Page 75 of Midnight Conquest

“You’re not fooling me, Broderick MacDougal,” she’d said, sapphire eyes pinning him in place. “You’re not the rogue you pretend to be.”

The words had struck him like a blow, shattering his carefully built façade with alarming precision. He’d spent decades building the façade of a hardened rogue—worn it like armor. And yet, with one look, she’d seen through it all.

When she turned to leave, something primal in him had snapped. He hadn’t just wanted to stop her. He’d needed to—like drawing breath. He’d pulled her into his arms, kissed her with the desperation of a man clinging to life.

The memory of her lips lingered—intoxicating sweetness, as if savoring an aftertaste that refused to fade.

Whatwasit about her that unraveled him? He longed to possess her, to make her his in every way—but when he saw her with Cailin…

A groan rumbled from his chest. He slammed his fist against the stone beside him. The pain that bloomed across his knuckles was grounding. Real.

He hadn’t meant to linger, to intrude on that private moment between mother and child. But when he saw her cradling her daughter, her face radiant with love and tenderness, he couldn’t look away.

She’d gutted him.

Davina and her wee bairn were everything he’d forsaken. Everything he’d convinced himself he didn’t need.

Family. Fatherhood. A future.

All sacrificed on the altar of vengeance.

Immortality had made him powerful. Dangerous. But what had it truly won him?

He gazed out over the moonlit land, jaw tightening.

Nothing that mattered.

The sight of Cailin, her tiny mouth drawing pure nourishment and love from her mother’s breast, had nearly brought him to his knees.

That was why he’d left. He couldn’t let her see him like that. Broken. Defeated by regret. If there was anything he could do for her and the angel she held in her arms, it was to ensure they were safe.

Now, sitting atop her castle, Broderick inclined his head, listening intently. The slow, steady breathing drifting up from the chamber below told him Forbes was finally asleep. This wasa good distraction. It was time.

Like a shadow, Broderick dropped silently to the balcony below. He eased the door open a crack, testing the hinges. Silence. Davina’s household was well-kept, indeed. Nary a sound, the hinges oiled and smooth. He slipped into the guest room, moving as silently as a specter, his boots only a whisper across the wood floor.

Forbes lay sprawled on the bed, his chest rising and falling in the deep rhythm of sleep. Broderick stared down at him, his hands curling into fists. It would be so easy to tear the man’s throat out, to rid the world of his brutish arrogance. But such an action would only cause more harm than good. Davina would pay the price.

Nay, there was another way.

Broderick leaned over the bed, his hands hovering just above Forbes’s temples. Closing his eyes, he pressed his index fingers lightly against the man’s skin, pushing his way into the vulnerable depths of his mind.

Memories flickered past Broderick’s vision like the pages of a book fluttering in the wind. He saw glimpses of Forbes’s life, his relationships, and the way he ruled his clan—with an iron fist and little regard for kindness. His plans for Davina were no surprise. He would beat her into submission, just as his father had done to his headstrong mother. Women didn’t talk back. They didn’t challenge their husband. Forbes saw nothing wrong with it—it was simply the way of things.

Broderick’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. Although the man was not as vile as he’d suspected, he was certainly not the man for Davina and Cailin. And he certainly didn’t deserve them.

But then, amidst the storm of brutality and arrogance,Broderick saw her.

A woman from Forbes’s clan, her face soft with adoration, her brown eyes lighting up every time Arthur entered a room. She was kind, attentive, and utterly devoted to him.

Broderick grinned. He had found it—the key to liberating Davina.

He withdrew from Forbes’s memories and began weaving his way into the man’s dreams. Aye, there he was, standing at the head of a long table, drinking ale and toasting his clan. He was celebrating his marriage to Davina, his chest puffed with pride.

Nay, this man was desperate for heirs yet loathed the type of relationship his parents had, which is why he had taken so long to find a wife. He was drawn to women like Davina due to familiarity but resisted for the same reason.

Broderick twisted the dream. Slowly, subtly, he replaced Davina with the sandy-brown-haired woman with brown, adoring eyes.

Arthur turned to his bride, confusion flickering across his face. “Mairi?”

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