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“Not another one,” she grumbled, studying the dingy sign swinging above the inn’s front door. Felicity wondered just how many seedy inns with fleas and rodents and leering men there were between England and wherever it was they were headed in Scotland.

It had been so nice, that one night’s respite with Will and the horse and the great outdoors. Though they’d walked in silence, his proximity had sent a warm buzzing through her body. She’d felt connected to another person in a way she’d never before experienced.

She’d also felt genuinely useful for the first time ever. Like she’d been needed, and had been able to help. And she’d loved doing it.

But the animal had recovered, and Rollo quickly receded back into himself. His retreat stung. Every day that passed left Felicity wondering even more if that night had actually happened, or if it had just been some strange and disjointed dream.

The Pipe and Tabor Inn. She scowled. “What the heck’s a tabor anyhow?” she asked, urging her horse to catch up with Rollo’s.

She’d thought old Scotland would be a real hoot, but after God knew how many days on horseback and God only knew how many roasted rabbits she was supposed to be grateful for, Felicity thought she might just be ready to pack it all in and head for the nearest spa.

“Oh man, I’d give anything to soak in a great big Jacuzzi tub.” She sighed wistfully. “And a shampoo. My hair”—she rubbed vigorously at her scalp—“is driving me insane . I can’t keep it out of my face.”

She noticed he’d gotten ahead of her. “Hey, Will,” she said to his back, kicking her horse into a grudging trot, “are there any hot springs around here? There’s got to be something in, like, Italy right about now. I mean, it’s only about a two-hour flight there. How long a ride could it be?”

She noted him shaking his head. Was that a no or just an annoyed headshake? If it was a no , why couldn’t he just say no ? What would it take to get a rise out of the man? Get him to chat, just a little.

“I mean, it’s Europe,” she continued, “it’s all mushed together here. Or maybe Switzerland,” she mused to herself. “Isn’t there some hot mineral spring thing in Switzerland?”

She caught up to him just as he was pulling his horse to a halt. They’d walked their mounts around the inn to a barn and paddock area at the back.

“At least this getup is easier to ride in. That pink dress was impossible.” She fiddled with her skirts, untangling them from the ridiculous sidesaddle he’d gotten for her. “But do all seventeenth-century women wear the same dress, day after day after day?”

“We’ve been on the road, lass.”

“Finally, he speaks!”

Rollo glowered at her.

“I don’t know . . . God this thing itches,” she said suddenly, scratching at the drab blue-gray bodice. “I’m pretty skeptical, Will.” She fought a flicker of despair. “Please tell me I’m not going to spend the rest of my life in this riding dress.”

“It’s called a riding habit .”

“Well isn’t that appropriate.” She unhooked her leg from the saddle and studied the drop to the ground. “Seeing as life in a convent might just be a little more thrilling than watching your back as we ride through the never-ending countryside.”

He merely shrugged, focused instead on scanning the distance, looking, she presumed, for the stableman.

His nonreaction to her peevish mood was making her even more peevish.

She studied him, so in his own world. Could it be Will wasn’t the one ?

She’d come all the way back in time, just for him, and he hadn’t shown her one bit of emotion.

Well, she’d thought there’d been a flicker of something, that night with the horse.

But that had been weeks ago, and since then, nada .

He hadn’t even tried to kiss her. And really , Felicity thought, what red-blooded man wouldn’t even try? She was cute. She dusted off her skirts. Kind of dirty, but surely cute enough to kiss.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said. “What’s a tabor ? And where the heck are we, anyway?”

He tilted his head, looking at her with a cocked brow.

“What?”

“Only that you have a strange way of speaking, lass.” He slid from his custom saddle and began to loosen his horse’s girth and carefully shorten and tuck up the stirrups.

Watching him, she felt a pang of sympathy. It struck her that what looked like an exercise in great care—readying his horse—was actually an opportunity for Rollo to get his blood flowing once more.

“A tabor is a drum,” he said, catching her stare. “For pipers. And we are in a place called Muirton.”

The sympathy dissolved and was replaced by peevishness once more. For a man who looked like he was in pain at the end of every day, he sure thought nothing of riding all over the country. How far away did his family live, anyway?

She frowned at him, just waiting for an excuse to snap. “I hate rabbit, you know,” she said abruptly.

A rare smile cracked at the edges of Rollo’s mouth. “And what has the wee creature done to invoke your wrath?”

Ignoring his question, she rattled on, “I was even a vegetarian for a while. But I do love my In-N-Out Burgers.” She shivered. “With special sauce. And fries. Do you know they make their fries fresh? You can even see them chopping up the potatoes.”

“You should be grateful—”

“I know, I know. Grateful for the food .” She sighed. “I am.” Felicity began to stretch out her legs. “Hey,” she added brightly, “do you think they have any oats here? I could sure use a big bowl of oats. I haven’t had oats in, ohhh, six hours now.” She giggled to herself.

“You can be facetious all you like, it won’t make my home materialize any more quickly. Though Duncrub Castle is but a day’s ride away now.”

“Do you really live in a castle?” Visions of the Disney castle filled her head with turrets and flags and grand balls. She sighed.

“More manor house, truly. But generations of Lords Rollo have preferred calling it a castle.” He shrugged. “A man can call a goat a horse, and he’ll still have to walk to market, aye?” He chuckled to himself.

Oh . . . That sound again. That hesitant, husky laugh. She caught his gaze and felt her insides go all gooey. Surely he knew what he did to her . . . right?

“I’ll secure our rooms,” he said, once again hard as granite. He handed her the horses’ reins. “Do not stir from this spot. These mounts would fetch a dear price this far north. It’d be a shame if harm came to them.”

“I’ll be fine too, don’t you worry. Thanks for the concern, though.”

Was that another smile she caught cracking his features?

She crossed her heart in her best Girl Scout promise. “No harm will come to the mounts,” she told him, affecting a deep bass voice.

Felicity watched Rollo shuffle away, then turned her energy to the horses. “You appreciate me, don’t you,” she cooed, running her hand down the long, hard plane of her horse’s nose.

Will’s horse nudged her with his head, and she giggled, patting him hard along the neck. “You too,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t forget you, laddie. We need to find you two something to munch on.”

She felt so at ease with the animals, and marveled at how her attitude had shifted so dramatically from fear, to apprehension, to real affection.

Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t fantasized a million times about riding the rest of the way to Rollo’s in Aunt Livia’s old Volvo.

Livvie. She sighed.

Livvie would know she was gone by now. What would she be thinking? Would she have been back to Felicity’s apartment? Had she seen the candle? The cards? What would she make of it all?

Felicity reached up to scratch the mare’s head, and the animal flicked her ears.

She knew in her heart of hearts that Livvie would want her to stay. Liv would miss her terribly, sure, but, more than anything, her aunt would want her to have a grand adventure with a man meant for her. Livvie, who’d sent her off to Central America so Felicity could have a “vision quest.”

She laughed to herself.

Livvie most of all would tell her to grab hold of Mister Right and hold on tight.

Now if only there were a way to communicate with her aunt just one more time. Tell her she was safe.

“Such a symphony of expressions on such a lovely face.”

The voice was smooth, a mellow, masculine sound the aural equivalent of velvet.

Felicity turned to find a face that matched the voice, on a man standing not five feet away, smiling at her.

“Cute,” she whispered under her breath. Was the seventeenth century where all the hotties were hiding?

Acute self-consciousness swamped her. Did she have to be such a filthy mess? She curled her hands into fists to hide her blackened fingernails.

“I must know what thoughts whisk you along such a spectrum of emotion.” His smile was broad but polite, he was long and lean without being skinny, and his sandy blond hair shone in modestly cut waves along his shoulders.

“Oh,” she said, mustering a big, surprised smile. She knew her teeth were whiter than anything old Scotland offered, and so she’d taken to playing it up in the past weeks.

“Well?” he purred.

“Well . . . ?”

Maybe she had it all wrong. Could this be Mister Right?

She gave the thought a second to germinate while she stared openly at the man.

Nope. She wasn’t feeling it. Wasn’t feeling that crazy zing thing she always felt when Rollo caught her eye. As if every molecule in her body stood to attention in Will’s presence.

“Ah, I see confusion too.” Beaming, the stranger stepped closer. He was a foot away now, tilting his head this way and that, admiring Felicity’s face. “First mirth, then melancholy, and now hmm . . . I dare say we need another m .”

She froze, feeling a blush creeping all the way to her hairline.

“Mystery,” he exclaimed. “Yes, that’s it. I see such mysterious machinations playing on your bonny mien. Was that too much?”

“Uhhh . . .” It was nice to be paid attention to, but the dude was trying way too hard.

“Too many m ’s, that is?”