Page 11 of Midnight Conquest

“Oh, that’s far, isn’t it?” She widened her eyes with false innocence.

He snorted. “Aye, lass. Three, four days’ ride, give or take.”

“My goodness.” Davina sipped her ale, hiding her distaste behind the rim. If being a simpleton kept him from asking the right questions, she’d play the part.

MacLeod grabbed a crust of bread and dunked it with a grunt. “Business no’ so good, then?”

She blinked. “I beg your pardon?” She leaned forward, her expression poised.

“I expected a better meal than this.”

Davina smiled with practiced sweetness. “I would’ve gladly prepared a feast, but my husband failed to mention your visit. We’d no time to ready a finer spread.”

“Ah, well,” he said with mock humility, scratching at his neck. Then he glanced sidelong at her. “I did send a missive more ’an a month ago. I’ll be sure to remind him next time—aye?”

“He’s a busy man,” she said, her tone lighter than the lie it carried. “I’m sure it just slipped his mind. I’m terribly sorry we didn’t have better fare for you.”

MacLeod leaned in, thick fingers patting her knee. The contact sent a jolt up her spine, and she nearly dropped her spoon.

“Nay need tae apologize, lass.”

His hand lingered too long. She slid her knee away, gaze dropping to her plate as though she hadn’t noticed.

“’Tis a shame yer bed’ll be cold this eve.”

Davina smiled without warmth. “Oh, you needn’t fret aboutthat, sir. Rosselyn here does a masterful job of keeping my bed warm.” She winked at her handmaid.

Rosselyn bit back a laugh, her eyes twinkling.

MacLeod’s brows shot up. “She what?” He looked to Rosselyn, scandal widening his eyes. “Why, ‘tis unnatural!”

Davina tilted her head, feigning confusion. Her eyes darted between them. “What’s so unnatural about putting coals in a bedwarmer, sir?”

“Oh. A bedwarmer, ye say.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “No, aye… Ye’re right. I just… Ne’er mind.”

Davina hummed thoughtfully and resumed eating, smug behind her spoon. Rosselyn’s lips twitched.

MacLeod, seated indecently close to Davina’s right, slouched on one elbow, swirling his ale. The glint of mischief in his eyes dimmed into something darker.

“Lady Davina,” he drawled, taking a slow drink. “Ye’ve a beauty tae rival angels. Tell me—how does a woman like yerself manage in a house so…empty?”

She stiffened but kept her expression even. “I manage well enough, Mr. MacLeod. My household is far from empty.”

He chuckled, leaning in, his breath sour with drink. “Aye, but with yer hoosband away so oft. Must get lonely, eh?”

His fingers brushed hers beneath the table—slow, deliberate. Not a mistake. Not this time.

Davina snapped her hand back, her tone turning to ice. “My people are all the company I need.”

MacLeod smirked, undeterred. “Ah, but I’d wager a woman like ye still longs for a man’s touch now and again. The warmth of it. The strength.” He reached for the jug of ale and tipped it toward her cup, despite the fact she’d barely sipped from it.

Her hand came down over her mug, steady and firm. “I’ve hadenough, thank you.”

Rosselyn’s gaze flicked from across the room, silent and alert, reading the shift in the air. MacLeod was pushing his luck—and Davina’s patience.

He shrugged and filled his own tankard instead, ale sloshing over the rim. “Pity. There’s fire in ye, Lady Davina. A real blaze. Shame to waste it on an empty hall and cold nights. I could keep ye warm, ye ken.”

His fingers crept toward the armrest of her chair, brushing the carved edge with the presumptive ease of a man who’d gotten his way too many times.

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