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The scene before her struck like a hand across her face.

Veronique stood before the bed, her shoulders bare, breasts barely covered by the loose fabric of her dress.

Nicabar’s hands gripped her arms, just above the elbows.

Both of them frozen, their eyes wide with shock, mouths agape.

Then Veronique’s expression twisted into smug triumph.

With calculated malice, she seized Nicabar’s neck and dragged him down into an open-mouthed kiss.

Fury roared through Rosselyn’s veins. Without hesitation, she stormed into the caravan, grabbed Veronique by her tangled hair, and flung her out of the wagon into the dirt.

The French woman landed with a squawk of protest, but Rosselyn slammed the door in her face and latched it before the girl’s babbling indignation could grate further on her ears.

Whirling to face Nicabar, Rosselyn found his lips curled in an infuriating smirk. Her palm cracked across his cheek, wiping the expression clean.

“I may have dreamed of a life with you,” she snapped, voice quivering with fury and heartbreak, “but I’ll not settle to be anyone’s whore! If you want her, you can have her!”

“Rosselyn, I—”

“I don’t need a man to fulfill my dreams.” Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “I have skills. I can make a life among the Romani—Amice will take me in. There are good, honest folk in this camp. I won’t disgrace myself for you or any man.”

She turned to flee the wagon, but Nicabar caught her arm and spun her back. She wrenched her head aside, refusing to meet his eyes, but he cradled her face between his palms, forcing her gaze to his.

“You do not understand!” he ground out, his voice rough with desperation. “I want nothing to do with her! ”

“Then explain why she was half-naked in your arms!” Rosselyn’s voice cracked, tears spilling freely now.

“Veronique is a selfish child who always takes what she wants,” Nicabar bit out, holding her fast as she struggled.

“I made a mistake, sí —but I never wanted her! She came to me, begging for information about you and Davina, all so she could keep Davina from Broderick.” He grimaced, his next words raw with discomfort.

“I told her if she wanted anything from me…she’d have to give me her virtue. ”

Rosselyn’s eyes widened in shock.

“I wanted to teach her a lesson,” Nicabar insisted. “To show her how foolish she was being, chasing after Broderick. She flung herself at me, tearing off her clothes. You walked in as I was stopping her—trying to make her see how ridiculous she was being.”

Rosselyn stared at him, no longer struggling, her heart breaking. “That is the most horrid excuse I have ever heard!” She shoved him away and stormed out of the caravan.

Nicabar sprang from the vardo and caught her arm, spinning her to face him. “Rosselyn, please!” His eyes, dark and earnest, searched hers as he held her fast. “When you came in there and threw Veronique out, I smiled because I was proud of you, not because I was laughing at you.”

Rosselyn clenched her jaw, her pulse fluttering wildly in her throat as she fought to maintain her fury.

“And when you stood by what you believed, when you told me living with the Gypsies was your dream, my chest filled with more pride.” His voice roughened with emotion.

He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek, catching her tears.

“Though you were not born in a vardo or on the side of a road, you are a true Gypsy in your fiery heart, and I want no other woman by my side but you.”

Nicabar dropped to one knee before her, his grip on her hands reverent, as though she were a precious treasure.

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his lips lingering as though sealing a vow.

“I know this is sudden, and we have had little time together, but I feel this in my very soul. I want you to be my wife. Say you will, and I will show you the world, mi amor .”

Rosselyn stood before the man who had captured her heart so swiftly, her breath hitching, her lips trembling with emotion.

“Answer the man!” someone called from the growing crowd.

A circle of smiling faces had formed around them, the onlookers bright-eyed and expectant.

Laughter, full of warmth and celebration, rippled through the group.

Joy swelled in her chest, lifting the last of her fear.

Looking down at Nicabar’s hopeful, handsome face, she gave a breathless laugh through her tears.

“Aye, you reckless fool. I will marry you.”

Cheers erupted around them as Nicabar sprang to his feet and swept her into his arms, spinning her in a giddy whirl. Laughter tumbled from her lips as he set her back on her feet and claimed her mouth in a fierce, possessive kiss.

∞∞∞

Broderick strode up to the massive stone gatehouse, his boots gritting against the dirt path as the heavy door loomed before him. Inside, Gavin’s eyes shifted behind the narrow arrow slit, glinting like a pair of wary sentinels.

“I heard ye were lookin’ for me this afternoon?” Broderick’s voice rumbled as he folded his arms, a scowl darkening his face .

Gavin offered a curt nod. With a resonant clank, the ancient iron gate slowly swung open, creaking under the weight.

Without a second thought or a pause for formalities, Broderick marched straight through the opening and through the front entrance, his heavy steps resonating across the stone floor of the foyer.

He paused for a heartbeat before rapping on the study door, his knock echoing like a challenge.

“Enter,” Tammus barked from within.

Broderick swung the door open, then closed it with a solid thud behind him. In the dim light, Tammus slowly rose from his chair, his mouth tightening into a line of disapproval. “Did you pay Finlay McIntosh a visit last night?” he asked, his tone cutting through the air like a shard of ice.

Broderick’s jaw tensed as he crossed his arms once more, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly.

“I saw you scale that wall in the middle of the night, MacDougal,” Tammus continued, gesturing forcefully toward the tall, arched window behind Broderick.

The glass framed a shadowy courtyard where the moonlight revealed the faint outline of the curtain wall.

“You leapt down from the balcony of the guest room—two floors above where Finlay was lodged—without a scratch—and then scrambled over that wall. I was right here when you did it.” Tammus’s hand trembled, betraying his inner turmoil.

A brief silence followed before Broderick replied, “Aye, I paid him a visit.” There was no point in denying.

Tammus rubbed his face, his hand sliding down in a slow, deliberate motion as if to erase more than just sweat.

His eyes struggled to focus, blinking rapidly as if trying to cast off a lingering daze.

“Alright,” he said, voice catching on the pause, “let’s manage one thing at a time.

How in blazes did you manage that ?” With a sudden motion he thrust his open palm toward the window, demanding an explanation from the moonlit scene beyond.

Broderick’s mouth curved at the corner in a slight, knowing grin. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “I did a lot o’ climbin’ in me youth. Next question.”

“But that was just—”

“Next question.” Broderick wasn’t going to coddle the mortal’s inability to accept something he couldn’t comprehend.

Tammus’s eyes darted back and forth, the rapid shift between anger and fear evident in the way his pupils dilated, and the thoughts rambling around the room were too scattered for Broderick to catch completely, but the general flavor of his mixed feelings were this: Tammus was near panicking over what Broderick could possibly be or what he did, but not so much that it overrode his desire to see his niece married.

Denial played a huge part in favoring something he could fathom—marriage and estates—but the man cared more about getting back to Aberdeen to save his business than he was in the wellbeing of his kin, and that irked Broderick to no end.

Tammus’s lips compressed into a thin, colorless line as he battled visible shudders of dread, a small tic dancing at the corner of his eye.

He ran a hand through his graying hair in a futile attempt to steady himself, then huffed, gathering the remnants of his courage.

“What do you want, MacDougal?” he asked, voice brittle and dry as ancient parchment.

“You scared Finlay McIntosh off for a reason.”

Slowly, Broderick uncrossed his arms, letting them fall with deliberate ease to his sides, though beneath his calm exterior, tension twined like coiled rope. “I’m here to offer ye a solution.”

Tammus’s eyes narrowed, shadows flickering behind them as he demanded, “To what?”

“Tae solve all yer problems. Finlay McIntosh is gone—no’ because I chased him, but because he was too soft-hearted tae bear the weight o’ responsibility.

Davina’s estate needs a husband who can do what must be done.

” He let the words settle in the air like dust motes dancing in a shaft of light.

“A man who will protect her, manage the business, and hold the wolves at bay.”

Despite a scoff that came out more as a hollow exhalation than confidence, Tammus couldn’t hide his doubt. “And you think you’re that man?”

“I know I am.” Broderick stepped forward, planting his fists firmly on the scarred desk.

The force of his gesture made Tammus recoil a step, eyes widening in astonishment.

With a challenging arch of his eyebrow, Broderick masked any spark of hunger or defiance behind a veneer of indifference.

“Ye want tae return to Aberdeen, aye? Back tae yer warehouses and ledgers. Back tae a life where Davina is no longer a burden upon yer shoulders.”

Tammus opened his mouth to protest, but his voice failed him as if swallowed by the oppressive silence.