by Arial Burnz
“I will let nothing happen to Davina and Cailin,” he vowed. Broderick easily slipped into his old role of the Lord of Glenstrae, and motioned for Amice to come forward. “Please stay here for your safety.” Amice understood he had concerns over Angus getting to them. Though the castle wasn’t complete assurance of their safety, it fared better than a wide-open Gypsy camp. He turned to Tammus. “After I’m gone, I want those gates locked. Do not let anyone in unless you know them personally, and even then, I would raise caution. No one should be coming here at night.”
“Agreed. ‘Tis already ordered.” The corner of Tammus’s mouth turned up in approval, and Broderick nodded.
“I’m assuming Ian took provisions with him?”
Several people nodded.
“I hope the same will be packed on my horse, including extra blankets.”
“Already been done,” Tammus assured him.
He turned to Lilias. “Did you pack an extra change of clothing for Davina?”
“Nay, I didn’t think to.” She dabbed her eyes, wiping the tears falling since Broderick arrived. Lilias nodded. “Myrna, would you please—?”
“Aye, milady,” the heavyset woman whispered with a nod and waddled out of the room.
Fife poked his head into the parlor. “Master Broderick, a horse is ready for your journey.”
Broderick nodded, and a team of people followed him into the kitchen. “Will someone please ensure I have a cake of soap, a small wash basin, drying cloths and washing cloths?” Rosselyn volunteered to fill his request, and Broderick turned to exit through the door to head to the stables. The snow, falling steadily since he rose, grew heavier as they headed through the courtyard, the wind growing fiercer. There, a horse stood ready for him as promised. “Who has taken the journey to this lodge and is most familiar with the route?”
Lilias stepped forward. “I know the route well, Master Gypsy.”
Broderick stepped before her and cupped her tearful face in his hands. “You must do something for me, Mistress Lilias,” he said with kind encouragement.
She nodded.
“Close your eyes and think of your journey. See yourself going to this place, the familiar and noticeable landmarks along the way.”
Lilias nodded and closed her eyes, and so did Broderick.
He absorbed the images flashing through her mind. “See the front of this building as you approach. See the inside of the lodge and its rooms.” Broderick held Lilias’s trembling shoulders as he committed to memory as much as he could. Kissing the crown of her head, he whispered his thanks.
She opened her eyes and met his gaze.
“I will find them…and bring them back.”
Lilias stared at him with watery, sorrow-filled eyes. Will they be alive or…? She stepped into his embrace.
After a brief moment, Broderick impressed her to Amice’s side, mounted his horse and habitually checked to see his sword cleared his scabbard, ready to draw if needed.
Rosselyn came running down to the stables, waving her hand and yelling for Broderick to wait. Rushing to his side, panting and handing him a hefty bundle, she said, “The soap, cloths, and the extra change of clothes!”
He thanked her and secured the bundle in the fully-packed saddlebags, squeezing it in where he could. Kicking his steed into a full gallop, Broderick bolted out the gates and reined the beast west and to Davina. Though he could reach Davina faster on foot, carrying all the provisions would have made the journey difficult.
Broderick glanced heavenward. “I know you have a deaf ear to my kind, Lord, but hear me for her sake. Let her strength be enough to survive this.”
* * * * *
“So Broderick is going to play hero,” Angus said, pondering this new development, the lifeless body of the perimeter patrol at his feet in the snow. He approached the Gypsy camp with the intention of confronting Broderick with Veronique’s life. However, Broderick’s presence was absent from the area. Broderick hadn’t come out to meet him as he expected. Listening to the thoughts of those around the camp led him to the castle at Stewart Glen, and this poor soul at his feet gave him the last bit of information he needed. Whoever this person was, this thought-to-be-dead husband of Davina’s may have thwarted his plans for the night, but he didn’t necessarily ruin everything. The fact that Broderick went after Davina instead of Veronique made it obvious who meant more to him. Broderick was immortal and would most definitely win against this mortal…if he made it to her on time. If he did, all would go as planned. If not, Davina’s death would make Broderick weak enough to take the fight out of him, while Angus used Amice and Veronique to deal the final blow.
Chapter Fourteen
Broderick continued through a blinding curtain of egg-sized flurries. The tracks he followed disappeared under the new cover of snow. Curses flowed from his mouth in hot breaths as he pushed forward. Though Lilias’s memories showed the way to the lodge through a valley of connecting glens, all he had were images of summer journeys. Snow, which kept building, covered the route and made the landscape indefinable. He tried to keep his fear at bay with the faith he proceeded in the right direction. Though immortality granted him supernatural night vision, he couldn’t see through snow. The poor visibility made it more and more difficult to see the landscape, and he had to right his horse through the rising ground to get back into the center of the guiding glens.
Breathing deep through his nostrils, the scent of blood caught his attention and the Hunger stirred. He inhaled another breath. Nothing. Another. There…the unmistakable scent of blood. He slowed his mount and jumped from the horse, smelling the cold gusts of air. More blood. His gut tightened both from the Hunger and over whose blood it might be, but he quelled his rising uncertainties. The scent of blood didn’t seem strong, indicating there wasn’t a lot of it.
Broderick had not fed prior to departing—and for once, that worked in his favor. The Hunger, not yet satisfied tonight, made his senses all the more acute for what it needed most. Taking another step forward, his foot landed on something in the snow. He pulled on the large cloth under his foot. Davina’s cloak. The smell of her rose oil and essence sent a wave of comfort through his body, but he tensed at the smell of her blood. Swinging back up into the saddle, he pushed the horse forward, allowing the Hunger to reach out for any more signs of blood. Coming forward through the falling snow, a familiar rock formation appeared on the right. Excitement drummed his heart as he recognized this landmark as being the last large marker just before the lodge. He was close!
As quietly as possible, Davina worked at the ropes tying her hands behind her back. A blazing fire radiated from the hearth across the room, and from her corner she took advantage of the warmth. What Ian built for his own comfort, also helped cease her shivering. Numb and lethargic, her hands made the effort difficult. Her breasts, hard and aching with milk, added to her discomfort. She rested for a moment, the left cheek of her bottom throbbing, and then tried to straighten her legs from their curled position under her body. She winced. They were stiff and one leg tingled. The rest of her body ached from the hard miles. Tears stained her cheeks and stung the open scrapes. Still, all the soreness in her body paled next to the wrenching in her heart.
Cailin had stopped crying when they reached the lodge. Davina hoped her daughter was asleep. But as she stumbled to Ian’s horse, he swung the limp child down only by her arm, and Davina cried out when Cailin’s arm snapped. Ian hefted Cailin into Davina’s bound arms with little care, and Davina used all her strength to keep from dropping her baby. She fell to her knees, crying, and stretched her legs out to put Cailin onto her lap, covering the babe with her skirts. Only after Ian strolled through the lodge and found the accommodations suitable, did he come back outside and cut Davina’s bonds. He left her to battle her weakness, lifting Cailin and staggering to her feet. When she struggled inside, he prodded her through the front area and into the dining hall where she collapsed on the nearest bench and hurried to unbind her breasts. She j
ust put her hands to her neckline when Ian grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged them both, Davina clutching Cailin to her breast, over to the corner and pushed them to the floor.
“Have a seat, Davina,” he mumbled. Then he snatched Cailin from her grip. Davina reached for her daughter, frantically tugging and pulling at Ian’s arms, but he batted her attempts away. Grunting, he slammed his fist into her face. When she came to, she was seated in the corner, wrists tied behind her back, ankles bound even tighter, her head spinning from the blow she received.
From her position in the corner, Davina surveyed the area while she struggled to regain her bearings and assess her situation. Ian gorged on more food at the table to her right. Davina’s stomach rumbled in response. Beside Ian’s trencher lay his dagger. She turned her attention back to his face for fear of him catching her covetous eyes upon his knife—the only weapon she could find in the room. Davina tried to gauge any suspicious reactions, any signs he might see that she tried to break free. She concentrated to ensure her movements were as minute as possible.
Cailin lay on the table next to Ian, her face pale, her tiny chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths… At least she still breathes. Cailin’s broken arm was deformed and blotched with purple skin. Davina gritted her teeth and fought the helplessness welling inside her. Until she freed herself, she could do little for her daughter, and time ran short. Davina twisted her hands and pulled at her bonds, pain climbing up her arms like fire burning her flesh. Though getting free was the first goal, more importantly she needed Ian out of the way. Only then would she be able to help her daughter. That insurmountable task weighed down her spirit. Her limbs trembled from exhaustion. Weakness lorded over her body. Where would she find the strength to come against Ian? More tears slipped down her cheeks. She eyed the dagger in vain.
“So, tell me, Davina,” Ian spoke casually over his food, a piece of grouse flying onto the floor. “Did you ask your brother to kill me, or did he just decide to do that on his own to protect his little sister?”
Davina remembered Kehr’s last words to her before they went off to war. “I swear to you, Davina,” he whispered against her ear. “You will never have to see him again.”
Ian finished eating and wiped his hands on a cloth that held some of the food. “Oh, he tried to strike me down.” Strolling around the table, Ian picked up Cailin and laid her gingerly on the floor, just out of Davina’s reach. “A very good attempt, I must say.” Ian lifted his shirt and exposed ugly, blotchy scars all along his right side. Dropping his shirt, he smiled. “But I remained conscious long enough to see him die. How glorious, Davina! To see a great English spearhead emerge from his chest like the birth of a foal, dripping with blood and flesh! What an exquisite sight!”
He bore his crazed eyes into hers, and she turned away.
“Upsetting?” he asked with sincerity. “Does it rip your heart apart to hear the details of your brother’s death?”
She glared at him, and he grabbed her shoulders, his fingers biting into her flesh.
Ian pulled her to her feet and shoved her onto the bench, straddling her lap and pushing her hard against the table. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out. At least she sat in a better position to fiddle with her bonds. A devious smile spread across his face and he put his mouth against her ear, laughing. “You know I love it when you fight, Davina!”
Let him think what he wanted; fine by her.
“Aye, it has been a long time, wife.” Ian’s hands groped her milk-hardened breasts, and she gasped from the soreness, his lascivious eyes upon her. Davina wanted to vomit. Oh, how she despised this man! Nothing made her want to retch more than what came next. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her hands. Please, dear Lord, give me strength!
“Did your Gypsy dream lover ever come back for you?” he teased against her ear as he continued to molest her. His whiskers scraped against her raw skin. “I thought I saw the Gypsy caravans by the village.” He laughed.
Free! My hands are free! Davina turned her head, took his ear between her teeth and bit as hard as she could, wincing as his screeching wail pierced her ear. He jumped off her lap and put his hand to the side of his head. Davina spit the piece of flesh onto the floor, stifling the urge to vomit, fighting the gagging convulsions.
Ian bent forward, grunting, blood dripping through his hand.
Before he recovered, she grabbed the dagger off the table, her arms heavy like they dragged through mud, but then she lost her bearing. She toppled to the floor in front of the chapel door, dizzy. Shaking her head to clear the confusion, she realized Ian had recovered and knocked her aside. Struggling to crawl away, she stumbled onto her face. Her feet were still bound. Ian grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward him. Disorientation conquered her senses. The room flopped back and forth as Ian dragged Davina around. Nausea threatened to claim her and she covered her mouth, closing her eyes.
Severing the bonds at her ankles, he cut through her kirtle. The sound of tearing cloth grated her nerves. The coolness of the room hit her skin through her thin chemise, and Ian straddled Davina, pinning her arms at her side with his knees. Forced to view him in his dominant position, she saw his snarling face, the room still spinning. He raised his arm high, clenching his fist. Davina wiggled beneath him and he punched her face. She lay still for a moment, stunned from the blow, then resumed struggling. Another blow and a warm trickle oozed from the side of her mouth. Fighting once more, she managed to free one of her arms and snake her hand up between his legs, squeezing and twisting his sack as hard as she could. Ian yowled. Davina bucked her hips, and he fell forward, enough for her to scoot out from under him. Davina struggled to her knees before Ian pounced, still nursing his groin. Two more crushing blows to her face rendered her helpless. She had no more strength to fight. She searched for her daughter in hopes Cailin still lay unconscious, unable to witness what she knew came next.
At breakneck speed, Broderick arrived at the lodge nestled in the small valley. The wooden door was shut against the cold and no lights flickered in the windows. His body tensed. What if Ian didn’t bring them here? Where would he look next? Could they already be dead? Digging his heels in, he galloped down the slope and leapt off his horse at the gate, bolting to the front door and shouldering it open. Empty. But the thick scent of blood hung in the air. His fear dominated the Hunger, keeping it under control. Broderick barreled through the front hall into the next room.
Davina lay almost unconscious, moaning and thrashing her head from side to side. Her breasts were exposed, and straddled on top of her knelt Ian—the man he saw in the image from the taste of Davina’s blood; the face staring back at him in the dream tonight. Rage gushed through Broderick’s body, and he clenched his fists.
The scent of blood assailed his senses and the Hunger demanded an audience. Snarling, Broderick pulled back his control, allowing the Hunger to come forth. The familiar pain shot through Broderick’s gums as his incisors extended. He hunched forward, his breath gusting hot from his lungs, and a snarl boomed out of his mouth, causing Ian to cease in cutting Davina’s chemise. Ian, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, dropped the dagger to the floor.
Ian grunted and Davina gasped in relief when his weight lifted. She couldn’t see, her eyes swollen to slits and head still spinning from his blows. A loud crash of furniture made her flinch with fright. She lay for a moment, trying to gain her senses.
Move! She ordered her body to obey. Get to Cailin! With groggy motions, she rolled onto her side and crawled away from the commotion. What happened? Was Ian pleading? Did he beg for his life? Or did she have deluded fantasies, lying on the floor underneath him as he violated her? Davina’s fingers touched something soft and warm. Cailin! She squinted through the darkness of delirium and found her daughter’s limp form on the floor. Gathering the babe into her arms, she scrambled to the edge of the room and cried as she held the soft bundle against her breasts.
Ian’s blood-curdling scream pierced her ears,
and Davina ducked into a ball to protect Cailin. She slapped a hand over her own mouth when a sickening gurgle echoed along the stone walls, followed by the gruesome crackle of ripping cartilage, like a chicken carcass being dismembered. Davina searched the dining hall with squinted eyes, and her breath left her in a gust of disbelief.
Broderick stood facing her, the fire behind him silhouetting his figure, Ian’s limp body in his arms. Blood—streaming black in the dimness—flowed from Ian’s neck and down his arm, outstretched toward the floor, lifeless. Ian’s body hit the floor with a thud. Davina swallowed hard when the firelight exposed his throat, gaping and shredded. Her heart thundered in her ears. She gazed up at Broderick. That molten silver glow shone in his eyes through the dimness. His chin glistened, and black liquid stained the front of his white shirt. What was that black liquid? Davina’s eyes widened with horror. Could that be blood coming from his mouth? Did blood stain his chin and shirt? She glanced down at Ian and then back to Broderick, who turned his back to her in haste. His arm made a sweeping movement, as if he wiped his face clean. In a smooth motion, he tore his shirt off and tossed it aside. Her chest heaved as she panted, panic overwhelming her.
“Davina.” What she heard of Broderick’s voice over the thudding in her ears sounded hoarse and harsh. Just like the night she cut her neck on her dagger. The night he said, “The only thing that frightens me about blood is my passion for it.”
Davina searched the room for a weapon and saw Ian’s dagger. She put Cailin down on the floor and with a glance at Broderick’s expansive back, lunged forward and grabbed the knife. Standing like a lioness over her child, she held the dagger in front of her, shielding Cailin on the floor behind her. Broderick turned around and stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Davina, please…”
Please what? She bit her knuckle to stave off a scream. Her other hand trembled with the sharp knife poised at Broderick.
