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Witchcraft was a foolish notion. But quite efficient when it came to dispatching unruly women.

The memory of his brother suckling at Felicity like some ravenous calf made Jamie’s chest tight with rage. Unruly indeed.

He’d taken a brief detour, wanting to pass the grave marker before he got to Saint Serf’s. Jamie contemplated the stone cross, the crudely painted words. Maggie Wall burnt here .

Always his brother got what he wanted. Always ever. And it would stop. Willie would pay, once and for all.

And Jamie would let the fine minister of Dunning do the dirty work for him.

The church struck him as a crumbling old thing, but he knew this minister would have naught but pride, and so Jamie mustered an enthusiasm he didn’t feel.

He found the pathetic man strolling the gardens like some king surveying his holdings.

“Robertson.” Jamie forced a genial smile. “And so I find you.”

“Ah, my friend!” Alexander Robertson strolled over, greeting him with a gratified smile. “So happy you’ve come. ’Tis an enlightened man indeed, who chooses to acquaint himself with the pearls of his community.”

Vain, self-regarding ass. “Aye, ’twould be a grave error to visit Dunning and miss the sight of your glorious parish.” Or of you in action, witch-hunter.

“Truer words, my friend.” Robertson nodded somberly. “Truer words.”

The minister brightened, spreading his hands wide to gesture to the church behind him.

“But I am being remiss. Would you like a tour? Our steeple tower is impressively ancient. Norman, in fact, and quite the commanding presence in our humble valley. Though”—R obertson put his hand to his forehead in exaggerated dismay—“ you are from a fine tradition of Lords Rollo, you would know this already, of course.”

“But of course.” Jamie wrenched his smirk into something approximating glowing admiration. “From our mother’s breast, we heard of the glory of your fine place of worship, and of the men who minister here.”

His smile grew genuine as he realized he was enjoying himself. He only wished he weren’t so impatient . . . he imagined he’d find great pleasure in toying with this man over the long term.

“Sadly, church business is not what’s brought me here today,” Jamie said, shaking his head in affected distress. “Or, rather, what I have to share is of the utmost concern for your fine parish.”

Robertson stilled, and Jamie felt the early flushes of triumph. He’d known the man would crave drama like a fishwife her husband’s ear.

“Pray,” Robertson said gravely. “Pray tell of the news you bear.”

“I met the woman you claim to love.”

“You . . .” The minister canted his head, the strange turn to the conversation throwing him. “You’ve met her? My goddess?”

“Aye. Her indeed. One Felicity Wallace. And, my friend”—he rested his hand amiably on Robertson’s shoulder—“I think you dodged a grim fate.”

“Truly? But why?”

“Well, it’s . . .” Jamie mimed hesitation. He needed to hide his smile now. This was becoming quite the lark.

Be somber.

Till the soil.

“I’m certain it’s nothing really. It’s just that there’s something . . . peculiar about her.”

“Aye?” Robertson’s voice was a tight whisper.

“Aye.” The seeds of doubt. “I saw her plucking strange herbs from the woods around Duncrub. She moved with such purpose. As if . . .”

“As if?”

“As if . . . well, it was as if she were concocting a brew.”

“No! A brew?”

“Aye.” I sow. “And then there was her talisman.”

“Lord protect us,” Robertson hissed, raising and kissing the cross that hung from his pocket. “A talisman, you say?”

“Indeed.” Jamie struggled not to laugh. The talisman was quite the stroke of last-minute brilliance.

“Is it”—Robertson lowered his voice to a frantic whisper—“witchcraft?”

“Oh no,” Jamie replied quickly. “Certainly not in your fine and God-fearing parish. Though . . .”

“Though?”

“Though it is odd . . .” Jamie let his voice trail off.

“Odd?” Robertson stepped closer, an eager coconspirator.

“Well, it’s only that . . .” Jamie made as if he were conceding. “I didn’t see her at vespers on Sunday.”

Robertson gasped. “Quite right. You are quite right, my lord. She was not at vespers. I know I would have seen her.”

“Then perhaps we should be on our guard, Minister Robertson. Well pleased I am to have such a vigilant leader of the church among us. Well pleased indeed.”

And then I shall reap.

“And you’re sure you’re not cold?” Felicity leaned down, looking in the eyes of Will’s father. A small flock of servants had helped her carry the man’s chair, with him in it, outside into the formal gardens.

Perfectly squared-off hedges were softened by shaggy clumps of wildflowers and an extensive rose garden.

But, at the moment, it was the privacy Felicity appreciated best of all.

She wanted to try to connect with his dad without having to worry about prying, judgmental eyes.

“Don’t forget, it’s blink once for yes , and twice for no . ”

He gave a slow, owlish blink.

“Wait. I’m sorry,” she said with an exaggerated shrug. “I forgot my question. Are you cold, yes or no?”

He blinked twice, and she would’ve sworn the man was trying to smile.

“Good. Well . . . just blink a bunch of times or something if you change your mind.” She began to neatly fold up the woolen blanket she’d brought outside.

“I volunteered at a hospital for a while. I helped rehabilitate people just like you. I’d thought for a while that I wanted to be an OT .

. . that’s occupational therapist. But . . . I don’t know.”

Sighing, she sat down on the bench across from him. “I just never took to it. I always ended up getting too emotionally involved. All these people whose lives had been so profoundly changed . . .” She frowned. “I used to get so depressed.”

Felicity adjusted her skirts on the cold stone. “I guess I’ve tried everything at one point or another. At least it seems that way. I really thought I wanted to help people, but I don’t know. Maybe I’m the one who needs help!” she joked, leaning in as if sharing a conspiratorial laugh.

“Hold on,” she said, suddenly serious. “Am I talking too much? I think I have a habit of—”

Will’s father quickly blinked twice.

“Oh.” She smiled at him. “Good. Because I was going to say, I’m a lemons from lemonade kinda gal. Wait”—she gave a little shake to her head—“I mean lemonade from lemons . Anyway, you get the point. My aunt—Livvie—I told you about her earlier?”

She waited for his blink and then continued, “Well my Aunt Livvie taught me to make the best of things.”

She grew quiet, thinking of her aunt. What would she make of all this? Making a wish on that candle and ending up in the past? Knowing Liv, she’d probably high five her.

Felicity shook her head. “Goodness knows, my life hasn’t always gone the way I expected.”

She paused, looking at the garden around them. Her life sure had hit some unexpected curves. And yet, Felicity couldn’t help but think it’d been all those painful twists and turns that had brought her to Will.

“And now I’ve met my hero, and gee, talk about mixed signals.” She gave Will’s father a pointed look. “I wish you could answer me. I sure would love some wisdom about your son.”

She tilted her head back, looking to the sky on a lengthy exhale.

“He . . . wow . . . where do I begin? He drives me crazy . And boy do I mean crazy in all meanings of the word.” She looked at him through slanted eyes.

“Well, I won’t go there . But suffice it to say, I adore the guy.

And I think he likes me. But he seems determined to get me the heck out of here.

I tell you, your boy Will is breakin’ my heart. ”

“He can’t answer you, you know.”

“Oh!” Felicity turned to see Rollo approaching across the lawn, and a giddy flush of anticipation made her stomach flutter. “Will. Hi.”

She whispered to his father, “Speak of the devil. You don’t think he heard, do you?” she asked, biting her lip.

The man blinked twice, and she squeezed his hand. She didn’t have many memories of her own father, and it delighted her to feel like she had a friend in Will’s.

Rollo set a tray of food beside her on the bench. “I saw you out here and thought I’d bring my father’s meal myself. I’ve just now summoned a maid to feed him.”

“What?” Felicity pulled the tray toward her. “We don’t need a maid. Jeez, I’ll feed your father.” She lifted a square of linen to reveal a yellowish broth. “Gross. What is this? Is this what they feed you every day?”

He blinked once, holding his eyes shut for a beat, as if to express his misery.

“That’s horrible! You poor man.” She rounded on Will. “The poor man, he only gets this ?”

“I beg your pardon, but don’t tell me you truly think you just communicated with the man.”

“I certainly did.” She scooted to the edge of the bench, ready to spoon the broth into his father’s mouth.

“Don’t worry, Mister Rollo,” she told him, “I’ll see to it you get something better to eat. If I have to mush it up myself. Yuck ,” she added with a shudder. “You must be sick of this slop.”

“So the man shuts his eyes for a moment, and you think you’re having a heartfelt chat?

If so, you’d best be informed that ‘Mister’ is definitely not the chosen form of address for my father.

” Will chuckled, and Felicity was torn as to whether she was more annoyed by him, or charmed by that sexy little laugh.

Deciding to ignore him altogether, Felicity squared her shoulders. “Your son doesn’t think we’re communicating. That means he won’t mind if we talk about him . So tell me, Mister Rollo . . . you don’t mind if I call you Mister Rollo, do you?”

He blinked twice in quick succession, and Felicity shot Rollo a victorious look.

“Tell me, did Will ever have a girlfriend?”

Rollo made a choking sound, and his father gave two short blinks.

“I find that shocking,” she said innocently. “Don’t you?”

One blink.

“He is, after all, a fairly decent-looking man, objectively speaking.”

A long pause followed finally by a brief blink.