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“I dinnae think this is a wise idea, lass,” Fife muttered as he helped his son Liam and the guard heave MacLeod’s limp body into the wagon.

The entire household had been roused by the commotion. Some huddled in cloaks and housecoats, whispering behind sleeves. Others worked in tense silence, loading MacLeod’s belongings into the wagon beside the bundled wool—part of a shipment bound for Aberdeen.

Davina tugged her bandaged hand into a glove and cinched it tight, jaw clenched.

“What would you have me do, then?” she snapped. “The man forced his way into my chamber and tried to force himself on me. This is precisely why I never wanted him under this roof.”

Fife stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milady…but ye’ve put yerself in this position by—”

“By doing what I believed was right?”

He glanced around and leaned in further. “What yer doin’ is illegal , Davina.”

“I am not going to subject my daughter and this household to another heavy-handed brute! Is that understood?”

Her voice carried, slicing through the murmurs. The courtyard went still.

Dozens of eyes turned to her—some wide with worry, others narrowed in judgment.

“If anyone disapproves of my actions, you’re free to leave. I won’t keep anyone who questions my resolve.”

She swept her gaze across the gathering, defiant. No one moved.

But their silence stung.

“You all ken I’m doing what I must to protect this house.”

Still, unease rippled through the group. Folded arms. Averted gazes. A few men looked away entirely.

Davina pressed her lips into a hard line and mounted her horse without another word.

Fife tethered a second mount to the rear of the wagon for Liam, who climbed up onto the bench. He adjusted the reins, then secured the iron bracket to the frame, hanging a lantern that bathed the road in a golden glow.

Davina turned her horse toward the village and urged it into motion.

Liam followed in silence, the wagon creaking as it rolled through the open gates into the waiting dark.

After several minutes, Davina tugged Heather’s reins and eased the mare back to ride beside Liam. The swaying lantern on the wagon cast orange beams across the boy’s face, making the scowl he wore all the more vivid.

“You think I’m wrong, don’t you?” she asked.

“Doesna matter what I think, milady.” And yet his scowl stayed firmly in place.

“You think I’m wrong.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “Permission to speak freely without retribution?”

Davina sighed. “When have I ever lashed out at you, Liam? Or anyone in our household?”

“Permission to speak freely?” Liam leveled his gaze of disapproval at her.

“Of course.” She gripped the reins, preparing for the worst.

“I know ye have good intentions, milady. That has never been in question. But my father is right. What ye’re doing is illegal, and because of that, ye put us all in danger. If anyone finds out what ye’ve done, we could suffer the consequences along with ye.”

“I can assure you that if there are any consequences, I will take full responsibility—”

“Ye say that now, but if ye’re faced with a hangman’s noose, ye might think differently. Ye might very well put anyone else in yer place to save yer own neck.”

Davina clenched her jaw, swallowing the sting behind her eyes. It crushed her to think Liam believed she’d sacrifice him—or anyone—to save herself. Worse still was the gnawing thought that others might feel the same but too afraid to say it aloud.

She took a long breath, wrestling her doubt, fear, and shame into stillness. “I understand how you might think that. I would never—”

“Nay offense, milady,” Liam cut in, lifting a hand.

“But I’m the one at greatest risk. I’ve done everything ye asked.

I helped build the lies, and I lied straight to yer Uncle Tammus’s face.

If this all comes crashin’ down, he’ll hang me right beside ye.

” He glanced at her, jaw tight. “So ye can say what ye like…but it willnae help me sleep any easier.”

Liam clicked and snapped the reins, encouraging MacLeod’s horses to pull ahead and leave Davina trailing behind with her doubts.

∞∞∞

Broderick slouched deeper into the shadows of the tavern’s farthest corner, the flickering firelight barely reaching the table where he brooded.

The earthy, pungent bite of peat smoke wrapped the room, mingling with the stale breath of the few patrons still conscious.

Their thoughts—blurred by drink and dull routine—washed over him like stagnant water.

Two hours he’d listened. And not one whisper of use.

He’d hoped for confirmation that Davina still lived in Stewart Glen—something, anything about her bastard husband’s fate. Instead, he’d waded through the mire of empty gossip and slurred mutterings.

And somewhere inside, a part of him questioned why he still cared.

Fuck , but she haunted him.

A year and a half, and still her image clung to him—her curves, her mouth, the way her breath hitched when he touched her. The scent of her skin invaded his nights. No matter how far he wandered, she remained.

He should’ve found some willing lass and fucked her blind until the ghost of Davina bled from his bones. This obsession—this madness—was poison.

He downed the last of his drink and set the tankard aside, muscles tense with resolve.

Time to return to the Romani camp. Time to forget her.

But the tavern door swung open with a bang of frigid air and purpose.

A young blond man stood in the threshold, eyes scanning the room with a soldier’s tension. When his gaze landed on the stocky tavern keeper, he strode forward and leaned in close.

“Sorry, Tomas. Could ye step outside a moment?” the lad murmured. “I’m here with Lady Davina.”

Broderick’s breath caught. Heat surged low and immediate. The mere mention of her name unraveled every thread of control.

Tomas gave a short nod, stacked the last of the mugs on a shelf, and followed the lad into the night.

Broderick moved quickly, quietly, settling near the still-open door. He angled his ear toward the threshold, alertness flooding his veins. Even muffled, the conversation outside was his for the taking.

Leaning back, he peered through the fog-streaked glass, waiting for her shape to emerge.

A horse-drawn wagon stood in front of the tavern, lantern light glinting off the frozen ruts in the road. The blond lad jerked his thumb toward the man slumped across a mound of wool bundles in the back.

“This here’s—”

“Fergus MacLeod,” Tomas interrupted, eyes widening. “What th’ bloody hell happened to him?”

Blood—dried, dark, and caked—marred the man’s swollen face and tunic. One eye nearly shut. Nose obviously broken.

A rider emerged from the dark, and Broderick went still.

“Mr. MacLeod attacked me in my chamber,” came the rich, steady voice.

Davina.

“ You did this to him?” Tomas gawked, blinking hard.

Davina lifted her chin, posture proud. “He gave me no choice.”

Broderick grinned to himself in the shadows. “Good girl,” he murmured.

“With my husband away on business, he thought he could take liberties,” she continued, calm but cold. Her mare pawed the earth beneath her, ears flicking as if echoing her outrage.

“Why didn’t he come down here to begin with?” Tomas asked.

“I tried to tell him my situation and that your establishment was more suited to his taste, but the brute insisted. Serves him right, I say.”

“Well, I guess ol’ Fergus won’t try tha’ again.” Tomas shook his head and chortled. “Help me bring ’im inside, Liam. I’ll settle up with him on the morrow.”

Tomas and Liam grunted as they hauled MacLeod’s limp form from the wagon, dragging him around the back of the tavern. Davina sat astride her mount, back straight, a sensual delight for Broderick to drink in under the glow of the lanterns.

He leaned forward, breath fogging the window. Even distorted through warped glass, she was a temptation.

Full lips. Auburn hair, hastily gathered in a tumble of curls.

Stray tendrils framed her delicate features—elegance carved in defiance.

Desire surged, hard and brutal. Memory hit like lightning—her breathy moans, the way her hips had moved beneath his, the clutch of her body as if it never wanted to let go.

Gods, he needed her beneath him again. No more dreams. No more restraint. But first…her husband.

She’d said he was away on business. A convenient delay .

Broderick’s lips curled.

Let the bastard return.

Let him face what waited in the dark.

The Hunger purred at the thought.

Liam and Tomas marched through the tavern from the rear of the inn, stopping at the front door to clasp hands.

“Thank you, Tomas,” Davina said. “Can you make sure he doesn’t try sneaking back to the castle?”

“Aye, ye have my word, mistress.” Tomas clapped Liam on the back. “Leave the wagon. I’ll get it to the stable directly.”

Liam gave a nod and unhooked the lantern bracket from the wagon’s front rail, then moved to untie the tethered horse. Once mounted, he and Davina turned toward the road, heading off into the dark. Broderick watched them fade into the mist, vanishing like whispers in the fog.

As they disappeared, Broderick stood from his table, dropped two gold coins onto the counter, and gave Tomas a short nod.

“G’night, lad.”

Tomas beamed and pocketed the coins. “An’ a good night to you, sir!”

Once Broderick was free of the village’s edge, he broke into a supernatural sprint. The wind tore past him, biting at his skin, but he barely felt it.

He’d run until dawn pressed its weight on the world, then burrow into earth or shadow until night reclaimed the sky.

Seeing her again had sealed it.

Broderick’s grin stretched into something feral as he hurtled through the trees.

He would have her—body, blood, and soul.

And then, perhaps, this cursed obsession would finally be done.

∞∞∞