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Felicity snickered. “I mean, you’d think the guy would provide you with some grandkids.”

Another blink.

“I know he’s all hung up about his legs, but methinks the loins are still operational—”

“Good Lord, woman,” Will exclaimed.

His father’s eyes grew very round.

And then Rollo laughed, from deep in his belly, and she flushed warm with the sound of it.

“That is quite . . .” He shook his head in awe. “Nay, Felicity, you . You are quite something. I dare say, you’ve proved your point.”

“Thank you,” she said primly, and resumed spooning the broth into the man’s mouth.

“You know, Will.” She sat back, watching as his father swallowed. “If he has enough muscle control to swallow, he can probably speak again.”

Will didn’t respond, and so she turned to catch him staring at her in silence.

“Truly?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. I think so.” She shrugged. “I make no promises. But from what little I know . . . I think that’s how it works.”

“To be given back my father . . .” Will locked eyes with him. Tears hovered in the older man’s eyes. “Can you truly understand?” he asked him.

His father blinked once, and moisture spilled down his cheeks.

“Och, man.” He stood, gripping his father firmly on the shoulder. He stayed there, hand clasped tight. “All this time . . .”

“You’re so lucky,” Felicity mused gently. “I lost my father. I’m glad for you, Will. So glad you’re getting a second chance with yours.”

Rollo pinned her with a searing glance, and she wondered if he weren’t seeing her, truly seeing the real her, for the first time.

“Aye. I have my father returned to me.” He leaned over, brushing a kiss on the top of her head. “And it’s all because of you.”

“You’re welcome.” She raised her brows impishly. “That was a thank-you, right?”

“Indeed.” Her mischievous ways startled him, delighted him. Stretching out his hand, he had the strange compulsion to play along. “Now, come.”

“Well, then! Excuse us, please, Mister Rollo,” she said smiling and taking Will’s hand. With a tilt of her head, she asked, “Are you taking me somewhere to show me your appreciation?”

He paled, sparing a quick glance at his father. “No, I’m taking you for a turn around the garden.” Pitching his voice lower, he added, “Believing as I do that my father has heard quite enough for one afternoon.”

He led them toward one of the garden’s many flower-beds.

“Will you be regaling me with praise as we go? Like, how wrong you were not to believe me. How talented, how brilliant—”

“Och, woman. Enough.” He chuckled, adding his own silent litany. How beautiful, how adorable, how luscious . . . He leaned down and, pulling the sgian dubh from where it was tucked at his calf, cut a small handful of blooms that had taken root amidst the decorative paving stones.

“Don’t think you can change the subject with that sexy James Bond sock knife of yours,” she told him.

“Would you still that tongue for but one moment?”

“What’s that about my tongue, William Rollo?” she countered with a purr in her voice.

His unruly cock stirred in response.

“ Ist ,” he whispered, standing and stepping toward her. He moved slowly, and in the four paces to her side, he felt his heart drift from lighthearted, to focused, to somber.

Her face stilled to see the handful of humble flowers he’d plucked for her. Bright blue blooms atop long, thin stems. He felt suddenly nervous.

“Harebells,” he told her, placing the posy in her hand. “My favorite. Always so sunny and upright.” He tucked a loose bit of hair behind her ear, thinking he could as easily be describing Felicity as those flowers. “A tenacious wee blossom, just like you.”

“Oh, Will. They’re lovely.” She brought them to her nose, even though he knew they held not much scent beyond the freshness of green and sky. “Just perfect.”

She seemed at a loss for words, and the thought that he might have caught her off guard was surprisingly, deeply gratifying.

“They suit you.” He wondered at the ease he’d found with her, this newfound comfort that had loosened his tongue, giving him words enough to quiet one like Felicity. Cupping her cheek, he lay a chaste kiss on her forehead. “My wildest wee blossom of all.”

“Too bad my eyes aren’t blue to match,” she said with an awkward laugh.

“Your eyes . . .” He took her chin, tilted her face to his. “Never have I seen such expressive eyes. Lush and brown. Rich like the earth, like the trees. Beautiful beside your hair, yellow as the sun. Nay, Felicity, your eyes are just right.”

He saw tears shimmering in those eyes, and the sight stabbed him. “But whatever is the matter?” He gave her a gentle smile. “Should I have picked you some fine roses instead?”

“Oh no. I’m definitely not a roses girl. I . . .” She was quiet for a moment, studying the posy in her hand, and he was pleased to have moved her so. “Thank you,” she said finally.

She gave him a shy smile. “See, you say you’re not the chivalrous knight in shining armor, but I knew you would be.”

“No, lass, I said I wasn’t a Viking.” He tenderly kissed the moisture from the corner of each eye. “I am, however, most pleased to settle for knight.”

A bright, loud laugh burst from her, such a joyful feminine sound, and he couldn’t help but laugh with her. And the feel of it filled him, expanded him. So many years without joy, to laugh with this woman was intoxicating. A revelation, a rapture.

A gift without price.

“I see,” Robertson whispered. They watched from afar, through a break in the hedgerow. The minister trembled with some heightened emotion. “To speak so with your imbecilic father . . .”

“Aye,” Jamie said. His father, communicating? He couldn’t believe it. But still . . . he fought off a peculiar, discomfiting feeling.

“The physicians claim it was a spell,” Jamie continued with a stiffened mouth. “But I believe it was evil spirits that overran my father’s body. Dark demons, which rendered him mute. His eyes waver madly now, from the visions they sow in his head. Only a witch would converse with such a man.”

“So I see,” the minister said again.

And Jamie watched as Robertson’s face froze into a mask. Of alarm. Of shock. And a flicker of elation.