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He wagged a scolding finger back at her, his voice rising with indignation. “A whole jar of honey, mind you! Enough to keep asensible soul content for a month at least! But not Mistress Davina, oh no! She downs the lot in half the time, like it’s the last honey on God’s green earth!”

Rosselyn rolled her eyes. “You know why she does it, Seamus. Can you not be somewhat sympathetic to her plight?”

Seamus had the decency to look ashamed and nodded.

After they passed through the village and stopped at the edge of the traveling camp, she scanned the area and spotted Nicabar’s vardo with its dark painted panels and intricate golden scrollwork gleaming in the light. “Go on with you, then,” she said, shooing Seamus off. “I’ll have someone else escort me back to the castle.”

Seamus grumbled and stomped toward the marketplace, still muttering under his breath.

As she passed a merchant arranging his jewelry upon a gray, wool blanket on the ground, he leapt to his feet and intercepted her. “Ah! You come to buy my jewelry!” He took Rosselyn’s hand, leading her to the bulk of his treasures. “I have a beautiful necklace of peridot to match your golden eyes!”

“Nay, thank you.” She pulled away from him. “Not right now.”

“You do not like it?”

Rosselyn turned toward her dark-haired Gypsy, who stepped from behind a blue-painted caravan and appraised her with his black eyes. Her heart skipped and prayed she would never tire of the flip her stomach made every time she saw him.

With a seductive sparkle in his eyes, he sauntered toward her. His gaze roamed over her figure, sending heat blooming across her skin everywhere it landed. His delicious Spanish accent stirred flutters low in her belly. “I think you would make that necklace shine.”

Nicabar held his palm out toward the vendor, who happilyhanded the pendant to him with a wink.

With a raised brow and the corner of his mouth curled in a devilish smile, Nicabar stepped behind Rosselyn and fastened the piece of jewelry around her neck. She shivered with delight as he brushed his lips against her ear. “You see? You make everything beautiful.”

Rosselyn turned, her lips a breath from his. “You didn’t have to—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

She melted into him, her breath catching as Nicabar’s lips claimed hers with a tenderness that sent a shiver coursing through her spine. His kiss was a promise wrapped in fire, igniting a longing that deepened every time she came near him. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to stay here, lost in the intoxicating blend of his scent, his warmth, and the gentle strength of his arms. He wasn’t just a man, he was freedom, danger, and everything her heart yearned for but couldn’t name.

When he eased away from her lips, the loss was immediate, but his hooded gaze and wolfish grin soothed the ache. “Come with me,mia dulce. Amice wishes to speak with you.”

“Amice?” Rosselyn thanked the vendor for the necklace.

Nicabar laced his fingers with hers and pulled her along. “Sí, she says she has a message for you.”

“What message?” she whispered, smiling.

Nicabar shrugged. “She will not tell me.”

As they approached the fortune teller’s tent, Amice emerged from her vardo, and her face brightened when she saw Rosselyn. “Ah,bonjour, Rosselyn.”

The old woman grabbed the wooden rail of the wagon’s steps, and Rosselyn rushed to help her down. Her fingers, gnarled and veined, gripped the railing with a surprising strength.

“Merci, ma chère.” She waved her twisted hands toward the tent. “Come inside,s’il te plaît.”

Nicabar kissed Rosselyn’s cheek. “I will return for you.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Rosselyn’s stomach fluttered as she followed Amice into the tent.

Inside, the heavy scent of incense curled in the air—spicy, earthen, with a trace of sweet myrrh. A low table sat at the opposite end, covered in a velvet cloth, worn thin at the edges.

Amice approached Rosselyn, scrutinizing her with keen, perceptive eyes. “Ah!” she exclaimed, her smile widening, and whispered, “You are ready now! Let us discuss the matter of your freedom.”

“My what?”

Amice eased her old bones into the chair behind the table, and Rosselyn sat across from her. “The matter of myfreedom?”

“Oui!” Amice flapped her fingers toward her. “Donnez-moi vos mains.”