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Davina’s lips curved in a faint, polite smile. “Milord, if it pleases you, what trade does your family pursue?”

Ewan opened his mouth to respond, but Cailin chose that moment to let out a small, wet hiccup, followed by a wail and a dribble of white vomit spilling down her chin. The color drained from Ewan’s face, and he quickly reached for his goblet, taking a long sip of wine as if to steady himself.

Broderick, sitting back with his arms crossed, grinned like a cat with a mouse. “ Poor lad looks ready to bolt. ”

Davina shifted in her seat, casting a worried glance at Broderick. “ I shouldn’t have done this, ” her thoughts confessed. She tried to rise but plopped back down into her chair with an oomph! She reached down and gritted her teeth.

Under the table, Broderick saw her skirt tangled with the chair leg.

She sighed and glanced at Ewan. “Would you mind holding her for just a moment?”

Ewan blanched. “Wait—”

She deposited Cailin into his arms and bent to free her gown.

Broderick rose and rounded the table to assist Davina .

With a sloshing, sputtering eruption, Cailin vomited spectacularly all over Ewan’s pristine tunic.

Ewan recoiled, crying out, his face a mask of horror. “Good God!”

Broderick snatched Cailin from his arms, Davina’s voice a flurry of apologies as Ewan stumbled to his feet, one hand clamped over his mouth. He bolted.

Broderick watched Ewan’s scrambling exit from the Great Hall with a grin.

Tammus slammed his fist onto the table and stood. With a piercing glare he shared between Broderick and Davina, he stood. “A fine impression we’ve made,” Tammus growled before he strode out after Laird Gordon.

Cailin, unfazed, let out a soft coo, then promptly vomited again—this time on Broderick’s chest.

Davina gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh no!”

Broderick froze a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. The rich, deep rumble of amusement echoed through the hall like thunder.

“Well,” he said, grinning down at Cailin, “ye did say supper would be interestin’.”

Cailin laughed and pawed Broderick’s face, smearing white curds on his cheeks.

“Oh, Broderick!” Davina took Cailin from him and gave him a wilted grin, shaking her head as she wiped his face. “I think I’m cursed.”

“Nay cursed, lass,” Broderick said, still chuckling. “Just ingenious .”

∞∞ ∞

Rosselyn snuggled against Nicabar in the golden lamp light of his caravan. “Does the fortune teller—the large man, not Amice—does he have many love interests in the towns you travel to?”

Nicabar furrowed his brow and pushed away, the movement sudden. He sat at the edge of the bed, his back to her, shoulders stiff beneath his linen shirt. “Why?”

Confused by his abrupt shift, she stared at his rigid form—and then a wide grin spread across her face. “Are you jealous?”

He turned toward her, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Why do you ask about the dukker while you are in my bed?”

Rosselyn didn’t want to provoke his temper further, though the spark of jealousy thrilled her more than it should have. “I don’t ask about him for myself. ’Tis my mistress for whom I ask.”

Shifting away from her again, he kept his gaze forward, resolutely ignoring the pull of her fingers on his arm. “Nicabar, who am I here with this night?”

“Me, which is why—”

“Aye! And who has just made wonderful love to me, made my soul sing with ecstasy?”

He fidgeted and then turned his profile toward her. The corner of his mouth turned up at her compliment.

Rosselyn sat up and put her hand upon his cheek, making him face her directly. “I apologize for the timing of my question. Please forgive me?”

He nodded but still maintained some of his guard.

“Think upon this. How can you possibly think I would be interested in anyone else when I have the perfect man before me?”

Nicabar’s defensiveness melted, replaced by embarrassment.

Rosselyn pulled him down next to her and planted a sound kiss upon his lips, joyous that he returned her affection with as much enthusiasm. “I ask about him because methinks he and Davina are a smart match.”

“Are they, now?” Nicabar shifted and kissed the beauty mark on her right shoulder.

“Aye, but she doesn’t want to marry any man, let alone a giant like Broderick.

” Rosselyn sighed. “Mistress Davina had a husband who beat her terribly and she doesn’t trust any man, especially one as large and intimidating as the fortune teller.

” She sat up. “He would never hurt her, would he? Does he give in to violent fits? I asked Amice, but I fear she may be biased.”

Nicabar laughed and sat up with her. “Broderick? Oh, not him. He is a jovial spirit and takes nothing to heart.” He cradled Rosselyn’s arm and kissed the mole on the inside of her elbow.

Rosselyn smiled. “Good. Mistress Davina needs someone like him.”

“Playing match maker?” His lips trailed to the mark on her wrist. Obviously, he was in one of his moods to kiss each one of the little raisin spots decorating her skin. They never meant much to her…until she met Nicabar.

“I want to see her happy.”

“You seek to make a match of her and Broderick because…?”

Rosselyn had been in turmoil about the secret she harbored since Parlan’s death.

Once she revealed all, she could only see it ending in Davina and Lilias casting her and her mother from the castle, and yet she harbored hope Davina would understand.

If she didn’t, Rosselyn would need to find a home for her and her mother, but she would feel better knowing Davina had someone who would take care of her if she couldn’t avoid the inevitable.

“Rosselyn? What troubles you?”

Snapping out of her niggling thoughts, she breathed deep.

The golden lamplight painted shadows across his bronzed skin and glinted off the dark waves of his hair.

“Davina’s uncle is forcing her to marry, while Broderick is using his gifts to help Davina determine…

” She hesitated, unwilling to betray her mistress’ full plan.

“Whether or not they have good intentions. I can see they are attracted to each other but…”

“I see.” He kissed the mole nestled between her breasts, his lips warm and lingering.

“If she had someone to protect her.” She sighed.

“She has been hurt so badly, Nicabar. And I suppose she has been suspicious of us spending more time together. Mayhap I should not be coming down here so often.” Rosselyn lay in Nicabar’s arms for several moments, his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek.

“I suppose I should return to the castle even now.”

His lips claimed hers with hunger, and his arousal pressed against her thigh. “We must make love one more time,” he breathed against her mouth. “Then I will take you back.”

Never had she been with a man who had as much desire for her as Nica. He rolled on top of her to make love for the third time that day, with as much energy as their first coupling.

Tearing themselves away from their private time together, they dressed, and Rosselyn mounted behind Nicabar, bareback on his horse.

At the castle, just outside the gate, Rosselyn pressed her hand to his arm to get his attention. “Mayhap you and I won’t have to sacrifice time with each other, after all. Pray steer your horse to the rear of the castle. ”

Nicabar obeyed, and as they rounded to the back side of the curtain wall, Rosselyn pointed to the thick bushes clustered against the stone. “There!”

They dismounted, and she led Nicabar over, glancing around to be sure no one was about.

Rosselyn pulled him behind her and ducked into a small space between the dense shrubs and the wall.

Pressing against the stone knob, the surface rumbled beneath her fingers.

As she shoved, she grunted softly, muscles straining to shift the concealed door aside.

“Follow me,” she whispered and entered through a secret door, closing the opening behind them. They stood on the other side of the wall, behind a stone and wood building shrouded in shadow. The scent of horses and hay drifted on the air, and the faint rustle of straw carried on the breeze.

“We can meet here after everyone has bedded down for the evening,” she whispered. “Be sure not to let anyone see you. Tell no one of this entrance.” Pointing to the building, she added, “These are the stables.”

Rosselyn clutched his hand and led him around to the side.

She gestured for silence, pressing a finger to her lips before peering around the corner to scan the grooming area.

The horses stood quiet in their stalls, their ears flicking as they chewed contentedly.

Harnesses and tack hung in neat rows along the timbered wall, gleaming in the lantern light.

Fife was nowhere about, so she tugged Nicabar in after her. “There is fresh straw in the loft,” she said, pointing to the wooden ladder.

Nicabar smiled in the dim glow of the stables and took Rosselyn by the hand. “Just how fresh is the straw?” he teased as he coaxed her up the ladder before him.

When they reached the top, his mouth found hers, muffling her laughter.

They tumbled into the hayloft, fumbling with their clothes in breathless haste.

Dizzy with desire and a delicious sense of freedom, Rosselyn tumbled and frolicked with Nicabar beneath the sweet scent of straw and the sheltering shadows of the rafters.

∞∞∞

“Jealous?” Nicabar teased.

Veronique squared her shoulders. “ Non ! I am not jealous. I just want to know who she is.”

“It is no business of yours.” He turned and continued chopping wood.

The axe thudded against the chopping block in a steady rhythm, sending chips flying.

Veronique’s relentless pursuit of Broderick amused him.

He knew she struggled with the rampant emotions of a young woman just awakening to the sensations of her body—nothing more.

Granted, Broderick had a way with women.

They fawned over him like bees to honey, so Nicabar assumed Veronique fancied herself queen bee, especially since they shared the same caravan.

She was convinced it was true love, but one day she’d reflect on it with understanding—and laugh, just as he did now.

“That Davina was with her the first night they were in Aberdeen,” she resumed. “Is she her maid?”

“Why do you want to know?” he asked, not missing a swing.

She hesitated. “I just do.”

“Then I still say it is none of your business.”

Nicabar kept swinging. He split logs in clean, quick bursts, each strike punctuated by the crack of splitting wood. Occasionally, he glanced at her, hiding his curiosity behind the shadow of his lashes.

Veronique stomped her foot and cursed in French, her golden hair glinting in the sunlight.

“This Davina woman is coming between me and Broderick, and I want to know more about her. If your mistress is her maid, then she knows everything about this Davina.”

Nicabar chopped wood for several long minutes before he answered. “Aye, she is her maid.” He chopped again, the wood giving way with a satisfying crack. “Do you think to become her friend and learn something of Davina?”

“ Non , I hoped you would tell me something about her.”

“What makes you think I will tell you anything?” Nicabar stopped and met her gaze, his chest rising and falling with exertion. “There is a price for my services, Veronique.”

She shifted on her feet, then dared to ask, “What kind of price?”

He smiled slowly, sauntered up to her, and tilted her chin with a curled index finger. His breath, hot from labor, ghosted over her cheek in bursts of warmth against the afternoon chill. His bare chest glistened with sweat, each breath heavy in the crisp air. “Let me be your first.”

Veronique recoiled. “I am saving myself for Broderick!” she protested.

Nicabar shrugged and turned back to his work. The rhythmic chopping resumed.

After a moment, Veronique stomped off, muttering in French. Nicabar chuckled and kept chopping, shaking his head. What a foolish girl.