Page 6 of Midnight Conquest

He grabbed a cloth bundle from the wagon bench and turned toward the keep.

Davina stepped into his path, her grip on the bag tightening. “Where are you going, sir?”

He frowned at her. “Why, inside, o’ course. The road’s been long, and I have a longer road to Aberdeen on the morrow.” He took a step to the left.

Davina countered it. “The Stag and Thistle in the village should have plenty of rooms available.”

“Ye want me to stay at the inn?” MacLeod’s brow creased, and he looked at her as if she sprouted grass from her ears.

“‘Twould be very inappropriate for you to stay here while my husband is not in attendance, sir.” Davina clenched her jaw.

“I had an agreement wit’ yer da that—”

“And my faither died serving our country, sir.” Davina released her anger and frustration in the form of tears, which gathered in her eyes. Tears—a grand weapon against most men.

“Now, doon’t start that, lass.” He laid a comforting arm around her shoulder, and she stiffened as he guided her toward the entrance. “I’m well aware yer da is no longer wit’ us, God rest ‘is soul. But the bargain I struck wit’ him should stand wit’ yer hoosband.” As he let his hand drop, he gave her bottom asqueeze. “I’ll ’spect supper in a couple o’ hours.”

He lumbered toward the front entrance, oblivious to the storm he left in his wake. Davina stood frozen, her fists clenched at her sides, the weight of fury anchoring her to the spot.

Fife stepped up beside her, brow furrowed.

“Did you see that?” Davina hissed.

“Aye, madam,” Fife muttered, jaw tight. “Out o’ line, that was.”

“Indeed.” She took a breath, exhaling slowly as she forced her hands to unclench.

“After the wool’s loaded, what do ye want me to do, milady?” Fife peered up at her from under his brushy gray brows.

She huffed. “Put his wagon in the stable. We’ll manage from there.”

Fife nodded and turned away.

Davina stormed through the front doors, tossed the coin pouch onto the study desk, and caught sight of MacLeod beginning to climb the stairs to the second floor.

“Ah-ah-ah, Mr. MacLeod!” she scolded and trotted up the steps to the first-floor landing.

He halted, one boot on the next step, and turned with a scowl.

“Those rooms up there are not available to you,” she said crisply. She passed him with cool authority and gestured to a smaller chamber down the hall on the first-floor level. “This way, please.”

MacLeod followed, his gaze heavy on her as he crossed the threshold into the small guest chamber. He turned to face her with a frown. “Bit tight in here, innit?”

“We’re undergoing renovations,” she replied smoothly. “This is what we have available.”

“I see.”

“I’ll see you at supper.”

She pivoted before he could speak and descended the stairs, allowing herself the smallest smile.

In the kitchen, the sudden slam of the back door startled the maids into attention. The staff stood in a stiff row, waiting, eyes wide with anticipation.

Davina crossed from the door to the servants’ corridor behind her toward the serving room and shut that door too. The tension in the air crackled.

She faced the plump cook, a no-nonsense woman with flour dusting her sleeves.

“Mr. MacLeod is staying the night,” Davina said, voice hushed. “What’s the supper plan?”

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