by Arial Burnz
She studied Broderick’s taut belly, the ripples of muscles across his chest. Her tongue tingled to explore the contours of the v-cut in the sculpted valley trailing down to his hips. “I want to see all of you,” she whispered, tugging at the breeches he still wore.
Broderick bent down to taste her mouth then stepped off the bed and stripped of any remaining clothing. Pulling her from the bed and turning her to stand in the firelight, he gingerly removed the chemise, kissing the skin he exposed as he undressed her. When his mouth licked past her hips, and the thin garment dropped to the floor, his fingers came up to the wet folds between her legs, and she threw her head back in a gasp. Gripping his shoulders as he knelt before her, Davina shuddered as he explored her hot center and fluttered his finger over her sensitive nub. Broderick eased her onto the bed, lying beside her. His mouth sought hers and their tongues and lips met in a slow, silky dance of sensuality, sweet touches of mutual tenderness and adoration. Returning his fingers to stroke the sensitive bud of her wet cleft, he coaxed her need to a frenzy. She gave into the urges to buck against his hand, panting as she clung to him.
“Aye, blossom,” he pressed. “Come for me.”
Her whole focus became his fingers sliding in the velvet wetness between her legs. A building sensation settled in her belly, and Davina sensed a promise of something just out of reach. With an alarming swiftness, that promise came crashing against his hand, and Davina quavered in his arms as wave after wave of bliss pulsed down her limbs. Once she caught her breath, Davina pulled back from Broderick to stare at his hooded gaze, the wonder of her experience still overwhelming. “Did I come for you?”
Deep laughter rumbled from his chest, and he held her face in his palm. “Aye, blossom, that you did! Would you like to do it again?”
Her mouth fell open and she nodded wordlessly.
With that devilish smile, his mouth made a hot, wet trail across her breasts, down to her hip and belly and settled between her legs. Pulling her bottom to the edge of the bed, Broderick’s hands coaxed her limbs to fall over his shoulders as he knelt on the floor. Davina reveled at the sensation of his cheeks upon her inner thighs, while his tongue lapped her into a state of total abandon. His moans mixed with hers as she squirmed. Holding her tight against his mouth, his hands on her hips, Broderick’s tongue lapped even faster at her already sensitive bud, charming her body to respond with pulsing rolls of pleasure until Davina cried out in another climax.
He lovingly kissed, licked, and caressed her center, still throbbing from orgasm. Standing before her, Broderick gripped his shaft in his fist and guided his tip over her bud where he stroked her swollen, wet folds. In one easy motion and with a loud groan, he entered, and Davina gasped as Broderick filled her. She grabbed his hands on her hips as he undulated slowly in and out of her. Bending forward, Broderick crawled up onto the bed and cradled her against him, his hand moving underneath her body to grip her bottom and angle her up to him. He buried his face in her neck and Davina clung to Broderick’s back as he pulled his cock out to where the head hovered just above her center for a brief caress, and then plunged deep inside her, again and again, each kiss of his tip aiding in driving her closer to another climax. Another swelling of promise bloomed where she felt the full length of him stroking, Broderick rocking against her body until Davina clutched her husband as if she hung on a precipice. With a velocity that stole her breath, the culmination of their joining thundered through her body. Broderick cried out and shuddered, grunting her name. His hips slowed and he wisped sweet kisses across her face and shoulders and breasts.
Every ragged breath he sighed against her skin sent waves of pleasure through her soul. Broderick pulled back and his eyes met his hers, his still-rigid cock undulated into her as his hands framed her face. The love in his eyes reached into her spirit and covered her heart like warm sunshine. “I love you, Davina.” He shook his head. “Such shallow words compared to depth this love reaches into my heart. My soul belongs to you, my dove,” he breathed against her mouth.
Davina could hardly see Broderick through the hot tears welling in her eyes. “How I have ached to hear you say those words, dreamed for so many years to hear you say that very sentiment. They are not shallow words at all, my darling.” She moaned at the slow, deliberate strokes of Broderick’s shaft inside her. Placing her hands upon his face, she poured her passion and love into her kiss. “And I love you, my Gypsy.”
He groaned against her cheek when she pushed her hips forward to meet his. “Ah, but my days of being a Gypsy are over. We must settle down and build our home.”
She smiled and touched his full mouth with her fingertip. “Settle down and build our home we will, then. I welcome it with great pleasure! But you will always be my Gypsy rogue.”
Broderick smiled with that maddening dimple that always set Davina’s heart to fluttering, and they disappeared into the bliss of their eternal love, as their moans of pleasure drifted out onto the night air.
* * * * *
Davina bit her bottom lip, trying to stay the tears threatening to make this more difficult than she wanted. “Will I ever see you again? We’ve just come to know each other as sisters and now you’re leaving.”
Rosselyn let her tears fall freely, dragging Davina into a heart-wrenching farewell. “I honestly do not know, my dearest friend. If I ever find a way to get a letter to you or find we can travel back toward Stewart Glen, I will leap at the chance.”
The two women clung to each other amidst all the Gypsy wagons, loaded with their wares and supplies, ready to set out to the next establishment. Davina’s mind twirled at how much harder this parting would have been if Broderick had not come into her life. The Gypsies stayed a short while longer after the snow melted, the extra time enabling Davina’s family to throw the double wedding and a hearty feast. The festivity of the Gypsies and their family in their Great Hall was an event to remember, and would be talked about for years to come.
Broderick hugged Amice, almost as if he wouldn’t let her go. “Are you sure you want to leave?” he asked. “You can stay here with us. It would be safer.”
“Bah!” Amice scoffed. “I am too old to change my ways now. I would not feel good about staying in one place. I was born in a wagon. I will die in a wagon.” She leaned in toward Broderick. “And if the devil Angus wants to kill me, may he choke on my old blood! I think that is the way you should rid yourself of him!” She winked at Broderick and he shook his head, laughter rumbling from his chest.
Davina could see the apprehension in his eyes, though. When they had returned from the Vamsyrian Fortress, he became uneasy over the safety of everyone he loved. He took his concern as far as foolish talk of leaving Davina in order to draw Angus or the Council away, but she convinced him his ideas were rash and impulsive. Away from her or with her, Angus already knew they were in love, and the Vamsyrian Council would have already pursued them by now if they wanted them dead. Davina was safer with Broderick at her side…and she was most certainly happier!
Amice hugged Davina, and then Broderick once more. In French, she said, “Let your spirits rest in each other.” She put a wrinkled hand upon each of their hearts. “Know that I will always be here.” She put a hand on her own heart. “As I know both of you will always be here. Until we see each other once more, mind what this Gypsy tells you this day!” Amice winked and turned away to climb onto her wagon. A sadness crept into Broderick’s eyes.
Rosselyn stepped toward him. “Nicabar and I will take good care of her, Broderick. She will never be from our sight.”
He nodded, not having any other choice.
They all embraced one last time and waved tearful farewells as the wagons made their noisy path out of the village of Stewart Glen.
Davina wanted Rosselyn to be happy, truly she did, and she knew being married to Nicabar and traveling with the Gypsies would fulfill her sister’s dreams of living a free-spirited life. Admiring Broderick in the light of the torches, she hugged him close, rev
eling in the strength of his arms and the joy that her dreams, at last, had also come true.
The End
Sneak Peak at Book 2
Midnight Captive
Prologue
Stonehenge, England—1530
Cordelia Lynn Harley stood beside one of the stone sentinels in the monolithic circle. Eyeing the ancient cragged surface, she traced her finger along a crack while she waited. She scanned the horizon for any sign of the prophetess and, again, saw none. The new moon above, like a silver claw in the black sky, lent little illumination to the landscape. Her immortal eyes beheld only far-stretching flatlands of fields and grass dotted with sheep and cattle.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Cordelia started and spun to face Malloren Rune. “I still do not understand how you can sneak up on me, being mortal.”
The prophetess smiled under the glow of the lantern she held, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “You weren’t paying attention, Vamsyrian. I’m sure your mind was exploring the possibilities of the news I have for you.”
Cordelia’s heart hammered and she followed Malloren to one of the fallen stones of the monument. The prophetess sat on the sleeping giant, setting the lantern beside her. Cordelia knelt in breathless anticipation with her hands clenched on her lap. “You found the second sign?”
“That I did.”
Cordelia near collapsed from the wave of relief. “’Tis just as you foretold and everything is falling into place. What is the second sign?”
“That cannot be revealed until certain events take place. First, you must deliver an important item for me.” The prophetess patted the stone, encouraging Cordelia to sit.
Though disappointed at the delay, Cordelia became excited over the new task. “An item?”
“Indeed. One that will spark a chain of events to move the prophecy along and ensure the second sign can be fulfilled.” Malloren produced a small leather pouch a hand’s width across and three fingers deep.
A wire-and-wax seal secured the flap closure. Cordelia recognized the seal of the Tzava Ha’or—The Army of Light. “What is the item?”
The prophetess curled a finger under Cordelia’s chin to draw her gaze. “Listen to me, dear one.”
The grave expression on Malloren’s face made Cordelia shiver.
“You must not open this pouch or you will undo all we are working toward. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” She swallowed.
Malloren presented a folded piece of parchment. “You will take this pouch to the location detailed on this map.”
Cordelia set the pouch on her lap and pried open the edges of the paper.
“You must be at that designated location just after nightfall three days hence. Not one day sooner or later. A man will be waiting for you. The pouch is for him to open and none other. He has further instructions inside.”
Cordelia met the intense gaze of the prophetess and nodded. “Why are you not delivering the pouch?”
“Because I cannot wipe his memory of our encounter. Your abilities as a Vamsyrian are why you must deliver the pouch. Give him the satchel and leave no trace of your face or my instructions to meet you in his mind. He should wake up with the satchel in his hand and my instructions to guide him.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “And you must not wait for him to open the pouch. You deliver it and leave. You will meet me here again on the first full moon after the summer solstice.”
“’Tis almost a year hence! Why—?”
“During that time, certain events will take place to advance the prophecy so we may perform the second sign. Besides, you will have other errands to run.”
Cordelia dropped her jaw at the enormity of her mentor’s previous statement. “We will perform the sign?”
Malloren kissed the top of Cordelia’s head. “Yes, child…we will.”
Chapter One
Leith, Scotland—1531
The cold steel of the blade pressed so hard against Cailin MacDougal’s throat, she couldn’t swallow the lump forming there—nor could she be sure her eyes watered from fear or her attacker. He smelled atrocious! His body odor and bad breath hovered around her like a fog, and she struggled to breathe. Grand appreciation filled the stranger’s blood-shot eyes as they raked over her face and neckline, the corners of his mouth forming an evil grin. “Oh, ye shall be a tasty treat for ol’ Jasper before I hand ye over!”
Cailin cursed over falling for the trap. She had heard of this happening—a young child asking for assistance, luring unsuspecting yet helpful strangers into alleyways, only to be jumped by someone waiting to rob them of their goods…sometimes worse. Where the young lad she followed had gone to now was hardly her concern. The chance that this Jasper might be working for Angus Campbell—which was a constant fear of her family’s—pressed upon her as acutely as his knife pressed against her throat.
She tried to squirm out of Jasper’s grasp—his one beefy hand holding her wrists behind her—only to be pressed harder into the barrels against the back, hidden corner of the alley. With the sharp edge against her skin, the dread over falling into the hands of her father’s enemy, and the frustration of her attacker stepping on her skirts, effectively pinning her in place—Cailin’s mind swirled. She fought the images of Angus feeding from her mother Davina in the dark cell he’d taken them to, his taunting eyes, Davina’s blood on his smiling lips. She willed her emotions into submission. If she didn’t calm down, she would never be able to concentrate on escaping and would suffer the same fate as her mother.
Jasper removed the knife from her throat to caress her cheek and she breathed easier, finally able to swallow and find her voice. “Sir, you have my purse. If you would just—”
He grabbed her throat. “Be still, ducks.”
Heat rose in Cailin’s cheeks when he trailed the blade to her neckline, cutting through her material. How she allowed this lout to pin her in such a confining position was beyond her, and she would never forget such a stupid mistake. This was what she deserved for underestimating him in his slovenly appearance. Admittedly, her skirts made hand-to-hand combat most difficult, so she allowed herself some forgiveness. Training in a gown would be next on her agenda, but until then, she still had this situation to manage. If she could just get her hands on her daggers, hidden within the folds of her dress! She ventured one last glance down the narrow passage. No one had yet come running up the alley, so evidently her initial cry for help went unheard. She was on her own.
There! The idiot shifted to straddle her leg, no longer pinning her, and rubbed his erection against her hip. Ignoring the blush that heated her face, she seized the long-awaited opportunity to pivot her weight, push him away and bring her knee up between his legs, gladly making contact with his offending member. Jasper collapsed to his knees, howling. Hiking her skirts, Cailin kicked the dagger from his hand, brought her foot back and swiped it across his jaw. He curled into an infantile position, groaning and clutching his groin. Cailin dusted her hands in triumph. Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, she pulled at least one of her daggers out at the ready. Shaking her head at his pitiful display, she crouched beside him and searched his vest for her pouch.
A deep, rumbling laugh echoed against the brick walls and she contemplated the raven-haired figure standing at the entrance of the alleyway, a long dark cloak concealing his rather large frame. “And just who is robbing whom?”
Pale-green eyes assessed her as he sauntered forward, crossing his arms. Something seemed vaguely familiar about this man. A delightful shiver tickled over her skin when his eyes fell upon her breasts and the smile melted from his mouth.
He swallowed hard. “If you do not close your bodice, my dear, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”
His deep voice flowed over her body like warm water from the Mediterranean Sea. Cailin glanced down at her bodice—the top of her bosoms flushed pink and rounded above her torn neckline. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Your actions may l
ead you to join this poor soul on the ground.”
With the knife clutched in her left hand—giving her a little more courage than she should probably dare—she searched the robber with her other hand while keeping her eyes trained on the intruder. Jasper stirred as she retrieved her belongings and she diverted her attention just enough to deal him another blow to his jaw, causing him to slump into unconsciousness.
She tucked the purse into her dress pocket. Standing, she raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk, and faced the wide-eyed and slack-jawed handsome stranger.
At a quick intake of breath, he stepped before her and stole his arm around her waist in one motion. Pressing her against the full form of his hard body, he pushed her breasts even more over her torn neckline.
“Unless you wish to keep your private jewels intact,” she warned, “I suggest you keep your distance, sir.” With her dagger at his groin, she tilted the silver-plated blade up to make her point.
His body stiffened against her and fear flickered across his eyes. Taking one step back, he peered down at the dagger between them and fingered the cut she sliced in his breeches. He hitched his breath and offered a respectful nod, retreating. But the sneer returned to his lips. “I see the lady is handy with a blade.” He studied the dagger before his eyes roamed her body and he crossed his arms again. “And how is it a gentile maid such as yourself came to be so experienced at close combat with such expertly crafted weapons? Mind you, I use the terms ‘lady’ and ‘gentile’ with much reluctance.” He snickered.
