Page 30 of Midnight Conquest

Then she blinked hard and jerked back, awareness flashing across her features.

“What… What are you doing?” Her cheeks flushed, but her voice remained steady. She braced herself against him, her spine steel straight.

Broderick’s brow furrowed. Most mortals melted under his influence. Their thoughts bent like reeds in wind. But not Davina.

She’d felt it—acknowledged it—and shoved it off like a warrior batting away an enemy’s sword.

He stared at her with new interest. “Ye’ve got a strong will, lass,” he murmured, head tilting. A faint lift of his lips betrayed his surprise. “Blockin’ me out like that. Impressive.”

Her mouth pressed into a tight line, eyes like polished gems glinting with fire. “And yet you still pry,” she said through clenched teeth. “Whatever brought you here, Broderick, I assure you—it’s a waste of time. I have no interest in reliving the past.”

“Is that so?” he whispered, leaning close. His breath teased the shell of her ear. “Yer heartbeat and yer thoughts tell a different tale,” his thoughts intruded.

She stiffened, her sapphire eyes narrowing. “Get out of my head.”

Instead of trying to compel her again, Broderick let his gaze linger on her lips, his expression softening. The lass didn’t realize how much power she held in that resistance of hers. He wasn’t used to this—being unable to bend a mortal’s will to his own. It intrigued him, infuriated him, and yet…it made him want her all the more.

Still, he couldn’t resist testing her resolve. He brushed his lips over her cheek, and she shuddered in his arms. His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Say the word, lass,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck. “And I’ll make ye forget every man but me.”

For a moment, she sighed and leaned into him. But then, she shoved against his chest, planting her feet firm on the ground. “What happened between us was a mistake.” Though her cheeks flushed a lovely pink that crept to the tips of her ears, she stood resolute. “And it will never happen again.”

Davina stiffened, clenched her hands against his chest andshoved. Broderick let her go, and she staggered back, surprised she’d broken free. With another insolent huff, she turned on her heel and stormed toward the castle with quick, determined strides.

Broderick’s grin widened. “Ye ken where tae find me if ye change yer mind. I hear the inn here is lovely.”

Davina paused, pivoted slowly, and her lips curved into a faint, challenging smile. “Don’t hold your breath, sir Gypsy. You’ll be waiting a long time.”

As she turned and hurried up the road, Broderick chuckled and adjusted his tightened breeches. “We’ll see about that, lass,” he murmured rough with promise.

He stood a moment longer, watching her retreating figure disappear around the next bend. Then, with a flip of his cloak, he strolled into the forest.

∞∞∞

Dust billowed behind Davina as she sprinted across the courtyard. She reached the stables at full tilt and shoved the door open, the tang of hay and horses hitting her in a wave of warmth and sweat. A bitter taste coated her tongue—grit and dread.

Fife sat on an overturned bucket, elbows on his knees, hands knotted in his thinning graying hair. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of something vast and immovable. The sight carved a hollow space in Davina’s chest.

“Fife?” Her voice rang through the quiet barn, startling her mare, Heather. “Is it true? Is Uncle Tammus here?”

He lifted his head slowly, the lines in his face deeper than sheremembered. A reluctant nod. No more.

Her heart thumped relentlessly. “Has… Has he spoken with my mother?”

Another nod, slower. Fife’s mouth parted, but it took a moment before he rasped, “He’s in the study. Liam’s with him.”

The stables swayed. Davina’s knees nearly gave, but she caught herself, gripping the stall wall. Liam. Of course he was.

She pressed her palms to her face, blocking the world, forcing herself to breathe. What had she done? What madness had she unleashed? One reckless choice, and now the entire household stood at the edge of a knife. Especially Liam.

She straightened. Squared her shoulders. Lifted her chin like a shield. “I’ll deal with Uncle Tammus,” she said, voice flatter than she intended but steady enough. “Whatever happens, I’ll answer for it. I won’t let him touch Liam.”

Fife’s mouth thinned to a grim line. “Ye think ye can control what comes next?” His voice cracked, heavy with defeat. “I pray ye’re right, lass. But this pit ye dug may bury us all.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Davina turned on her heel, gathered her skirts, and bolted into the kitchen where silence reigned. Rosselyn, Myrna, and the staff sat stiff and pale. Tear-streaked faces turned toward her. Only Rosselyn rose, arms open for a trembling hug.

The others didn’t move.

Over Rosselyn’s shoulder, Davina met their eyes—red-rimmed, hollow, full of quiet blame.

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