Page 33 of Midnight Conquest

Slowly, she pushed herself upright, swaying for only a moment before standing tall. Tammus straightened with her, towering, triumphant.

Davina lowered her head, voice soft and smooth as silk over steel. “I ken, Uncle Tammus. I’m humbled by the choice of a suitor, though I don’t deserve it.”

“Good.”

He circled behind the desk—herdesk—his bulk settling into the chair like a final insult.

“I should have no trouble finding men who’ll suit your needs,” he said, voice already disinterested. “Stewart Glen and your da’s wool business will be your dowry. I want you married by month’s end.”

Three weeks.

Three weeks to escape this prison—or else learn to love the hangman’s noose.

∞∞∞

Before dawn, Davina went into the village to secure the smith. However, when she returned after sunrise, her uncle stood at the study door as if waiting for her, his brows flattened with disapproval. “And just where were you off to?”

Davina lifted her chin and clasped her hands before her. “I’ve arranged with the smith for locks to be installed on the doors to my chamber.”

His arms dropped as suddenly as his jaw did. “Locks? That’s expensive, girl!”

“And worth every piece of silver to ensure the safety of meand my daughter.”

“Silver?” Tammus grumbled and raked his hand through his graying hair. “Blazes, woman, why the bloody hell do you need keyed locks for inside the house?”

Her spine stiffened. “Have you forgotten so quickly about what happened with MacLeod?”

“Of course not, but—”

“If you’re going to have suitors parading through this manor, I’m not about to give a single one of them a chance to stake their claim by crossing my threshold!” Davina’s fingernails dug into her palms as she glared down her uncle.

He exhaled forcefully through his nose, retreated a step into the study, and slammed the door.

Insufferable man!She marched into her bedchamber and slammed the door just as loud.

The rest of the day dragged like a yoke around her neck.

Normally, Davina would have spent it in the study—tracking the shepherds’ progress, assessing the welfare of the flocks, organizing repairs where needed. The quiet rituals of stewardship grounded her.

But not today.

Today, she’d been exiled from her own responsibilities, reduced to aimless chores around the household. Her hands were idle in the mundane work, her mind anything but. Silence clung to the halls like thick fog—dense with judgment. Every glance from the staff reminded her of Tammus’s wrath. He hadn’t simply reprimanded her; he’d exposed her.

After the mid-day meal, she retreated to her chamber. There, with only Cailin’s gurgles and soft snores for company, she found brief peace.

Now, dusk crept across the sky. The nursery had gone quiet,save for her daughter’s contented breathing. But Davina could not rest.

The walls pressed in—heavy, close.

She paced, her bandaged hands painfully clenching and unclenching at her sides.

At last, she stepped onto the balcony. Cool stone met her fevered palms as she leaned against the balustrade. Beyond Stewart Glen, the hills rolled into mist and twilight. Somewhere out there, freedom awaited. But it had never felt farther away.

She would not—could not—bend to another man’s will.

A soft knock broke the stillness.

Davina turned, her spine rigid. She crossed the room, smoothing her skirts with impatient fingers, and opened the door.

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