MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (26 page)

“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.

The young Gypsy made her way around the bush and flattened against the wall, alert to the muffled voices coming through the passage. Peering into the dark entrance, she saw what appeared to be the back of a building and some rain barrels. A devious grin spread across her lips, and she slipped inside. She brushed some webs away as she snuck through the passage. Seeing no one around, she hid beside the rain barrels and dared a cautious peek through the closed shutters of the window. Bits of hay littered the ground inside the building, one side opened to reveal stalls, hanging leather harnesses and mouth bits. The stables.

“Nica!”

Veronique squatted in fright.

“What? You love it when I do that,” his voice teased.

Veronique narrowed her eyes and cursed under her breath. Nicabar and his ugly Scottish woman were in the hayloft, rolling around like animals. After listening to their grunts of passion, she was grateful she hadn’t given up her virginity to him, but she still needed to resolve this problem with Davina. Veronique scampered around the stable to the side of the structure. Setting against the wall, she inclined her ear toward their voices above. Two minutes of their panting, moaning, and laughing was about all she could stand. She wanted information! Not a heated coupling!

Pouting, she made her way toward the other side of the stables. Ahead, across the courtyard, lay a door into the castle. A woman carrying two buckets came out of the door, a kerchief on her head. She waddled to the edge of the courtyard and dumped the water into a hole surrounded by stones and covered with a metal grate, then turned to go back inside. Not two moments later, the door opened, and a man came stomping out of the castle. He left the door open, and another woman stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a furrowed brow. “Oh, quit yer gripin’, Seamus!”

The man stopped and took two steps back toward the woman in the doorway. “This is the third trip I’m making this month! Third trip! How much honey can one person eat?”

The woman stepped out, the lines on her brow vanishing, her voice softer. “You know her honey is the only thing Mistress Davina has left to keep the memory of her brother alive.”

Seamus sighed and nodded. “Aye. I will make a short trip of it.”

Veronique ran behind the stable to the water barrels, to hide and get closer to the passage. The loft became quiet and not too long afterwards, Seamus rode off on horseback through the front gate. As Veronique snuck back to the stone passage, Nicabar and Rosselyn burst into laughter and continued their frolicking. Veronique shook her head, exited through the passage, and headed back to the Gypsy camp. The grin on her face grew wider with each step. She bunched her hands into fists with excitement. She knew exactly what to do about that Davina!

Chapter Nine

Davina, Rosselyn, and Lilias sat in the parlor by the wide oriel window with their needlework projects. They took advantage of the mid-afternoon sunlight. Davina worked at her specialty of stitching delicate vines along the cuffs of one of her mother’s chemises; Lilias sat before a tapestry stretched across a frame of a half-finished design, portraying the Stewart crest of her husband and the Keith crest of her own clan, a large piece that would go in the Great Hall once finished; and Rosselyn stitched floral designs on table linens. These quiet times were a welcome respite after their weekly chore of brushing clean all the woolen clothing in their wardrobes.

“Uncle Tammus said he would be back in a fortnight, did he not, M’ma?” Davina looked up from her embroidery when she didn’t get an answer and saw her mother rubbing her temples. “M’ma?”

“Nay, Davina. In just a few days,” Lilias whispered, squinting at her.

“Another spell of head pains,” Davina said.

Lilias nodded. “I will go lie down and rest for awhile.”

“Oh, we can go to the Gypsy camp, Mistress Davina!” Rosselyn offered. “Amice has wonderful herbal remedies for any ailment one might have!”

“What a wonderful idea, Roz. I’m amazed I never thought of that myself. I will tell Fife to accompany you while I tend to M’ma.” Davina put her project aside to help her mother to bed, placing her embroidery threads in the basket beside her chair.

“Oh, but I hoped you would go with me.”

Davina stopped in the middle of tucking Lilias’s embroidery threads in her basket and glanced at her mother. Lilias remained seated, squeezing her eyes closed and massaging her temples. Grateful her mother seemed distracted by her head pains, Davina glared at Rosselyn.

“Don’t fret, Davina. Broderick won’t be there. He doesn’t come to the camp during the daytime.”

Davina blanched. Another confirmation of what the Gypsy girl told her.

Lilias strained to peek at the two of them. “Why are you so concerned whether or not he’s there? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?” Panic laced Lilias’s voice.

“Nay, M’ma.” Davina made efforts to keep her voice calm. “He hasn’t hurt me. There is nothing to be concerned about.” Davina helped Lilias to her feet and glared at Rosselyn over her mother’s head. “Tell Fife I will be down to join you after I have Myrna put M’ma to bed.” She frowned at the gleeful expression on her maid’s face. Just as Davina suspected, Rosselyn was playing match maker and did everything but come outright and say Davina and Broderick should be together. Well, Davina would just have to set her maid straight on the matter. Davina helped Lilias up the stairs to her chamber and fetched Myrna.

With Lilias tucked into bed, Davina joined Rosselyn and Fife and trotted out to the Gypsy camp.

They rode in silence for a while—Davina and Rosselyn side by side with Fife traveling ahead of them—before Rosselyn spoke. “Did I say something wrong, Davina?”

“When?”

“While we were in the parlor.”

“Oh. Well, you know how my mother worries. She’s also aware the Gypsy has an interest in me and doesn’t fancy the idea of me being with a wanderer like him. I don’t want to give her any reason to believe something will come of the match.”

“Do you fancy the Gypsy?”

Davina pursed her lips at Rosselyn. “If I thought he was to be at the camp, I wouldn’t have come with you.” Rosselyn may have told Davina he wouldn’t be there just to get her to come along. A part of her hoped she had, proving Veronique wrong. “He isn’t going to be there, correct?”

“Aye. ‘Tis just as I said; he doesn’t come to the camp during the day.”

She shivered, but Rosselyn might have learned another reason. “Why?”

“Nicabar tells me Amice does the fortune telling during the day and doesn’t have the strength to continue into the night, so Broderick takes over the duty. I guess he’s used to the unusual schedule.”

The arrangement seemed logical enough. Veronique may have said such things to keep Davina away, though her reasons were unclear.

“But I didn’t ask you if you wanted to see the
dukker
, Davina. I asked if you fancied him.”

“The what?”

“The
dukker
. ‘Tis the Gypsy word for fortune teller.” Rosselyn remained silent, and Davina hoped she wouldn’t repeat the question, but she did.

“I would want to see him if I had an interest in him, nay?”
There, that should satisfy her curiosity
.

Rosselyn smiled a secret smile, one which made Davina uneasy. Aye, she’d satisfied her, all right. Broderick interested Davina, and she grated her teeth at being so transparent.