Page 139 of Midnight Conquest

Amice’s composure crumpled, tears slipping freely down her cheeks. “Merci beaucoup, mon fils,” she whispered, her gratitude raw and earnest.

Her weathered hands rose to cradle his face, palms cool against his skin. But as their eyes met, something shifted. Broderick braced as she most likely sensed his lie. “Veronique is ill.”

He sighed. “She is, but I can help her.”

But the old Traveller’s brow furrowed, lips parting slightly, and her gaze drifted distant, unfocused—as though staring through him into another realm entirely.

Broderick stiffened, dread coiling in his gut. “What is it?” he asked and knelt before her. “What do ye see, lass?”

Her hands trembled where they touched him. She opened her mouth to speak, faltered, then closed it again, words eluding her.

Broderick pushed his thoughts toward her, sending his voice into her mind.“What is it, Amice? What do ye see?”

Amice gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth as tears welled afresh. Her other hand gripped his shoulder, urgency burning in her focused gaze. “Davina is in grave danger,mon fils. You must go to her. Now!”

The words struck Broderick like a hammer blow to the chest.

“Angus,” he snarled, the name a curse upon his lips. His jaw tightened until it ached, realization crashing down like thunder. Angus had never been hunting the Romani people.

Without another word, Broderick surged to his feet and strode through the camp, his steps hard and fast, purpose carved into every line of his body. He barely registered the worried stares of the Romani people as he checked the sword at his side. Nothing mattered now but her.

Once beyond the ring of wagons, he broke into a run.

The world dissolved around him as he pushed his immortal speed to the brink, the forest blurring into streaks of shadow and silver moonlight. His boots scarcely kissed the earth as he tore across the landscape, the freezing wind lashing his face.

Tears cut twin paths to his temples and into his hair, swept away by the wind. His throat ached, and a desperate prayer clawed free of his lips.

“God, I ken ye’ve a deaf ear tae my kind, but please…for her sake…let me reach her in time.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Davina’s nails bit into her palms, the sting barely registering beneath the storm of fury and fear that consumed her. Her entire being locked on Ian, who lounged like a lord at the head of the long table in the Great Hall, his boots insolently propped on the polished wood.

In one hand, he idly twirled a dagger, the blade glinting wickedly in the firelight as it spun between his fingers with the ease of long, practiced familiarity.

In his other arm, he cradled Cailin.

Davina’s heart twisted at the sight of her daughter wailing helplessly, her tiny body squirming in Ian’s iron grip. Each desperate cry pierced Davina’s chest as if Ian drove the blade he twirled in his hand through her heart, but she forced herself to remain still, her arm locked protectively around her mother Lilias’s trembling shoulders. One wrong move, she knew, and Ian would not hesitate to use that blade on their precious child.

Her vision blurred with rage and terror. Her teeth groundtogether so hard her jaw throbbed. If he harmed Cailin, she’d kill him with her bare hands. Rip out his black heart and feed it to the crows. And when Ian lay dead at her feet, she would hunt down Tammus for unleashing this monster upon her home.

Since Tammus’s departure that morning, Ian had played his role to perfection. He had been smiles and pleasantries, feigning interest in estate affairs, asking polite questions. All day, Davina had shadowed him like a wary wolf, her instincts screaming of danger. Yet he never overstepped, never made a move—until now.

Through the cruel clarity of hindsight, she saw his game for what it was. He’d lulled the household into complacency, convincing the staff—and even her mother—that he had changed. That he was a man redeemed. Only Davina had held fast to her suspicions.

But it had not been enough.

The moment she’d entrusted Cailin to Lilias so she could prepare for this very moment, Ian had pounced. It didn’t matter that she had warned her mother not to trust him. Charming as ever, disarming them all with a smile, he had coaxed Cailin into his grasp. And once he held her, he summoned this gathering.

His patience had been chilling.

Changed man, my arse!Rage boiled in her veins. From the instant he’d darkened her gates, she had felt the menace coiling beneath his facade.

Footsteps scraped across the stone floor, dragging her attention to the doorway. Beatrice, the last of the staff, entered, her face bloodless, fear hollowing her eyes. Ian’s gaze flicked toward her, and his mouth curved into a predatory grin.

“Ah, splendid,” Ian declared, his voice carrying easily over Cailin’s wails. He stood with the baby perched on his hip,bouncing her as though to soothe—though the cruel glint in his eyes made the gesture a mockery. “Now that everyone is gathered, I have an announcement.”

The staff froze, tension frigid as frost in the air. The guards flanking the walls gripped their pikes until their knuckles blanched, while the maids and servants huddled together, wide-eyed, their gazes darting between Ian and Davina.

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