MIDNIGHT CONQUEST: Book 1 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (23 page)

Rosselyn snuggled against Nicabar in the lamp light of his caravan. “Does the fortune teller—the large man, not Amice—does he have many love interests in the towns you travel to?”

Nicabar furrowed his brow and pushed away. He sat at the edge of the bed, his back to her. “Why?”

Confused by his behavior, she stared at his rigid form, and a wide grin spread across her face. “Are you jealous?”

He turned toward her, a frown on his mouth. “Why do you ask about the
dukker
while you are in my bed?”

Rosselyn didn’t want to excite his anger anymore, though his jealousy made her giddy. “I don’t ask about him for myself. ‘Tis my mistress for whom I ask.”

Shifting away from her again, he refused to twist around, in spite of Rosselyn pulling upon his arm to face her. “Nicabar, who am I here with this night?”

“Me, which is why—”

“Aye! And who has just made wonderful love to me, made my soul sing with ecstasy?”

He fidgeted and then turned his profile toward her. The corner of his mouth turned up at her compliment.

Rosselyn sat up and put her hand upon his cheek, making him face her directly. “I apologize for the timing of my question. Please forgive me?”

He nodded, but still maintained some of his guard.

“Think upon this: How can you possibly think I would be interested in anyone else when I have the perfect man before me?”

Nicabar’s defensiveness melted, replaced by embarrassment.

Rosselyn pulled him down next to her and planted a sound kiss upon his lips, joyous that he returned her kiss with as much enthusiasm. “I ask about him because methinks he and Davina are a smart match.”

“Are they, now?” Nicabar kissed the beauty mark on her right shoulder.

“Aye, but she’s having trouble seeing this match.” Rosselyn sighed. “Mistress Davina had a husband who beat her terribly and she doesn’t trust any man, especially one as large and intimidating as Broderick.” She sat up. “He would never hurt her would he? Does he give in to violent fits? I asked Amice, but I fear she may be biased.”

Nicabar laughed. “Broderick? Oh, not him. He’s a jovial spirit and takes nothing to heart.” He cradled Rosselyn’s arm and kissed the mole on the inside of her elbow.

Rosselyn smiled. “Good. Mistress Davina needs someone like him.”

“Playing match maker?” His lips trailed to the mark at her wrist. Obviously, he was in one of his moods to kiss each one of the little raisin spots decorating her skin. They never meant much to her…until she met Nicabar.

“Well, I want to see her happy.”

“You seek to make a match of her and Broderick because…?”

Rosselyn had been in turmoil about the predictions and insight Amice shared with her ever since that day she came to town with Seamus. Certainly, once she shared the secret she harbored since Parlan’s death, Davina would never speak to her again. Turning the possibilities and situation over and over in her mind, she concluded this must be the reason she was destined to be with the Gypsies. Davina would never want to see her, and her only recourse would be to disappear. All the same, leaving Davina would be easier knowing she had someone to care for her other than family.

“Rosselyn? What troubles you?”

Snapping out of her niggling thoughts, she breathed deep and lay beside Nicabar again. “I fear Davina is feeling more and more uncomfortable about the time you and I spend together.”

“I see.” He kissed the mole nestled between her breasts.

“If she had someone special, methinks she wouldn’t be reminded of her loneliness.” She sighed. “I should return to the castle even now.”

His lips claimed hers with hunger and his arousal pressed against her thigh. “We must make love one more time,” he breathed against her mouth. “Then I will take you back.”

Never had she been with a man who had as much desire for her as Nica. He rolled on top of her to make love for the third time that day, with as much energy as their first coupling. Tearing themselves away from their private time together, they dressed and Rosselyn mounted behind Nicabar, bareback on his horse.

At the castle just outside the gate, Rosselyn pressed her hand to his arm to get his attention. “Truly, Mistress Davina and I must spend more time together until I can convince her she and Broderick are a perfect pair, but methinks you and I won’t have to sacrifice time with each other, after all. Pray steer your horse to the rear of the castle.” Nicabar obeyed, and as they rounded to the back side of the curtain wall, Rosselyn pointed to the thick bushes. “There!” They dismounted and she led Nicabar over, glancing around to be sure no one was about. Rosselyn pulled him behind her and toddled around the bushes to a small space between the thick shrubs and the wall. Pressing against the stone, it rumbled beneath her fingers. As she pushed, she grunted to shove the stone aside. “Follow me,” she whispered and entered through a secret door, closing the opening behind them. They stood on the other side of the wall, behind a stone and wood building. “We can meet here after everyone has bedded down for the evening. Be sure not to let anyone see you. Tell no one of this entrance.” Pointing to the building, she said, “These are the stables.”

Rosselyn clutched his hand and led him around to the side. She gestured to be silent with an index finger over her lips, and peered around the wall to scan the grooming area. The horses stood in their stables, and the harnesses and tack hung neatly along the wall. Fife was nowhere about, so she pulled Nicabar in after her. “There is fresh hay up there,” she said indicating the loft.

Nicabar smiled in the dim lighting of the stables and took Rosselyn by the hand. “Just how fresh
is
the hay?” he asked and persuaded her up the ladder before him. When they reached the top, his mouth covered hers, muffling her laughter, and they fell into the loft, fumbling around their clothes in haste. Dizzy with desire and a sense of freedom, Rosselyn tumbled and frolicked with Nicabar.

* * * * *

 
“Jealous?” Nicabar teased.

Veronique squared her shoulders. “
Non
! I am not jealous. I just want to know who she is.”

“’Tis no business of yours.” He turned and continued chopping wood. Veronique’s relentless pursuit amused Nicabar. He knew she struggled with the rampant emotions of a young woman just awakening to the sensations of her body—nothing more. Aye, he’d been there before with such emotions. He knew she was convinced it was true love, but one day she would reflect with understanding, and laugh just as he did.

“That Davina was with her the first night they were here,” she resumed. “Is she her maid?”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, not missing a swing.

She hesitated. “I just do.”

“Then I still say it is none of your business.”

Nicabar kept swinging. He split logs, continuing his persistent pounding, occasionally glancing up at her, hiding his curiosity. On occasion, he glimpsed at her, but refused to speak. Veronique stomped her foot and cursed in French. “This Davina woman is coming between me and Broderick, and I want to know more about her. If your mistress is her maid, then she knows everything about this Davina.”

Nicabar chopped wood for several minutes before he answered. “Aye, she is her maid.” He chopped. “Do you think to become her friend and learn something of Davina?”

“
Non
, I hoped you would tell me something about her.”

“What makes you think I will tell you anything?” Nicabar stopped and met her gaze, his chest heaving from his efforts. “There is a price for my services, Veronique.”

She shifted and dared to venture, “What kind of price?”

He smiled, then sauntered up to her and touched her chin with a curled finger. His hot breath streamed out of his mouth and against her cheek, like bursts of smoke on the cold air, his shiny chest heaving under his labored breaths. “Let me be your first.”

Veronique stepped back. “I am saving myself for Broderick!” she protested. Nicabar shrugged and chopped wood. After a moment longer, Veronique stomped off, mumbling. Nicabar chuckled and kept chopping, shaking his head.

* * * * *

 
“A visitor?” Davina asked Myrna, distracted from playing with Cailin. She turned her gaze to the midday light through the window. How unusual for him to pay a visit. Broderick could be trying to be the gentleman, calling in the afternoon instead of an evening visit like their night of chess. Unsure of how to feel, she steadied her breath and turned back to Myrna. “Please give me just a few moments and I will be down.” Myrna nodded and bowed out of the nursery.

After laying Cailin down for a nap—which proved much easier than Davina expected—Davina primped in the mirror before she proceeded downstairs to the parlor. The polite smile Davina donned faded when she entered the room, and she adopted a defensive posture. Scolding, Davina remembered she never had any direct exchange with the golden-haired Gypsy girl standing in the center of the parlor. Though, in their brief and distant encounters, Veronique may have held an obvious contempt for her, Davina would rise above the girl’s childish behavior. Veronique hadn’t yet turned around or acknowledged Davina stood in the room, so she changed her demeanor and cleared her throat to announce her presence. With a pleasant smile and lilt in her voice, she greeted, “What a pleasant surprise, Veronique!” and forged ahead with her hands extended.

The Gypsy girl shrank from Davina, not taking her offered hands. Davina clasped her hands before her and held her smile. “What can I do for you, Veronique? Would you like some refreshments?”

She refused hospitality with a shake of her head and showed an open disdain toward Davina, so Davina became suspicious of the girl’s intentions. Veronique stood with defiance; her arms crossed and chin out. “Broderick MacDougal is not what he seems,” the girl said.

Davina steeled herself. “How do you mean?”

Veronique stepped forward, her hands on her hips. “Have you noticed anything unusual about him?”

Davina crossed her arms. “Such as?”

“Such as a silver glow in his eyes.”

Chapter Eight

With luck, Davina held the intake of breath threatening to give away her surprise. She cleared her throat. “Nay,” she lied.

Veronique narrowed her eyes. “
Buveur de sang
,” she said. “That is what Broderick is—drinker of blood.”

Davina flitted her eyes over Veronique’s frame. “What are you saying?”

Veronique thrust her wrist toward Davina. “
Regardez
, see my wrist? See the scars?”

Davina leaned closer and inspected the scars—two white marks, diagonal along the length of her wrist. She nodded.

“It is true. Broderick has fed from me. He needs blood to survive. Because of what he is, he cannot face the heat of the sun. He must slumber during the day and comes out only at night, just after sunset.”

Davina wanted all this to sound as preposterous as it should—and it would have had she not seen the very signs Veronique spoke of. Her heart pounded in her ears. “I’ve never heard of such a creature,” she continued, trying to talk herself back into a state of sanity.

Veronique shrugged and stepped back, crossing her arms again. “You can find out for yourself…if you have the stomach. Cut your skin when you see Broderick next and pay close attention to his reaction. He may move away from you. He may stare at you with a deep hunger. It is then you will see the silver core of his eyes. It is a sign of the Hunger—his lust for blood.”

Davina’s face grew hot, and sweat sprang out upon her upper lip. Her fingertips touched the healing cut on her neck, absently fingering the scab that formed. Broderick’s reaction the night she cut her neck on her dagger and his words all made sense. Davina turned away from Veronique, numb and speechless.

“You believe me,
non
?”

Gaining her composure, she turned back to Veronique with her hands folded before her. “I’m afraid this is a little foolish for me to believe, Veronique. Such a claim almost sounds comical.” Davina forced her mouth into a smirk as her body trembled.

Veronique jumped in Davina’s face. “You are a fool, Scot! I do not lie!” She mumbled on in frustrated French and marched toward the door. Before leaving, she turned to Davina. “That will be just fine! Your ignorance will get you killed!” The slam of the door echoed across the walls, leaving Davina’s nerves frazzled in the furious wake of Veronique.

Davina sat down on the nearest piece of furniture, trying to steady her trembling legs. Though the reality of Broderick didn’t match her fantasies, this new reality unfolding before her was turning into a nightmare.