Page 76

The room inside was cloistered yet alive with quiet industry.

Shelves groaned beneath the weight of countless tomes and scrolls, some so old their parchment edges had curled with time.

A broad desk stood beneath an alcove with a dozen candles or more, cluttered with open volumes, scattered notes, and ink pots stained with years of diligent labor.

In the center of this chaos sat a monk, roughly Broderick’s own mortal age, the candlelight casting a faint sheen over his tonsured scalp.

Father Beaumont’s quill scratched steadily across the parchment, as though even the presence of an immortal visitor could not distract him from his work. “Just a moment, please,” he said without glancing up, his French accent smooth but unmistakable.

Broderick held back, keen eyes sweeping the chamber.

He noted the precision of Beaumont’s hand, the careful arrangement of alchemical diagrams in the open book before him, and the pervasive scent of parchment, beeswax, and iron gall ink.

He remained still, respectful of the monk’s focus, yet every muscle coiled, prepared for whatever revelations this meeting might bring.

“Thank you for that,” Beaumont said suddenly, his tone touched with faint amusement. He glanced up at last, eyes incisive and shadowed by something deeper.

Broderick’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For respecting my work and not interrupting,” Beaumont replied, offering a small, knowing smile.

Broderick inclined his head slightly, though suspicion lingered in his narrowed gaze.

Beaumont finished his entry, carefully blotting the ink before closing the heavy tome. He turned to face Broderick fully, his expression composed, yet quietly assessing. “I understand you have a message for me.”

Broderick stepped forward and handed him the sealed scroll canister.

Beaumont examined the Army of Light’s insignia with care, then broke the seal and unrolled the leather to reveal the parchment.

His eyes flicked over the words, his face a mask of serenity—though one brow did lift, almost imperceptibly, as he read.

“Interesting,” Beaumont murmured, re-rolling the parchment with a practiced twist of his fingers.

He set it aside with a casual air and offered Broderick a faint, almost indulgent smile.

“Given the…uniqueness of your situation, we will make certain allowances. Your beloved need not remain within the monastery’s walls.

She may stay with you. I’m pleased to hear she fares well.

And I thank you for delivering this message. ”

He turned back to his desk and reopened the tome as if that settled the matter entirely.

Broderick’s frown deepened, his arms folding across his chest. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Father, but what is this business about a prophecy? Sister Evangeline claimed my brother Angus and I are entangled in it.”

Beaumont sighed, setting his quill down once more.

The slight droop of his shoulders betrayed the weight of many such questions, heavier than the tomes stacked around him.

“Sister Evangeline acted wisely in bringing this to me, but she does not possess the full knowledge of the prophecy to which she referred. I’m afraid, Monsieur MacDougal, that I have no further instructions for you. ”

Broderick’s scowl darkened, storm clouds gathering in his chest. “But what is this prophecy—”

“I am sorry,” Beaumont interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind, “but I cannot say more. Thank you.”

Broderick’s fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. “If I’m a part of this prophecy, than I have the right tae—”

Beaumont raised a hand, halting him with quiet authority. The monk’s calm expression remained unyielding. “I understand your position. If you wish to know more,” Beaumont said, rising from his chair, “then follow me.”

Beaumont led Broderick back through the monastery, retracing their steps with a quiet efficiency. They passed through the winding halls and narrow corridors until they reached the infirmary once more.

Davina was sitting up in bed now, her color much improved. She smiled when she saw Broderick, though her eyes brightened with curiosity at the sight of the monk beside him.

Father Beaumont approached her with a polite nod. “I see you are up and about. You look healthy enough, my dear. May I examine you?”

Davina hesitated, her gaze flicking to Broderick. He gave her a small, reassuring nod. “All right,” she consented softly.

Beaumont placed his hands gently on her face, tilting her head with practiced care as he studied her features. With the pads of his thumbs, he pulled down the skin beneath her eyes. “Look up, please,” he prompted.

She obeyed but swayed slightly, her balance faltering.

Both Beaumont and Broderick moved at once to steady her. The monk urged her back against the pillows, his tone gentle but firm. “Easy now. Are you all right?”

“A little dizzy,” she admitted, her lips pressing into a faint line.

Beaumont’s gaze shifted to Broderick, unreadable shadows flickering behind his composed expression. “She’ll recover shortly,” he said. “But I’m afraid I cannot allow either of you to leave here with any memory of me.”

Broderick’s eyes narrowed, tension coiling tight in his chest. “You’re a Vamsyr—”

Before he could finish, Beaumont’s palm pressed to his brow, and the world tilted beneath him.

—

Broderick blinked as clarity returned, his head swimming with disorientation. He found himself seated beside Davina on the bed, her hand warm in his grasp. She rubbed at her eyes, blinking away a lingering daze, but otherwise appeared well.

“Are ye all right, Blossom?” he asked, his voice rough with concern.

Davina nodded, a faint, sleepy smile curling her lips. “A little drowsy,” she admitted, “but I feel much better. That tea…whatever it was, it’s a miracle.”

Broderick exhaled, relief flooding him as he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Thank God, ye’re all right.”

She chuckled softly, the sound a balm against the lingering shadows of fear. “We’re a long way from home, though. Should we start back to Stewart Glen?”

Broderick nodded. “Aye. ”

“I see you are feeling much better,” Brother Fletcher said as he approached, his warm smile touched with genuine relief. “You mustn’t leave tonight, though. Dawn is only a couple of hours away. You won’t make the journey, even at your speed. Please, stay at the monastery until nightfall.”

Broderick’s frown deepened as he cast a glance toward the darkened windows, time slipping by faster than he realized.

He weighed the monk’s words. Sleeping in unfamiliar territory during the vulnerable hours of daylight sat poorly with him.

But this was the Army of Light. Trusted, at least for now.

He exhaled through his nose and gave a tight nod. “Aye, we’ll stay. Thank you.”

Fletcher’s smile broadened with quiet satisfaction. He gestured for them to follow. “I’ve prepared a private room for you both. It is underground, far away from the rays of the sun. I assure you, it will be secure and undisturbed.”

Broderick slipped his arm around Davina’s waist, steadying her as they moved through the monastery’s labyrinthine corridors, the stark stone walls thrown into sharp relief by the flickering glow of Fletcher’s lamp.

With every step they descended, the air grew cooler, carrying the subtle scent of damp earth and ancient secrets.

Their footsteps softened, swallowed by the depths of the underground passages.

Finally, Fletcher paused before a heavy wooden door, its iron bands dark and pitted with age. He drew a key from the folds of his robe and turned it in the lock. The mechanism gave a soft, satisfying click. Pushing the door open, he stepped aside and motioned them inside.

The private room was small, yet it held a quiet, unpretentious comfort.

Rough-hewn stone walls cocooned the space, their cool surface dappled with the lamplight.

The ceiling arched slightly overhead, lending the chamber a hushed sense of sanctuary.

A sturdy bed stood against the far wall, its thick straw mattress dressed in clean linen and a woolen blanket folded neatly at its foot.

“This room will be yours until nightfall,” Fletcher said, placing the iron key into Broderick’s palm. “You may lock it from the inside for your safety and privacy. No one will disturb you.”

Broderick turned the key over in his hand, testing its weight and the solid cut of its teeth. Satisfied, he gave a low, earnest reply. “Thank you.”

“If there’s anything you need, please let me know,” Fletcher said as he withdrew. “We’ll bring some food for the lady once she’s rested. It won’t be extravagant, but it will be nourishing.” He offered a polite bow before retreating, the door closing behind him with a muted thud.

Broderick turned the key in the lock, testing its security before letting his gaze settle on Davina. She stood near the bed, her fingertips grazing the linen sheets. The color had returned to her cheeks, and her breathing no longer labored.

“Care to lie down, lass?” Broderick asked, his voice roughened to a tender burr as he stepped behind her, nuzzling the curve of her ear.

“Mayhap,” she murmured, leaning into his warmth. “But only if you rest too.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Restin’ is no’ what I had in mind.”

She turned in his arms, an arching brow hinting at reproach, though amusement danced in her gaze. “Broderick,” she scolded softly, a smile tugging at her lips, “we’re in a monastery.”

“Aye,” he replied, his grin deepening, “but even saints must’ve known pleasure, once. ”

Before she could answer, he swept her up into his arms, her startled laugh warming the chilled air. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist, her protests dissolving into a breathless giggle.

“Put me down, you rogue!” she whispered, though her arms tightened around his shoulders.

“Oh, I will,” he promised, his voice darkening to a purr.

He carried her to the bed and lowered himself to sit, settling her astride his lap. His sporran fell away with a careless toss, and deft fingers made quick work of the laces on his breeches, freeing the length of him.

With teasing patience, he worked around the folds of her skirt, even as she squirmed in playful protest. Her palms pressed to his shoulders, but her breath hitched the moment his fingers found her heat, slick and ready for him. Her back arched, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

Broderick’s groan was guttural, primal, as he brushed his finger over her sensitive nub.

He claimed her mouth, swallowing her moans as she rocked against him.

Her hips moved of their own accord, seeking more, and when he slid two fingers deep inside her, she buried her face in his neck, her cry muffled against his skin.

Her climax tore through her swiftly, leaving her trembling in his arms. Broderick held her tight, his lips at her temple, his breath hot and ragged.

“God’s blood, woman,” Broderick growled, and lifted her as he guided the head of his cock to her entrance, where he sank into her slowly, savoring the feel of her tight walls stretching to accommodate him.

Davina groaned and Broderick covered her mouth with his.

They laughed and then moaned as he gripped her hips and thrust up to meet her.

Davina rode his shaft with abandon, panting and bouncing until she trembled with a silent climax.

Setting her down gently on the mattress, he pinned her in place with his body. His hands worked quickly, sliding up her skirts as his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that left her breathless.

She bit her lip to stifle another moan, her cheeks flushing with heat. “But we’re in a monastery,” she protested again, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and desire.

“Aye, we are,” he agreed, his deep chuckle rumbling against her neck. “Which is why ye’ll need tae be very, very quiet, Blossom.”

The giggles she buried in the crook of his neck turned to muffled moans as Broderick thrust his hips into her. Each drag and thrust brought him closer to his own crest of pleasure.

He set a slow, steady rhythm, each languid thrust driving her closer and closer to the edge.

When Davina buried her face in his shoulder, biting down to keep from crying out as he drove harder, the flexing of her core around his shaft was his undoing and he dove with her over that cliff into ecstasy until he shuddered his release.

Breathless, he collapsed atop her, spreading kisses across her throat, her cheeks, her lips, where he lingered and savored her warm, wet tongue.

After he brought Davina and himself to at least two more climaxes, eating up the precious time before dawn, he finally shifted his weight and lay beside her, tucking her perfectly to his side.

His arm draped over her waist as she nestled against his chest. Her breath was warm through his linen shirt, and her laughter was soft but genuine.

“You are so wicked,” she said, shaking her head.

“Aye,” he replied with a grin, pressing a kiss to her hair. “But ye love me for it. ”

She sighed contentedly, resting her head on his shoulder. “Mayhap I do.”

As the flickering light of the oil lamp danced across the walls, Broderick’s expression grew more serious.

“I should warn ye, lass. When I sleep durin’ the day, it will seem…

unnatural. I willnae breathe, nor will my heart beat.

My body will cool as if I’m truly dead. If ye dinnae want tae stay beside me while I’m like that, I’ll understand. ”

Davina looked up at him, her eyes soft but determined. “I’ll see what I can endure,” she said simply, snuggling closer to him.

He smiled faintly, brushing a kiss across her brow. “Thank ye, blossom.” His voice curled low, a rasp of affection beneath the weight of his fatigue.

Not long after, the first wave of lethargy crept over him, heavy as a storm-laden sky. His limbs dulled, his breath slowed. He warned her softly, his words thickening with each passing moment. “This is when I’m most vulnerable, lass.”

The second wave struck harder, dragging at his eyelids until they sagged despite his will.

She sat up and placed her hand upon his cheek, piercing him with her earnest sapphire gaze. “I’ll watch over you,” she whispered, fierce tenderness lacing her vow. “While you sleep, I’ll think of what we can do at the castle to…”

But before her promise could reach its end, the third wave crashed through him like a rising tide, and his body slumped against her. His breath grew shallow, his form heavy and still. Darkness swallowed him whole, pulling him into the deep, unnatural slumber of the Vamsyrian.

And in Broderick’s dream, Davina cradled him tighter, her pulse a quiet rhythm beneath his stillness. She kissed his lips. “I’ll keep you safe, my love,” she vowed in the hush of the chamber, her words a whispered shield against the shadows.