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Davina stiffened, heat rising to her cheeks. “Cailin,” she whispered, and rose from the bed. She took two steps toward the nursery, when Broderick’s hand shot out, gently but firmly stopping her. “I’ll only be a few moments.”

Broderick pulled her into his arms, a tortured darkness in his emerald gaze. His thumb gently traced her jawline, his eyes shining with a raw intensity that made her breath catch.

“What’s wro—”

His lips crushed against hers, his kiss deep, seeking, possessive.

His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her with a hunger that set fire coursing through her veins.

Her core clenched, her breasts ached, her entire body pulled taut beneath the heat of him.

His hand cradled the back of her neck, anchoring her to the moment .

But Cailin’s cries pierced through the haze, pulling Davina back to herself. An ache throbbed hard between her thighs, but she pulled away, breathless and flushed. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He let her go, though his eyes burned as they followed her to the door.

Cradling her daughter in the quiet of the nursery, Davina rocked gently, pressing soft kisses to Cailin’s brow as her cries faded to sleepy whimpers.

Her mind, however, refused to quiet. Every brush of Broderick’s lips, every stolen glance, replayed with vivid clarity.

Her heart squeezed as she brushed aside Cailin’s dark auburn curls—so like Broderick’s.

What would he do if she told him? Would he scorn her? Walk away? He’d made it clear marriage didn’t suit him—and until recently, she hadn’t thought it suited her either.

But then…why did the Gypsies come to Stewart Glen? Coincidence? Fate? Had Broderick been drawn here by something more?

He acted as if she belonged to him—as if he intended to mark her with his presence forever.

Her lips still tingled from the kiss. It had been more than passion. It had been a claiming. And though she couldn’t yet name it, it carved itself into the marrow of her bones.

After nursing Cailin and settling her back into the crib, Davina quietly returned to her chamber.

But the moment she crossed the threshold, her heart sank.

Broderick was gone.

The balcony drapes swayed in the breeze, pale silk fluttering like phantom hands. She rushed to the stone rail, eyes scanning the moonlit courtyard below.

Nothing .

She stood in the doorway, the cool night air brushing her skin as her thoughts spiraled.

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips, clinging to the echo of his kiss…and the flicker of hope that refused to be extinguished.

∞∞∞

Veronique lagged far enough behind Nicabar to keep to the shadows, her slippered feet crinkling softly over fallen leaves.

Each rustle echoed in her ears, setting her pulse racing.

She ducked behind tree trunks and thick brush whenever he turned, his irritating habit of glancing over his shoulder keeping her on edge.

Davina’s grim, ivy-clad castle came into view around a craggy hill at the forest’s edge. Nicabar made no move toward the front gate. Instead, he veered toward the southern wall. Veronique narrowed her eyes. Why avoid the entrance? Was Nicabar not welcome?

She scaled a rocky incline, using it to edge closer, careful to stay low. From her perch, she saw him stop near a dense tangle of shrubs. He scanned the area. Veronique dropped instantly, holding her breath.

Had he seen her?

Stone scraped against stone.

The bushes shuddered.

She waited, straining her ears. Silence.

Cautiously, she crept forward. A twig snapped, and she jolted, hand flying to her chest. She spun around, heart hammering .

A small deer darted into the trees.

Veronique exhaled hard, her pulse slowing. “ Stupide ,” she whispered, chiding herself.

Turning back to the shrubs, she caught the glimmer of amber light peeking through the leaves. She moved closer, curiosity igniting.

Concealed within the thickets was an entrance in the castle wall—intentionally placed, though hidden from plain view. A passageway.

She pressed herself against the stone, careful not to disturb the branches. Muffled voices floated from within. She hesitated, then slipped inside, brushing cobwebs from her sleeves. The passage led to the back of a stone building.

Rain barrels lined the exterior wall. Veronique ducked behind them, her breath shallow. Through the shutters, she glimpsed the straw-littered floor, rows of stalls, and leather harnesses hanging from pegs.

The stables.

“Nica!”

Veronique crouched low, heart thudding.

“What? You love it when I do that,” his voice teased.

Veronique narrowed her eyes and cursed under her breath.

Nicabar and his hideous Scottish woman were in the hayloft, rutting like animals.

After listening to their grunts of passion, she was more grateful than ever she hadn’t surrendered her virginity to him.

Still, she needed to find a way to resolve this Davina problem.

Slipping around the stable to the side of the structure, Veronique pressed her ear to the rough wooden wall. Two minutes of panting, moaning, and laughter was more than enough .

She wanted information , not to bear witness to their carnal sport.

With a huff, she crept toward the far end of the stables. Across the courtyard lay a side door in the castle, three cats milling about near its threshold. A girl around her age emerged, balancing two sloshing buckets, a kerchief tied tightly over her hair.

“Shoo, now!” the girl chided, nudging the mewing animals aside as she waddled to the edge of the courtyard.

One bucket at a time, she dumped the water into a stone-ringed drain covered by a rusting metal grate.

“Go on, then! Cook’ll ‘ave your ‘ead if you dinnae scat,” she added, swatting at the cats again before stepping back inside.

Not two moments later, the door banged open, and a man stomped out of the castle, muttering under his breath. A ginger tabby darted past his legs, only to be swept up by a stout, gray-haired woman.

“Scat, ye rascal!” she snapped, tossing the cat back outside. She planted herself in the doorway, hands on hips and brow furrowed. “Quit yer gripin’, Seamus!”

The man stopped and turned back with a scowl. “This is the third trip this month! Third trip! How much honey can one person eat?”

The woman’s scowl softened, her voice gentling. “Ye ken honey’s all Mistress Davina has left to keep her brother’s memory alive.”

Seamus sighed. “Aye. I’ll bring it back wi’ me on the morrow.”

Veronique darted behind the stables, crouching near the water barrels to hide and edge closer to the secret passage. The loft above had fallen quiet. Soon after, Seamus rode off through the front gate .

Then, just as she reached the narrow opening in the stone wall, Nicabar and Rosselyn erupted in laughter again, their frolicking resuming in full force.

Veronique rolled her eyes and slipped into the passage.

As she wound her way back through the hidden corridor toward the forest, her steps grew lighter. A sly grin curved her lips. Her fists clenched with gleeful determination.

She knew exactly what to do about that Davina.