Page 93 of Midnight Conquest

And there it was. That was his armor. While he wore charm and indifference like a shield, she wore her independence like a fortress. They both shared the same hollow ache of lost family, and this common wound forged an invisible link between them. They were more alike than she had ever realized.

“From the first moment I met him,” Davina began softly, “I’ve been unable to get him out of my mind.”

She stepped forward, tracing the eyes of Hamish with her finger, noting how Broderick’s were a far more vivid green. Her fingertips drifted to Maxwell’s handsome mouth, so like Broderick’s roguish grin. She touched her own lips, frowning in thought. “Where is he, Amice?”

Amice took Davina’s hand gently and turned her palm up, studying the lines carved into her skin.

“Broderick told me of my troubled life,” Davina confessed, remembering their first fateful encounter in Aberdeen. “He was right. My husband was a very cruel man, and I’m not sad he’s dead.”

Amice’s brow furrowed, and with tender concern, she cupped Davina’s cheek. “Oh,chérie, you even lost a little one,oui?”

Davina’s eyes stung as she fought the rising lump in her throat. Her miscarriage. “Aye,” she managed, her voice thick with unshed tears. “You can see such things in my palm?”

Amice nodded solemnly.

“What else do you see, Amice?”

The old woman hesitated, her gaze distant as though peering into depths unseen. After a moment, she lifted her eyes to meet Davina’s. “Broderick is not here right now. But when he returns upon nightfall, I will tell him you were looking for him.”

Amice gently folded Davina’s fingers into her palm and turned away, shuffling toward the steps of her vardo anddisappeared inside, leaving Davina with more questions than she’d brought with her. Wherever Broderick was during the day, she would have to wait to find out.

Rosselyn spoke with a Romani woman by a campfire in the distance. As Davina headed toward her, Rosselyn nodded to the woman and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Davina asked when she reached Rosselyn’s side.

“Nicabar. I can’t find him. He isn’t in his vardo, but he might be off getting wood.” She lifted her eyebrows when she faced Davina. “What did Amice say?”

“That Broderick would return at nightfall.” Davina pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest. “With no explanation. She said she’d let him know I was looking for him.”

Rosselyn frowned. “Alright. I’ll see if I can find Nicabar and get an answer.” She kissed Davina’s cheek. “I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”

With a sigh and a nod, Davina made her way back toward the castle, clutching her cloak tighter against the creeping chill of the late morning air.

∞∞∞

Veronique pounded her fist against Nicabar’s caravan door, squinting at the morning sun. She paused only a moment before she continued pounding.

“It is a good thing I am not in there having a nap,” he said from behind her.

Veronique jumped so high, she almost fell offthe makeshift wooden steps. “Well, I am glad to see you are alone…for once!”

Nicabar shook his head and ambled toward his vardo. “No one in your kingdom has anything else to do but come to your beckoning call, eh?” He shoved past her and stepped into his dwelling. “Now if you will—”

Veronique followed him into the small wagon, slammed the door, and sat upon his bed, her fingers fumbling to unlace her bodice.

“Veronique—”

“Tell me, Nicabar!” she snapped. “Tell me everything I want to know about Davina! You will get what you asked for!”

Rosselyn stood frozen, her mouth agape as Veronique clambered eagerly into Nicabar’s caravan. The door slammed, and the wagon rocked with the motion. Heat flushed her cheeks despite the chill in the air, a searing contrast to the icy knot tightening in her chest.

For nearly a fortnight, she and Nicabar had shared quiet moments—moments she had dared to hope meant something more. Yet he had made no promises, spoken no tender vows of future plans, not even hinted at love. Still, her heart clenched so painfully she feared it might splinter.

Breath unsteady, Rosselyn tried to quiet the storm raging inside her.He is a free man,she reminded herself.He owes me nothing.He could bed whomever he pleased. But if he chose Veronique—then he would never choose Rosselyn again.

Resolve stiffened her spine. Jaw tight, she crossed the camp with determined steps, each one pounding out the rhythm of her breaking heart. Reaching the wagon, she drew a breath to steel herself, then yanked the door open.

The scene before her struck like a hand across her face. Veronique stood before the bed, her shoulders bare, breasts barely covered by the loose fabric of her dress. Nicabar’s hands gripped her arms, just above the elbows. Both of them frozen, their eyes wide with shock, mouths agape. Then Veronique’s expression twisted into smug triumph. With calculated malice, she seized Nicabar’s neck and dragged him down into an open-mouthed kiss.

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