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Her brows knit together. “Your benefit?”

“Aye.” He unfurled a wolfish grin, his eyes glinting. “If I dinnae scare these suitors away, I dinnae get paid. And I mean tae have ye in me bed.”

She blinked, a small smile creeping onto her lips despite herself. She knew he was teasing—mostly. “You’re not fooling me, Broderick MacDougal,” she said quietly. “You’re not the rogue you pretend to be.”

His smirk faltered for a moment, something softer flickering in his expression before the wolfish grin returned.

Before she could press him further, a faint whimper echoed from the nursery.

Davina stiffened, heat rising to her cheeks. “Cailin,” she whispered, and rose from the bed. She took two steps toward the nursery, when Broderick’s hand shot out, gently but firmly stopping her. “I’ll only be a few moments.”

Broderick pulled her into his arms, a tortured darkness in his emerald gaze. His thumb gently traced her jawline, his eyes shining with a raw intensity that made her breath catch.

“What’s wro—”

His lips crushed against hers, his kiss deep, seeking, possessive. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a hunger that set fire coursing through her veins. Her core clenched, her breasts ached, her entire body pulled taut beneath the heat of him. His hand cradled the back of her neck, anchoring her to the moment.

But Cailin’s cries pierced through the haze, pulling Davina back to herself. An ache throbbed hard between her thighs, but she pulled away, breathless and flushed. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He let her go, though his eyes burned as they followed her to the door.

Cradling her daughter in the quiet of the nursery, Davina rocked gently, pressing soft kisses to Cailin’s brow as her cries faded to sleepy whimpers. Her mind, however, refused to quiet. Every brush of Broderick’s lips, every stolen glance, replayed with vivid clarity. Her heart squeezed as she brushed aside Cailin’s dark auburn curls—so like Broderick’s.

What would he do if she told him? Would he scorn her? Walk away? He’d made it clear marriage didn’t suit him—and until recently, she hadn’t thought it suited her either.

But then…why did the Gypsies come to Stewart Glen? Coincidence? Fate? Had Broderick been drawn here by something more?

He acted as if she belonged to him—as if he intended to mark her with his presence forever.

Her lips still tingled from the kiss. It had been more than passion. It had been a claiming. And though she couldn’t yet name it, it carved itself into the marrow of her bones.

After nursing Cailin and settling her back into the crib, Davina quietly returned to her chamber.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, her heart sank.

Broderick was gone.

The balcony drapes swayed in the breeze, pale silk fluttering like phantom hands. She rushed to the stone rail, eyes scanning the moonlit courtyard below.

Nothing.

She stood in the doorway, the cool night air brushing her skin as her thoughts spiraled.

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips, clinging to the echo of his kiss…and the flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished.

∞∞∞

Veronique lagged far enough behind Nicabar to keep to the shadows, her slippered feet crinkling softly over fallen leaves. Each rustle echoed in her ears, setting her pulse racing. She ducked behind tree trunks and thick brush whenever he turned, his irritating habit of glancing over his shoulder keeping her on edge.

Davina’s grim, ivy-clad castle came into view around a craggy hill at the forest’s edge. Nicabar made no move toward the front gate. Instead, he veered toward the southern wall. Veronique narrowed her eyes. Why avoid the entrance? Was Nicabar not welcome?

She scaled a rocky incline, using it to edge closer, careful to stay low. From her perch, she saw him stop near a dense tangle of shrubs. He scanned the area. Veronique dropped instantly, holding her breath.

Had he seen her?

Stone scraped against stone.

The bushes shuddered.