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Davina paced restlessly along the chilled stone floor of the Great Hall. Her fingers worried the fabric of her gown, and despite her best attempts to calm herself, an unrelenting dread tightened in her chest.

She hated that concern still lingered for Veronique, even after all that had transpired. The betrayal was unforgivable. Yet the desperate vulnerability in the frail form Broderick had carried into the hall—fevered and broken—haunted her.

And then there was her condition. A blood slave.

Davina halted abruptly, pressing trembling fingertips to her temple as nausea churned her stomach.

Blood-bound to Angus. Broderick had warned that Veronique would survive barely a week, yet he’d offered no further details.

What exactly did such binding entail? Could Broderick himself wield such terrifying control?

Heavy footsteps broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she looked up to see Myrna entering from the serving room, her scowl etched deeply into her weathered features. She tossed a hand cloth over her shoulder with brisk disdain.

“How does she fare?” Davina asked carefully.

Myrna’s face darkened further. “Ate as if she’d never tasted food and growled like a wild beast when I spoke to her. Ungrateful, wicked thing.”

Davina exhaled softly. “She’s endured terrible suffering, Myrna. We can’t expect civility.”

Myrna planted her fists on her hips, eyes blazing indignantly. “Suffering? She tried to poison ye, milady! Set fire to the kitchens! Mark me, she’s fortunate to not be swinging by her neck at the gallows.”

Davina nodded. “Well, I can’t argue much of that. Have you done all you can to keep her comfortable at least?”

Myrna huffed, displeasure plain in the lines on her face. “Aye. I padded the stone bed with enough blankets to keep her bones from bruising or getting’ too cold. But I’ll not trust her with a brazier—she might set the place aflame.”

Davina nodded slowly. “Your caution is wise. Best not to tempt fate. Broderick should return soon, and then he’ll decide what to do with her.”

Myrna grumbled softly under her breath, her annoyance evident, yet she didn’t argue further. Instead, she adjusted her apron and shifted the conversation. “Supper’ll be ready soon, though Lilias has taken to her bed. Her rheumatism is fierce today.”

Davina nodded. “Let her rest undisturbed. Bring my supper upstairs, if you please. I’ll dine alone in my chamber tonight.”

“Aye, milady,” Myrna replied curtly, dipping her head slightly before turning away.

After supper, which Davina barely touched, she resumed pacing in her bedchamber—the only solution to her restless energy. Between Rosselyn being in danger and this Angus luring Broderick into what was obviously a trap, she wasn’t sure she was getting much sleep tonight.

∞∞∞

The inviting scent of warm oatcakes and butter gently roused Davina from an uneasy slumber. She blinked slowly against the morning sunlight filtering through the narrow window, exhaustion lingering heavily within her muscles. Myrna strode in quietly, setting a tray carefully upon the nearby table.

“Ye tossed all night, milady,” Myrna noted bluntly as she straightened, her voice firm yet not unkind. “Nay sense denying it—I heard your restless pacing. Thought it best to let you sleep in late. Oh, and Seamus fetched a fresh batch of honey this morning just for you, milady.”

Davina rose slowly, fatigue still clouding her mind. “Thank ye, Myrna. You’ve done far more than required.”

“Aye, well, someone must tend the keep when your mind’s elsewhere,” Myrna replied tartly, though affection softened her gaze. “Lilias is awake and feeling much improved. She and the wee bairn have already broken their fast and spent the morning playing.”

Davina exhaled, a mingled sigh of relief and exhaustion escaping her lips as she threw back the covers. “Thank you, Myrna. I’ll dress myself today. Once Broderick returns, I’ll bring on another handmaid—one who can assist me with Cailin. Mayhap even a wetnurse. ”

Myrna offered a small, gracious curtsy. “Thank ye, milady, but you’re nay trouble at all.” With a reassuring nod, she withdrew quietly, leaving Davina alone.

Her gaze drifted to the tray Myrna had left behind, laden with oatcakes, honey, and stewed apples.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d barely eaten the night before.

Swiftly, she finished the meal, dressed, and prepared herself to face the day’s endless responsibilities—tasks that might at least distract her from the gnawing fears plaguing her.

By midday, Davina was immersed in reviewing inventory for the wool trade when the urgent shout of the guards split the tranquil air.

“Rider approaching!”

Her head snapped upward, heart jolting in her chest. Could it be Broderick? Nay, not him nor Angus; sunlight still bathed the grounds. Anxiety quickened her steps, skirts clenched tightly in her hands as she hurried toward the courtyard.

Before she could reach the gates, a resounding clang echoed as the large oak doors began to open. Panic surged through her veins. “Nay!” she shouted desperately. “Don’t open the gate!”

But it was already too late. They swung fully open, admitting a rider whose sturdy build was immediately familiar—Uncle Tammus. Relief swept through her briefly until her gaze fell upon the second rider trailing behind.

Her breath seized painfully in her chest.

Ian?

Davina froze, disbelief paralyzing her. She must be mistaken. This couldn’t be possible—he was dead. He was supposed to be dead.

Tammus dismounted, expression clouded with remorse as he approached. He avoided her searching gaze, his voice heavy as he whispered, “Davina…I’m sorry lass.”

She barely registered his words.

Her wide eyes remained fixed on Ian as Tammus helped him carefully down from the horse. Ian’s movements were slow, laborious, his grip tight on the saddle as he winced visibly. His face was gaunt, features sharper than memory recalled, but there was no denying the truth.

Ian had returned from the grave.

When Ian faced her, his lips curved into a faint, sad smile. “Hello, Davina.” The sincerity in his voice sent chills cascading down her spine.

Her voice faltered, trapped by shock and disbelief. She took a shaky step backward, her legs nearly failing beneath her.

Tammus cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I was as stunned as you are, lass. We all believed he was dead. But by some miracle, someone found and healed him, and… Well, here he stands.”

Davina’s fingers curled into tight fists at her sides. Her mind spun desperately, attempting to grasp the impossible sight before her. Ian’s gaze caught hers again as he limped forward, clearly favoring his right leg.

“I ken you may not be pleased to see me,” Ian began softly, almost contritely. “But you can’t imagine how glad I am to see you.”

“How?” Davina rasped harshly, her voice strained by turmoil. “You’ve been gone so long. Surely—”

“Aye,” Ian interjected gently, a shadow crossing his face. “All this time, I’ve been recovering. Only recently did I feel strong enough to journey home.” He paused, glancing toward the keep. “Truth be told, I’m exhausted from the road. I crave a warm meal and proper bed.”

Davina’s heart twisted painfully as Ian stepped closer, lowering his voice to an intimate, tender pitch. “And I long to meet our daughter, Davina. I hear she’s as bonnie as you are.”

Briefly, she saw it—a flash of icy cruelty flickering behind his eyes. It vanished instantly but left her chilled to the bone.

Without waiting for her reply, Ian brushed past her, limping slightly toward the house.

Davina seized Tammus’s arm urgently, pulling him aside. Her voice edged with dread. “What is this, Tammus? What—”

“What can I do, Davina?” Tammus interrupted wearily. “He’s alive. As long as Ian draws breath, your marriage to Broderick is nullified. I’m sorry, lass, truly. But my hands are tied. Give him a chance. He seems to have changed.”

She shook her head vehemently, trembling with suppressed fury. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes. He’s not changed. When he spoke of meeting Cailin—” The lump in her throat strangled her words, her chest tightening. She swallowed her fear. “I don’t trust him. Not one bloody moment.”

Tammus sighed deeply, guilt shadowing his features. “Brushes with death can change a man. On the journey here, all Ian spoke of was regret for his cruelty and desire to atone. If I sense any wrongdoing, I’ll intervene. You have my vow.”

Davina laughed bitterly, incredulous. “Like my father did when Ian beat my first child from my womb? Separating us into two chambers solved nothing—it only inspired Ian to find subtler cruelties and ways to hide them.”

Tammus winced visibly, guilt deepening. “Give him a chance, Davina. Perhaps he truly is changed.”

“You’re a fool to believe so,” Davina spat bitterly. “Either way, I’m still off your hands.”

“Now, that’s not fair, lass.”

Davina laughed. “Don’t you dare talk to me about fair. ”

He frowned but placed a heavy, comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’ll stay tonight. On the morrow, I must depart. But if he means harm to you or Cailin, I’ll act swiftly. I promise.” He turned toward the house, resolve firm in his posture. “Just give him one chance.”

Davina stood motionless in the courtyard, heart hammering painfully against her ribs. Ian’s words. The flicker of cruelty haunting her thoughts. Her only consolation was Broderick was bound to return. He had to return.

“Bloody hell,” she breathed softly.

Her gaze flickered anxiously toward the keep’s entrance, and she flexed her jaw so hard, pain shot across her scalp. She could only protect herself and Cailin by keeping distance between them and Ian.

Please, Broderick. Come home .

∞∞∞