MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (5 page)

“Da, I have tried!” Ian disputed. “Have I not proven to be a better husband?”

Munro stepped forward and backhanded his son, causing Ian’s head to thrash to the side, splattering blood to the stone floor. A measure of guilt pulsed at Davina’s conscience from enjoying her husband’s situation. At the same time, she pondered at what he could possibly mean by “a better husband.” If anything, Ian had become more brutal over the last four months or so. Did he think that disciplining his wife more harshly was the quality of a sound groom? Munro raised his fist and Ian shielded himself for another blow.

“Enough!” Parlan barked. “I can see now where your son learned his order of discipline.”

Munro drew up tall, pushing his chest out in defiance. “Harsh discipline is the only thing he’ll listen to, Parlan. Trust me on this.”

“That may be so, as I don’t know your son well enough, but I know Davina, and that manner of punishment isn’t necessary with her. Though she can be rather dramatic, she’s a reasonable woman and can be spoken to. I realize a man has the right to do with his wife as he wishes, and some women do need to be disciplined with an element of force, but not my daughter.”

Davina fought to see through the tears flooding her eyes over her father’s defense. She was not aware her father knew. The pride and relief swelling in her breast would surely burst her ribcage!

“We arranged this marriage contract for mutual benefits,” Parlan continued. “As I’m second cousin to King James, this gives you valuable connections. The Russells have wealth for investments and business opportunities for me and my son, Kehr.” He stepped toward Munro with menace in his eyes, his voice barely a whisper, and Davina strained to hear him. “But I didn’t bargain the brutality of my daughter in the exchange.”

Munro glared at his son. “Again, Parlan, I must beg you to forgive my son.” He turned toward her father more contrite. “And I implore you to forgive me for whatever I may have done to contribute to my son’s overzealous duties as a husband.”

A chill ran through Davina. Though Munro may have sounded sincere—and the expression of acceptance on her father’s face indicated he believed her father-in-law—that same tone of feigned humility came from Ian often. Such humility always proved to be an elaborate masquerade, however. Even his words indicated he didn’t think he was at fault: “Whatever I
may
have done…” In the fourteen months Davina and Ian had been married, she had come to notice these veiled signs meant to draw sympathy and surrender but instead indicated the truth behind the façade.

Munro turned his piercing eyes toward Ian as he spoke. “To show you my efforts to make this right, Parlan, I will indeed do as you suggest and close my coffers to my son.” A subtle flavor of smug satisfaction touched Munro’s features as he held this position of power over his son. Davina easily recognized Ian’s body trembling with hidden rage, his fists clenched behind his back. A foreboding terror flowed over her, like the freezing water of a winter current taking her down into its murky darkness. She would surely be the object of his frustration once they were alone and back at their own, cold manor.

Hold on to that image of strength
, Davina chanted in her head, as she had done countless times before, the voice and the face of Broderick being that strength. Whenever sorrow or despair threatened to consume her and drive her mad, she focused on his flaming red hair, his broad chest and strong arms encircling her in a cocoon of safety, his full lips pressing a comforting kiss to her brow. Broderick would never treat her in the way Ian did and she found refuge in the fantasy of being the Gypsy’s wife. In that world, that realm of fantasy, Ian could not touch her, break her spirit, nor destroy her pride.

Pivoting on his heel, Munro faced Parlan once more and gave a curt nod, drawing Davina’s attention. “A very wise counsel, indeed, and I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it sooner myself.”

“There is more to responsibility than the managing of finances, Ian.” Parlan stood before his son-in-law, glowering down at the top of his bowed head. “Davina is a kind heart, a loving soul—”

“All the more reason why I’m overjoyed at the union,” Munro interrupted, standing beside Ian. “She’s the sweet hand who will gentle the beast inside my son. I’m sure you have seen the wisdom in this and why you agreed to the union. Davina will succeed in wooing my son into a loving husband and father.”

Parlan’s face grew dark and he stepped within a breath of the two men. Studying them, his eyes settled on Ian, who met his gaze. “‘Tis difficult to become a father, Ian, when you beat the vessel that contains your child.”

Davina used the sleeve of her dress to muffle her tears of release. Loneliness had been her only companion under the brutal hands of her husband, and the unborn child she lost was more grief than she could bear. She had no idea her father knew what she had endured. Ian threatened her repeatedly, saying he only did the duty of a husband disciplining an unruly wife, and if she said anything to anyone of the constant deserved correction, she would regret it. After fighting against him proved to bring more of his dominance, she began to believe she was at fault, and indeed brought his wrath upon her. After all, many of her cousins spoke of the discipline all women must endure at the hands of their husbands, even the cruel methods their husbands chose to bed them. Why should her situation be any different?

Ian’s inconsistent moods made her guarded at all times. One moment he displayed loving attention and whispered promises; the next he blamed her for whatever fouled his mood. Her mind spun with the torrent of various accusations and reasons for his shifting disposition. At times, Davina could hardly tell up from down and all rationalizations fell short to the chaos of her circumstances. Seeing her father come to her defense and knowing he did have eyes to see the truth, she gripped the wall to steady her legs buckling from sheer relief. She wasn’t crazy! She wasn’t at fault!

“Hold your coffers, then, Munro. Until Ian can prove to be gentler to Davina, she’ll come back home here and the courtship will begin anew.”

Ian snapped his head toward his father, and Munro dropped his mouth open. “Now, Parlan, I believe that’s going a bit too far. There is no need to upset Davina with having to move her back here and endure the instability of a shifting home life.”

“A safe and loving home life is better than the holdings she has endured under your roof. I will make arrangements to have her things brought back at once.” Parlan narrowed his eyes on Ian. “You want those covetous connections to the crown, lad, you had better prove yourself to be a doting husband, worthy of the fruit of my grandchildren.”

Davina fought to calm the thundering of her heart, thrumming out of control. She would be home!

“Parlan.” Munro put a comforting hand upon her father’s shoulder. “I can assure you Davina will be safe under my roof. Now that I’m aware of the situation—”

“The mistreatment was happening under your nose and you could not see it!” Parlan roared.

Munro bowed his head, backing away, and nodded. “You are correct, Parlan. I cannot express the grief of my ignorance over the pain I have caused your precious daughter. I have come to see Davina as the daughter I have always wanted and regret that my wife did not live to know her.” Munro turned away to submit to forlorn pacing, his hands behind his back, a vision of repentance. “Methinks if Ian had the loving influence of my wife, he might have learned to be a kinder husband. I fear my attention to matters of estate and wealth gave me little time with him, so I failed in my duty to teach him such things.” Turning sorrowful eyes to Parlan, Munro pleaded his case. “I understand your decision, and if you wish to maintain your position, I won’t fight you. Nevertheless, I implore you to give me the chance to set this right. My eyes are opened and I will be Davina’s protector. I will maintain control over Ian.”

Davina waited, her breath caught in her chest, as she dared to hope in the safety her father offered. The moments stretched on endlessly as she watched Parlan consider Munro’s words. With a deep sigh, he nodded. “I will concede.”

Davina dropped her mouth open and her heart plummeted into the depths of her being.

“On one condition: You will all stay here as our guests for a fortnight or more. I wish to spend time with my daughter and give her a chance of reprieve and a period of observation over your son.” Parlan pointed a finger at Munro’s face and snarled his lips. “But if I see the tiniest sign of sorrow in my daughter’s eyes, any hint of a mark on her body, if I don’t see her demeanor change to that of a blissfully happy woman in a short time, I’m dissolving this marriage, and I care not what scandal it causes or what it costs me.”

Munro tightened his jaw and his eyes grew cold. “Aye, I’m sure scandal is something you’re well-equipped to handle, considering your background.”

Parlan’s face flushed crimson. “Regardless of my background,” he gritted, “I’m still the one who has the connections to the crown, and not just through my illegitimate birth. Being nursery mates and close cousin to the one currently on the throne has its privileges.”

The two men stared at each other in a silent contest, but a broad smile eventually broke across Munro’s face. “Not to worry, my friend! You won’t be disappointed. Ian will be a model son-in-law, and we will have many grandchildren to be proud of!” Munro’s hearty slaps on Parlan’s back did nothing to wipe away the determined line of Parlan’s mouth, but he still nodded his assent.

Davina gulped down the new tears of dismay that threatened to give her away. Easing back from the doorway, she padded silently down the hall, away from this meeting of men, this gathering of male dominance deciding a doom-filled destiny for her life. As she staggered through the kitchen, out into the empty courtyard and behind the stables, her heart sank even further at the idea of Munro’s protection in which she had no faith. She had never said a word to her father, and Parlan knew Ian was maltreating her in the few visits her parents had paid her, or their brief visits back to her home. How could Munro stand there feigning ignorance of what happened under his own roof? She sank down onto a small pile of straw behind some rain barrels, pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, letting her tears flow.

Not once during this horror and farce of a marriage had she confided in her brother Kehr. Even now, she couldn’t go to him, as he was away in Edinburgh, at least three day’s journey from their home in Stewart Glen. Why she never shared any of her woes about Ian with her brother, she couldn’t reason at this moment. She shared everything with him, including her fantasies of being the wife of the Gypsy fortune teller. Not the intimate details, of course, but the ideas of him coming back and declaring his true love. She had been grateful her brother was accepting of her dreams, though he did tease her from time to time. Kehr was always supportive, but he did caution her not to get too wrapped up in her dream world. It was, after all, a fantasy.

Drawing in a deep breath, she calmed her thumping heart and shaking hands, seeking her fantasies to ease her worry. What an impression he had made on her, the giant Gypsy fortune teller. She had enjoyed many trips to the Gypsy camp during their last stay, conversing with Amice while they sipped tea by the fire. Hardly glancing at Davina, Broderick came and went, telling fortunes and going about his business. Too shy to address him directly, Davina drank in every opportunity she saw him, her infatuation growing. And when he did address her, she couldn’t form more than two words without a flurry of giggles. But she memorized every feature of Broderick’s face—the curve of his hawk-like nose, the handsome angle of his cheekbones, the set line of his square jaw. At the tender age of thirteen, innocence and inexperience flavored her daydreams with strolls through moonlit forests and stolen kisses. As she grew older, those fantasies matured and burned with passion-filled embraces. Amice said they would return. In the eight years since she met him, every group of Gypsies traveling through their little village of Stewart Glen set her heart aflame, only to be doused by the disappointment of his not being amongst them. When her father made the marriage contract with Munro, giving her hand to Ian, she forced herself to abandon her dreams and come to the realistic conclusion she had to put her whimsies aside, as her brother encouraged.

The dark reality of this union with Ian, though, resurrected those fantasies and she clung to them with her life.

Kittens mewed somewhere in the stables, their helpless little cries drawing her attention and turning the corners of her mouth up in sympathy. She sighed. At least her heart stopped pounding, and her hands were steady once more.

Leaning her head against the wooden structure of the stables, she stared at the stones of the perimeter wall across the way…stones that her father placed by his own hands. She smiled as she recalled his attempt at engineering the secret opening located in the north side of the perimeter wall, at the back of their grounds just to her left. He complained how imperfect the mechanisms were. Kehr and Davina delighted in using the secret passage for fun through the years, though with stern warning from their father not to give away its whereabouts. Though their home was not designed to be a formidable fortress against an army, the walls did keep them safe by directing all traffic through the front gates. Parlan was ever mindful of his family, as a responsible father should be.