. He handled the exchange. He said Ian’s wife be too grief stricken to stay at the holdings. We understood and are glad the property is back into Russell hands. We insisted on paying her a generous price to be sure she was taken care of. What with her inheritance and the funds from the holdings, she should fare well enough if she takes care of her spending.”
Ian fought to keep his voice steady. “Aye, that was kind of you. It does my heart good to know she’ll want for nothing.”
“Would you like to come in, join us for supper?” Brian offered.
Clenching his fists behind his back, he dug his nails into his palms. “Thank you so very kindly, my friend, but I really must be going. I have my own family to go home to. No doubt they still think I’m long in the grave, considering the length of time I’ve been away.”
“Are you sure?”
“Most assuredly.” Ian shook Brian’s hand and turned to get onto his horse, tied just inside the front gate. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the reins. “Thank you again, and I appreciate the information.”
“God speed!” Brian called after Ian, who raised a trembling hand to wave farewell.
As Ian rounded the bend in the road, and certain he could neither be seen nor heard, he released a screech that made his voice hoarse. “That bitch!” He repeated the phrase, pounding the pommel of his saddle until
his throat and hands hurt before he calmed and wiped his face. If he rode without stopping at an inn or tavern, Ian could make the journey to Stewart Glen with the small amount of money left, camping—he groaned—along the way. He had not anticipated everything would be gone, so his funds fell short. This woman ruined his life in more ways than one. “No pain will be too great for you, Davina. You will finally get everything you deserve, while giving me everything I deserve.” Buying back this property was not his intention. He would reclaim his inheritance from Davina and finally be free to live where and how he wanted. Urging his horse forward, but mindful to keep the pace easy enough to last the ride, Ian grumbled curses for his soon-to-be-dead wife.
* * * * *
Veronique lagged far enough behind Nicabar to see his shape in the settling darkness. The sound of her feet crunching on the leaves echoed in her ears, setting her heart thumping in her chest, and she frequently ducked behind trees or bushes to remain hidden from his sight and his annoying habit of glancing behind him.
That Davina’s ugly castle appeared around the craggy hill at the edge of the forest, Nicabar heading straight toward the structure. He followed along the western side of the wall. Veronique reached a rocky hill, which enabled her to pick up her pace and edge closer to him for a better view. Why did he not go through the front gate? Was Nicabar not welcome after he made his embarrassing proposal to the ugly Scot? Stopping at a thick growth of shrubbery, Nicabar surveyed the area, and Veronique ducked to avoid his gaze. Had he seen her? She listened for any signs, and then carefully peered over the rock. Nicabar disappeared! The sound of stone sliding against stone drifted on the crisp night air, and the bushes trembled. She waited. After a few moments of silence, she stepped forward with caution. A twig snapped and she jolted, her hand flew to her chest as she whirled around. Nothing stirred in the twilight, but then she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She released her breath and near collapsed when a small deer scampered into the trees. Cursing for being so skittish, she turned back to her target. As she neared the bushes, faint amber light peeked through the thin branches and leaves, beyond which lay a passage in the wall. Veronique inched forward.
