Page 29

“Whatever you’re doing, Rosselyn,” Seamus said as he trailed behind her determined pace, “be quick about your deeds. With all these suitors coming and going, I’ve too many things to buy at the market this day to waste time at a Gypsy camp.

These extravagant suppers have emptied the cellar!

” He snorted. “And I’ve extra honey to purchase to satisfy a sweet tooth. ”

Rosselyn pursed her lips. “You don’t have to wait for me. I told you, I just needed an escort to the camp.”

Seamus trudged ahead, his grumbling as relentless as the crunch of their feet on the path toward the village.

The late morning sun spilled over the treetops, casting a golden glow on the thatched rooftops ahead.

Chickens clucked in the distance, and smoke curled lazily from stone chimneys, but Seamus had no mind for the beauty of the day.

He wagged a scolding finger back at her, his voice rising with indignation. “A whole jar of honey, mind you! Enough to keep a sensible soul content for a month at least! But not Mistress Davina, oh no! She downs the lot in half the time, like it’s the last honey on God’s green earth!”

Rosselyn rolled her eyes. “You know why she does it, Seamus. Can you not be somewhat sympathetic to her plight?”

Seamus had the decency to look ashamed and nodded.

After they passed through the village and stopped at the edge of the traveling camp, she scanned the area and spotted Nicabar’s vardo with its dark painted panels and intricate golden scrollwork gleaming in the light.

“Go on with you, then,” she said, shooing Seamus off.

“I’ll have someone else escort me back to the castle. ”

Seamus grumbled and stomped toward the marketplace, still muttering under his breath.

As she passed a merchant arranging his jewelry upon a gray, wool blanket on the ground, he leapt to his feet and intercepted her. “Ah! You come to buy my jewelry!” He took Rosselyn’s hand, leading her to the bulk of his treasures. “I have a beautiful necklace of peridot to match your golden eyes!”

“Nay, thank you.” She pulled away from him. “Not right now.”

“You do not like it?”

Rosselyn turned toward her dark-haired Gypsy, who stepped from behind a blue-painted caravan and appraised her with his black eyes. Her heart skipped and prayed she would never tire of the flip her stomach made every time she saw him.

With a seductive sparkle in his eyes, he sauntered toward her. His gaze roamed over her figure, sending heat blooming across her skin everywhere it landed. His delicious Spanish accent stirred flutters low in her belly. “I think you would make that necklace shine.”

Nicabar held his palm out toward the vendor, who happily handed the pendant to him with a wink.

With a raised brow and the corner of his mouth curled in a devilish smile, Nicabar stepped behind Rosselyn and fastened the piece of jewelry around her neck. She shivered with delight as he brushed his lips against her ear. “You see? You make everything beautiful.”

Rosselyn turned, her lips a breath from his. “You didn’t have to—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

She melted into him, her breath catching as Nicabar’s lips claimed hers with a tenderness that sent a shiver coursing through her spine.

His kiss was a promise wrapped in fire, igniting a longing that deepened every time she came near him.

In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to stay here, lost in the intoxicating blend of his scent, his warmth, and the gentle strength of his arms. He wasn’t just a man, he was freedom, danger, and everything her heart yearned for but couldn’t name.

When he eased away from her lips, the loss was immediate, but his hooded gaze and wolfish grin soothed the ache. “Come with me, mia dulce . Amice wishes to speak with you.”

“Amice?” Rosselyn thanked the vendor for the necklace.

Nicabar laced his fingers with hers and pulled her along. “ Sí , she says she has a message for you.”

“What message?” she whispered, smiling.

Nicabar shrugged. “She will not tell me.”

As they approached the fortune teller’s tent, Amice emerged from her vardo, and her face brightened when she saw Rosselyn. “Ah, bonjour , Rosselyn.”

The old woman grabbed the wooden rail of the wagon’s steps, and Rosselyn rushed to help her down. Her fingers, gnarled and veined, gripped the railing with a surprising strength.

“ Merci, ma chère .” She waved her twisted hands toward the tent. “Come inside, s’il te pla?t .”

Nicabar kissed Rosselyn’s cheek. “I will return for you.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Rosselyn’s stomach fluttered as she followed Amice into the tent.

Inside, the heavy scent of incense curled in the air—spicy, earthen, with a trace of sweet myrrh. A low table sat at the opposite end, covered in a velvet cloth, worn thin at the edges.

Amice approached Rosselyn, scrutinizing her with keen, perceptive eyes. “Ah!” she exclaimed, her smile widening, and whispered, “You are ready now! Let us discuss the matter of your freedom.”

“My what?”

Amice eased her old bones into the chair behind the table, and Rosselyn sat across from her. “The matter of my freedom ?”

“ Oui !” Amice flapped her fingers toward her. “ Donnez-moi vos mains .”

Rosselyn assumed she asked to see her palms, so turned her open hands onto the table.

The old woman flipped Rosselyn’s hands back and forth, inspecting one palm then the other, her wrinkled fingertips chasing the lines across her skin. “ Regardez , you see this line?” she said in hushed tones.

Rosselyn nodded and leaned forward.

“Do you see how this splits? How this first section of the line is weak, and this new split is deeper, stronger?”

Rosselyn nodded again.

“This confirms what I read those many years ago.”

Rosselyn thought back to the first time she saw the Romani people in Aberdeen. She and Davina had come to have their fortune told for the first time. “Oh, are you referring to the reading where I drank tea, and you looked at the leaves?”

“ Oui .” Amice grinned. “Do you remember what I said?”

Rosselyn pondered a moment. “You said the shape of a bird flew from a box or a cage in the tea leaves.” The memory was vague, but there.

Amice patted her hand in approval. “I remember this because I saw something else of which I did not tell you. Back then I did not think you were ready, but now you are.”

Rosselyn tilted her head in anticipation.

“The bird in the cup flew toward a wagon or a cart, and the truth seeped into my old bones. You would be one of us !” Amice’s eyes sparkled as she grinned.

The whispered words fell upon Rosselyn’s ears, but they floated in the air like smoke, forming shapes too elusive to grasp.

“One of us,” Amice repeated. “A Gypsy.”

“Me?”

Amice nodded and reached for a stack of thin, painted tablets made of worn wood. As she shuffled them, Rosselyn caught glimpses of vibrant images rendered in weathered pigment. Amice drew one tablet and laid it down: a picture of two happy children riding a horse beneath a blazing sun.

“You are a free spirit, loving life, and you are not afraid to take risks,” she said, beaming.

She pulled another from the stack and set it beside the first. This one depicted a somber man in black robes looming over two children who bowed before him.

Amice frowned. “But you feel trapped by the confines of authority and rules.”

Shaking her head, she drew a third tablet—this one showed a woman inside a wreath, surrounded by animal heads in each corner. A slow smile returned to the old woman’s face.

“Ah, and this confirms everything. This means you will finally achieve your dreams. You will break free from the bonds of rules and see the world!” She gazed at Rosselyn with a keen glint in her eye. “Is this not your dream?”

A lump formed in Rosselyn’s throat, and a moment passed before she could whisper, “Aye, that is my dream.” She cleared her throat and blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes. “How could you know this?”

“This is what I do, child.” Amice laid down one more card, showing a moon in a dark night sky with wolves howling between two pillars.

The old woman’s mouth fell open, one hand landing upon the card while the other pressed to her heart.

“I feel a great and painful secret you harbor within yourself.”

Rosselyn bit her lower lip to keep it steady. How could she know this?

“You must settle this before you leave, I am sensing.”

The pressure in Rosselyn’s chest became unbearable.

Tears burst forth. “How can you see this? This has burdened me for over a year since the truth came to me.” She sobbed into her hands, releasing the weight she had carried so long, then wiped her cheeks with her sleeve.

“Telling this secret could hurt so many people. And yet keeping it inside is destroying me. I fear I’m losing my sanity. What am I to do, Amice?”

Amice gathered her tablets and shuffled them slowly, eyes closed in concentration. A thread of hope bloomed in Rosselyn’s heart. Perhaps Amice truly held the answers she so desperately needed.

The old woman fanned the tablets across the table. “Choose three tablets for what will happen if you do not tell your secret—and three more for what will happen if you do . ”

Rosselyn nibbled her thumbnail, studying the array. She selected three that seemed to pulse with unspoken truth and slid them toward Amice. “If I do not tell my secret,” she whispered. Amice placed them aside, then gestured for the next set. Rosselyn chose three more. “If I do tell it.”

Amice turned the first set over: the moon card again with the howling wolves between two pillars; a skeletal figure bearing a scythe; and a horned beast towering over two chained figures. The old woman covered her mouth, her eyes widening. “Keeping this secret, child, will result in many deaths.”

Rosselyn gasped. “Surely not something as drastic as that!”