Page 156 of Midnight Conquest

Beaumont’s gaze shifted to Broderick, unreadable shadows flickering behind his composed expression. “She’ll recover shortly,” he said. “But I’m afraid I cannot allow either of you to leave here with any memory of me.”

Broderick’s eyes narrowed, tension coiling tight in his chest. “You’re a Vamsyr—”

Before he could finish, Beaumont’s palm pressed to his brow, and the world tilted beneath him.

—

Broderick blinked as clarity returned, his head swimming with disorientation. He found himself seated beside Davina on the bed, her hand warm in his grasp. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking away a lingering daze, but otherwise appeared well.

“Are ye all right, Blossom?” he asked, his voice rough with concern.

Davina nodded, a faint, sleepy smile curling her lips. “A little drowsy,” she admitted, “but I feel much better. That tea…whatever it was, it’s a miracle.”

Broderick exhaled, relief flooding him as he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Thank God, ye’re all right.”

She chuckled softly, the sound a balm against the lingering shadows of fear. “We’re a long way from home, though. Should we start back to Stewart Glen?”

Broderick nodded. “Aye.”

“I see you are feeling much better,” Brother Fletcher said as he approached, his warm smile touched with genuine relief. “You mustn’t leave tonight, though. Dawn is only a couple of hours away. You won’t make the journey, even at your speed. Please, stay at the monastery until nightfall.”

Broderick’s frown deepened as he cast a glance toward the darkened windows, time slipping by faster than he realized. He weighed the monk’s words. Sleeping in unfamiliar territory during the vulnerable hours of daylight sat poorly with him. But this was the Army of Light. Trusted, at least for now. He exhaled through his nose and gave a tight nod. “Aye, we’ll stay. Thank you.”

Fletcher’s smile broadened with quiet satisfaction. He gestured for them to follow. “I’ve prepared a private room for you both. It is underground, far away from the rays of the sun. I assure you, it will be secure and undisturbed.”

Broderick slipped his arm around Davina’s waist, steadying her as they moved through the monastery’s labyrinthine corridors, the stark stone walls thrown into sharp relief by the flickering glow of Fletcher’s lamp. With every step they descended, the air grew cooler, carrying the subtle scent of damp earth and ancient secrets. Their footsteps softened, swallowed by the depths of the underground passages.

Finally, Fletcher paused before a heavy wooden door, its iron bands dark and pitted with age. He drew a key from the folds of his robe and turned it in the lock. The mechanism gave a soft, satisfying click. Pushing the door open, he stepped aside and motioned them inside.

The private room was small, yet it held a quiet, unpretentious comfort. Rough-hewn stone walls cocooned the space, their cool surface dappled with the lamplight. The ceiling arched slightlyoverhead, lending the chamber a hushed sense of sanctuary. A sturdy bed stood against the far wall, its thick straw mattress dressed in clean linen and a woolen blanket folded neatly at its foot.

“This room will be yours until nightfall,” Fletcher said, placing the iron key into Broderick’s palm. “You may lock it from the inside for your safety and privacy. No one will disturb you.”

Broderick turned the key over in his hand, testing its weight and the solid cut of its teeth. Satisfied, he gave a low, earnest reply. “Thank you.”

“If there’s anything you need, please let me know,” Fletcher said as he withdrew. “We’ll bring some food for the lady once she’s rested. It won’t be extravagant, but it will be nourishing.” He offered a polite bow before retreating, the door closing behind him with a muted thud.

Broderick turned the key in the lock, testing its security before letting his gaze settle on Davina. She stood near the bed, her fingertips grazing the linen sheets. The color had returned to her cheeks, and her breathing no longer labored.

“Care to lie down, lass?” Broderick asked, his voice roughened to a tender burr as he stepped behind her, nuzzling the curve of her ear.

“Mayhap,” she murmured, leaning into his warmth. “But only if you rest too.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Restin’ is no’ what I had in mind.”

She turned in his arms, an arching brow hinting at reproach, though amusement danced in her gaze. “Broderick,” she scolded softly, a smile tugging at her lips, “we’re in a monastery.”

“Aye,” he replied, his grin deepening, “but even saints must’ve known pleasure, once.”

Before she could answer, he swept her up into his arms, her startled laugh warming the chilled air. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her protests dissolving into a breathless giggle.

“Put me down, you rogue!” she whispered, though her arms tightened around his shoulders.

“Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice darkening to a purr.

He carried her to the bed and lowered himself to sit, settling her astride his lap. His sporran fell away with a careless toss, and deft fingers made quick work of the laces on his breeches, freeing the length of him.

With teasing patience, he worked around the folds of her skirt, even as she squirmed in playful protest. Her palms pressed to his shoulders, but her breath hitched the moment his fingers found her heat, slick and ready for him. Her back arched, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

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