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Davina traced a finger along her daughter’s round cheek. The child’s skin was warm, impossibly soft. At her touch, Cailin sighed and smiled in her sleep.

That simple expression, peaceful and pure, struck Davina like sunlight through storm clouds. No matter the turmoil beyond these walls, this small face had the power to steady her heart .

Although Davina usually had Cailin sleeping in the nursery adjacent to her own bedchamber, she did not wish to disturb her. “Myrna, we’ll let Cailin stay here the night. I’ll get her on the morrow.”

“Aye, milady.”

Davina quietly approached her mother’s bedside. Lilias’s brow creased with worry, even in her sleep. A twinge of guilt twisted Davina’s heart. She was the cause of her mother’s anxiety. She knew it, but she was doing what was best for the household.

For her child.

As Davina turned toward the door, Myrna laid a hand on her arm. “Are ye sure ye know what yer doin’, lass?”

Davina bowed her head and clenched her fist. “Do you want to go back to living under the roof of a heavy-handed master? Because I certainly do not.”

“Aye, milady.” Myrna’s hand dropped and she shuffled to the chair at Lilias’s bedside.

Davina left her mother’s room, and as she passed the guest chamber, she heard MacLeod rumbling around, getting comfortable she assumed.

She picked up her pace to hide in the sanctuary of her own chamber.

Damn that obnoxious ox. Maybe she should have put him in the more luxurious chamber on the floor above.

Although she didn’t want him to get too comfortable, he would be farther away from her room.

Nothing for it now. She paced and breathed deep to soothe her spirit.

She just needed to keep the peace until he left, then everything would be fine.

Turning a circuit around her bed, her eyes fell upon her jewelry box.

As if pulled by the item inside, Davina strolled to the dresser and opened the lid.

Nestled amongst her modest adornments was a simple brooch.

She traced the tip of her finger over the Celtic designs crafted in iron.

Her fingers lifted it from the wooden box, and she curled them into a fist around the piece as she held it against her heart and closed her eyes.

She sighed, the flutter in her belly rising unbidden at the memory of that stolen night in the cozy inn.

The Gypsy fortune teller—mysterious, wild, and utterly unlike her heavy-handed husband—had shown her a tenderness she’d never known. His breath had warmed her skin, his lips ghosting down her throat, each kiss a promise of reverence rather than conquest.

Her cheeks flushed at the vivid recollection—how he’d entered her slowly, reverently, as though worshipping every sigh, every tremble. Not hurried, not rough…just exquisitely patient. As though she was worth savoring.

Davina opened her eyes and studied the intricate twists of the ironwork, each knot a tether to a memory she could not—and would not—let go.

She hadn’t meant to take it. In her frantic escape from the tavern inn, she’d meant to grab her hair comb but ended up with this instead. The comb was gone, but this brooch remained. Proof. A token that the night had happened.

Because some nights are so wondrous, so impossible, a woman might begin to doubt her own memory if not for something tangible.

Something like this.

Or like—

Cailin.

A knock at the door startled her out of her musings and she hastily put the brooch back into her jewelry box.

When Davina opened the door, Rosselyn stood there, cringing. “It seems our guest is ready to dine. ”

Davina’s cheeks puffed out as she exhaled a frustrated burst of air. “Aye. Let’s get on with this.”

Davina hooked her arm with Rosselyn’s, and they descended down to the ground floor to venture into the Great Hall and tend to the obnoxious guest, Fergus MacLeod.

∞∞∞

Candlelight cast golden flickers across the rough-hewn walls, shadows dancing to the rhythm of their breath. The faint tang of woodsmoke clung to the air, mingling with the subtle, provocative scent of rose oil clinging to her.

Broderick lay back against the inn’s coarse linens, arms folded behind his head, eyes locked on Davina as she stood by the hearth. Her slender fingers trembled at the laces of her bodice.

She didn’t meet his gaze. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, betraying her nervousness. Yet behind the uncertainty in her posture, hunger simmered in her eyes—a need she could no longer deny.

“Come tae me, lass,” he coaxed, the Highland burr soft on his tongue.

She hesitated a moment longer, then let her gown slip from her shoulders. It whispered to the floor, pooling at her feet, along with her shift, leaving her naked.

Broderick’s breath caught.

The glow limned every inch of her—soft curves, flushed skin, the faint shadows of bruises she hadn’t meant to show. Marks from a cruel man. Her husband.

His jaw clenched. Tonight…she was his.

She climbed onto the bed with tentative grace, straddling him, her breath shallow.

He guided her with gentle hands at her waist, savoring the warmth of her body beneath his fingertips. She fit against him perfectly, as if her body had been molded for him.

“Ye’re beautiful,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of auburn from her cheek. When she flushed and looked away, he tilted her chin up.

“Ye believe me?”

Her lips parted. “I…”

No words followed. Instead, she bent to kiss him—uncertain at first, then bolder, deeper.

Broderick drank her in, tracing the length of her spine, bristling over the scars. His fingers tangled in her hair, loosening the comb until cinnamon waves spilled around her shoulders.

As he tossed the comb aside, her moan met his mouth. Heat surged. His arousal pressed against her through the cloth of his breeches. She shifted, hips rocking, and a low growl escaped him.

His control frayed like thread drawn taut.

She was his undoing.

“Davina,” he murmured, his lips trailing down her jaw to the column of her throat.

Her pulse fluttered beneath his mouth, and he lingered there, savoring the rapid beat of her heart.

His incisors extended. His mouth watered.

But he reined in the Hunger. Not this one.

This one was worth earning her permission.

Her hands moved to his shirt, fumbling with the laces until she managed to tug it over his head. Her fingers skated over his chest, exploring the planes of muscle and the marks of battle that slashed his skin, endless conflicts with his rival clan—the Campbells .

“Let us ignore our scars tonight, lass,” he said, his voice rough, though he softened the words with a kiss to her palm.

She didn’t question him. Instead, leaned forward to press her lips to his shoulder, his collarbone, the hollow of his throat.

The caress of her hair across his chest sent shivers through his torso to his limbs.

Her touch was reverent, as if she were memorizing every inch of his body, and it stirred something deep within him, something foreign yet enticing.

When she reached for the ties of his breeches, he caught her hand, stilling her. “Slowly,” he whispered. “We have all night.”

Her lips curved into a shy smile, and she nodded, allowing him to guide her.

He shifted, rolling her onto her back, his body hovering over hers as he took his time exploring her.

His lips traced the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts.

As he flicked his tongue over the stiff peak of her nipple, she arched her back with a sigh.

He kissed a wet trail to her other breast to lavish his attention against the other peak.

Then he explored the soft swell of her belly and nibbled at her hip.

Her breath came in soft gasps, her fingers clutching his shoulders as he worshiped her with his mouth.

Unable to resist diving into her sweetness, Broderick rose from the bed and shoved his breeches to the floor.

He knelt between her thighs, spreading them gently as the intoxicating scent of her desire enveloped him.

A growl fluttered low in his throat, primal and hungry.

Bending forward and sliding his hands beneath the curve of her hips, he set her legs over his shoulders and tilted her toward him to dip his head and feast.

His tongue traced her slick heat, slow at first—tasting, learning. Then deeper, firmer, drawing her response like a melody he alone could play.

Davina gasped, her hands flying to the headboard behind her as her back arched from the bed. Her cry echoed in the chamber, raw and unrestrained.

God’s blood, this woman was intoxicating! He lapped the sweet nectar of her cunny as she squirmed beneath his relentless pursuit to devour her. The sensation of her heels digging into his back, urging him on, caused his cock to surge with heat.

“Broderick, please!” She fisted his hair and pumped her hips.

He chuckled, a deep rumble from his chest vibrating through his mouth against her. Using his thumbs, he spread her petals wide. His tongue flicked and swirled around the precious nub until she shuddered and cried out his name once more.

Breathless and spent, Davina languished in the afterglow of her orgasm only long enough for Broderick to seize his hardened shaft and drag the swollen head along her soaking wet slit.

She grunted and jerked, but her gaze locked to his.

He pressed the tip of his cock at her entrance and a trace of fear darkened her eyes.

“Ye’ll naught feel but pleasure at my hands, lass. That’s a promise.”

But he hesitated, waiting for her. She dipped her head in acknowledgement.

When he finally entered her, he did so with infinite care, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.

She arched beneath him, her lips parting in a silent gasp as he filled her.

He stilled, giving her time to adjust, and when she nodded again, he began to move, slow and gentle at first, then deeper as her body responded to his. Fuck , she was tight.