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Rain lashed his face, icy needles slicing his skin as his head lolled back, eyes fixed on the roiling sea of gray clouds above.

Too weak to move. Too weak even to lift his head.

Each shallow breath escaped in uneven puffs, his chest heaving like it took everything he had just to keep breathing.

The world tilted and blurred, spinning beyond comprehension.

Where was he? How long had he been lying here?

He blinked, trying to clear his senses, but the effort was useless.

Warmth trickled from his side—slow, steady.

Pain flared, jolting and consuming, as he tried to shift.

A shredded wound tore through his right flank, just below the ribs, draining his strength, his life seeping into the rain-soaked earth.

The sticky wetness soaked through torn clothing, mingling with cold mud beneath him. He was dying.

Movement flickered at the edge of his vision, and his heart stuttered .

A rat.

Close—too close. Twitching whiskers, a pointed nose, slick fur clinging to its bones in spiked tufts. Rain dripped from its snout, fat droplets that tickled his cheeks as it sniffed him. His stomach twisted.

Tiny feet scurried over his slashed belly. Another set crept along the side of his wounded leg.

More. They were everywhere.

Drawn by the scent of death. His death.

A raw, broken cry tore from his lips—every shred of strength he had left pouring into the wail.

He bolted upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his nose and mingling with the dampness already clinging to his bare skin. The nightmare clung to him like a second skin, heart pounding as the phantom sensation of tiny feet still skittered across his flesh.

Calloused hands pressed to his chest—rough, unrelenting, dragging him back to the present. His skin prickled beneath the scratchy touch, too close to the rats in his dream.

“There, there, love,” rasped a voice beside him, hoarse and grating like a rusted hinge. “’Tis just another nightmare.”

He shuddered, shrugging off the touch as his body twisted away from her. Turning to his side, he curled in on himself, his back to her, the straw mattress beneath him reeking of must and damp. She made his flesh crawl, but she was useful—necessary, even. A means to an end .

Not much longer , he told himself, his bearded jaw tightening as he stared into the darkness from the cramped bed box. Just another week or so, and I will be free.

∞∞∞

Veronique smiled as Broderick entered the camp early, exchanging brief words with Amice in the tent before emerging again. She took two deliberate steps toward him.

“ Bon soir , Veronique,” he mumbled without meeting her gaze, then continued on, heading toward that Scottish woman’s castle. Veronique’s smile vanished.

He was spending far too much time with that owl-eyed creature.

Movement across the camp pulled her attention. Nicabar rode into the circle, a young woman seated behind him. Her face glowed, eyes bright with laughter. Davina’s handmaid. Veronique’s mouth pinched. Nicabar dismounted and helped the girl down with far too much care.

Veronique scoffed. Ugly Scottish women! What did Broderick and Nicabar see in them?

Jealousy tightened her throat as she watched them embrace, lips meeting in a kiss before Nicabar led the girl into his vardo.

Veronique stomped into her own wagon and flung herself onto the narrow bed. Rage flushed her cheeks. Damn that Davina!

Broderick’s interest in her had Veronique pounding her fists into the pillow.

Davina’s wide-set eyes took up too much of her face—like an owl—and her nose turned up like a pig’s.

Veronique was far prettier, her features delicate, exotic.

She had so much more to offer Broderick.

She knew what he was and loved him for it.

She had waited—ripe and ready—for his touch.

But Davina? She resisted him at every turn.

Why would he want someone who didn’t want him?

Veronique’s thoughts spiraled, the current of envy dragging her deeper. She had to make him see—Davina was wrong for him. If she could learn something about the Scottish woman, something to sour her in Broderick’s eyes, he’d come to his senses.

The idea caught fire in her mind.

Nicabar. He would be close to Davina’s handmaid now. He could find out information for Veronique.

She sat upright, energy pulsing in her chest. She would speak with Nicabar first thing in the morning.

Hope, fresh and hungry, bloomed in her chest as she lay back and stared at the wooden beams above.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

∞∞∞

Davina paced the cold stone floor of the foyer, the scuffle of her soft-soled shoes echoing gently in the empty space. The air smelled faintly of wax, the candles flickering weakly against the dark wood-paneled walls. She glanced toward the heavy oak door for what felt like the hundredth time.

Saints! What is taking him so long?

Her arms folded tightly across her midsection as she stared out the small window.

Sunset was long past, the last glimmers of light swallowed by the night nearly half an hour ago.

Half an hour. Her jaw clenched, the thought only stoking her frustration.

Broderick had said he’d be here after sunset.

Not an hour later. Not whenever he decided to grace her with his presence. After sunset.

The door creaked open, the sound pulling her from her thoughts. A rush of chilly air swept inside, carrying with it the scent of the coming winter and damp leather. One of the guards stepped through first, his face a mask of irritation as he held the door open for the man following behind him.

Broderick.

The sight of him standing there, tall and imposing in the dim light, sent an involuntary heat rushing under her skin.

His dark auburn hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and his cloak hung from his broad shoulders stippled with tiny water droplets.

It must be misting outside. He glanced around the foyer before his gaze settled on her—keen, assessing, and far too knowing.

Davina forced her irritation to the forefront, tamping down the other, warmer feelings threatening to rise. “Thank you,” she said to the guard, who scowled in response. His disapproval was unmistakable, and she didn’t need to strain to guess the cause.

The entire household had soured toward her since her uncle’s arrival.

She’d seen it in the way the staff avoided her gaze, in the muttered words that ceased the moment she stepped into a room.

They blamed her for the tension. And they weren’t wrong.

Every decision she’d made had led to this.

The guilt pressed against her chest like cold iron, but she refused to let it crush her.

Straightening her spine, she turned to Broderick. “You’re late,” she snapped as she pivoted toward the Great Hall. “Sunset was half an hour ago. ”

His hand caught the crook of her elbow, gently but firmly halting her. “Countin’ the minutes, were ye?” he asked, amused.

Her pulse jumped at the unexpected contact. Before she could reply, he turned her hand over, inspecting her palm. The bandages were gone, her skin smooth and unbroken.

“’Tis healed well.” His fingers ghosted over her skin—light, teasing—but even that faint brush sent a ripple of heat coursing through her.

“It has,” she said, her voice not quite steady. She cleared her throat. “Amice’s poultice worked wonders.”

His thumb skimmed along the side of her face, tracing the once-bruised skin beneath her eye, then down her cheek to the hollow of her throat. Her heartbeat quickened under his touch.

“She’s skilled,” he said, his eyes holding hers. A slow, crooked smile curved his lips.

Davina’s breath caught. His nearness disoriented her—like drinking too much wine on an empty stomach. She needed distance. She needed words. But neither came.

The creak of a door shattered the moment. She shipped around as Tammus stepped into the foyer, his eyes landing on them like twin blades. His brow furrowed.

The spell broke.

Davina wrenched her hand from Broderick’s and took a hurried step back, her cheeks burning. “Broderick was just noticing how well my hands have healed,” she said quickly. Too quickly, and she silently cursed herself.

Broderick, ever composed, shrugged off his cloak and hung it on one of the iron hooks mounted by the door, as though nothing had happened.

Tammus’s expression made it clear he didn’t believe her, but he let it go. “I’m off to meet the suitor in the village. I’ll be escorting him back to the castle. I won’t be long.”

“Of course,” Davina replied, forcing calm into her voice. “I’ve already checked with the staff. Collation you suggested will be ready upon his arrival.”

“Very good.” Tammus nodded, though his eyes lingered between her and Broderick before he turned away. “Eve’nin’, Broderick.”

“Lord Tammus.” Broderick inclined his head.

The heavy door slammed shut behind him, leaving Davina alone with Broderick.

“Ye need to relax, lass,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “Ye’re goin’ to give us away.”

“Hush!” she hissed, whirling on him. She seized his arm and yanked him into the now-vacant study—what had once been her refuge. Once inside, she shut the door firmly and rounded on him.

“Tell me how this is going to work,” she demanded.

Broderick leaned a shoulder against the hearth, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Me? This was yer idea, lass.”

“Aye, but your abilities—how do they work exactly?”

He tilted his head, that maddening dimple cutting into his cheek. “Thoughts come to me like words on the wind,” he said, voice smooth as cream. “I can hear most of what’s bein’ thought, but emotions give me more context. The closer I get to someone…”

He crossed the room in a few lazy steps, closing the space between them until he stood directly in front of her.

“…the louder and clearer those thoughts become.”

Davina’s breath caught. The heat radiating from him warmed her skin, clouding her thoughts.