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“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 mesleep 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.