Page 12 of Midnight Conquest

Davina stood, the scrape of her chair harsh in the heavy silence. “That’s enough, MacLeod,” she snapped. “You forget yourself.”

He blinked, momentarily startled, then chuckled. “Ah, forgive me, my lady. Only mean to flatter. A woman like ye must be used to kind words.”

Davina turned to her handmaid. “To the kitchen with you now, Rosselyn. We’ve had enough entertainment for one night.”

Rosselyn slipped through the serving door, her eyes never leaving MacLeod.

Davina remained standing, posture stiff as a post.

“Mr. MacLeod,” she said slowly. “I doubt you’d speak so freely if my husband were sitting at this table.”

He gave a dry laugh. “But he isnae, lassie.”

Then he reached—brazen and unrepentant—for her backside.

Davina slapped his hand away, the crack of the blow echoing like a bullwhip between them.

“That’s quite enough. I’ll have my guards escort you to your room.”

“Oh, no need f’that.” He drained his tankard with a sloppygulp, then let out a long, echoing belch that turned Davina’s stomach. He waved her off, weaving slightly. “I kin find me own way tae that wee guest room ye shoved me in. Horrible hosssspitality, I say. Yer hoosb’nd’ll hear—hiccup—all ‘bout it.”

“Then I’ll leave that between you and my husband.”

Davina turned on her heel and stormed through the serving room, slamming the door behind her as she entered the kitchen. Rosselyn and the rest of the staff stood at attention, anxious expressions waiting for her command.

“You.” Davina pointed at the kitchen maid, who paled under her gaze. “Stay away from that wretched man. Do you hear me?”

“Aye, milady.” The girl nodded quickly, a breath of relief escaping her lips.

“I don’t want any of you entering the Great Hall until he’s gone to bed. If he passes out in there, leave him—and the mess—until the morrow. And if he summons any of you to his room for any reason, you take one of the gate guards with you. Understood?”

“Aye, milady,” came the chorus.

Davina huffed. “I’ll alert the guards before I retire.” With Rosselyn trailing behind, she muttered, “Vile man. Rosselyn, I’ll see you upstairs.”

Her handmaid nodded and they set off in opposite directions. Davina marched across the courtyard to the gatehouse, where she issued her instructions edged with impatience. Their nods were solemn, their posture stiff.

On her way back through the foyer, she caught sight of MacLeod—still at the high table, sloshing more ale into his tankard with all the grace of a cow. She shook her head and climbed the stairs.

In her chambers, Rosselyn was already laying out thenightclothes and setting the bed warmer with glowing coals.

“Shall I warm your bed for you, milady?” Rosselyn asked, giggling as she slid the copper pan beneath the blankets.

Davina laughed. “Did ye see the look on his face?” She dropped her voice an octave. “’Tis unnatural.”

They both dissolved into laughter, the tension finally lifting.

“What youshould’vedone was dump the pitcher of ale on his head when he reached for you,” Rosselyn muttered, emptying the coals back into the hearth before hanging the pan on its hook.

“Don’t think I didn’t want to,” Davina said, unfastening her belt. “But the last thing we need is the trouble he might stir up.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Rosselyn helped Davina undress down to her shift. “Shall I bring you some tea afore you bed down?”

“Nay.” Davina kissed Rosselyn’s cheek. “Go on to bed and get some rest. We’ve all had a trying day.”

Though Rosselyn served as her handmaid now, she’d once been the girl tugging Davina’s braids and sneaking honeyed oats from the kitchen. Myrna’s daughter and her equal in every way that mattered, she was more sister than servant—Davina’s only true confidante.

Davina slipped between the warm covers, sighing as the heat soaked into her weary limbs. She hugged the quilt to her chin, her thoughts spinning.

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