Page 55

The night air was crisp as Rosselyn lay on the blanket, Nicabar’s arm draped lazily across her waist, his thumb teasing slow, lazy circles around her nipple.

The heat of their coupling still warmed her flushed skin, but the cool breeze creeping through the woods was quickly stealing it away.

She sighed, gazing up at the dark canopy of trees above them, where twisted branches clawed at the starless sky.

“You are quiet, mi amor ,” Nicabar murmured, his voice husky with the haze of lingering satisfaction.

Rosselyn smiled and turned her head to meet his dark, smoldering eyes. “Just enjoying the moment,” she replied softly. “Though…it is getting cold.”

Nicabar chuckled, a deep, rich sound that stirred warmth beneath her cooling skin. “ Sí , it is. Let us dress and get some sleep.”

Reluctantly, she sat up, gathering her scattered clothes from their blanket.

As she pulled her blouse over her head, she cast a glance at him, admiring the way the moonlight brushed his golden-brown skin, making him look like a sculpture come to life.

“I’m sorry we have to do this out here,” she said, fastening her bodice.

“I just… I can’t. Not with my mither in the caravan. It’s too…”

“Mortifying?” Nicabar offered with a roguish grin, pulling his shirt over his broad shoulders.

Rosselyn laughed, nodding as she tugged her skirt into place. “Aye, I suppose that’s a good word for it.”

“No, mi tesoro . I am more than happy to frighten away the night creatures by making you scream my name under the stars.”

He caught her hand, his warm fingers wrapping around hers as he pulled her close, stealing a kiss that melted her protest. She lingered in the moment, savoring the heat of his lips, before she broke away with a soft, breathless laugh.

As they gathered the rest of their belongings, Rosselyn tilted her head to the sky. “Too bad there aren’t any stars tonight,” she murmured, her gaze thoughtful as clouds smothered the heavens.

Nicabar’s eyes softened as he followed her gaze, then drifted back to her face, his voice deep with affection. “I see the brightest star right before me.”

Her heart fluttered, and she kissed him again, her fingers curling into the rough fabric of his coat. “You’re a ridiculous man, Nicabar.”

“ Sí , but I am your ridiculous man,” he said, his voice a teasing rumble.

“That you are.” She hugged his arm, a smile curling her lips, as he squeezed her hand and led her back toward the Romani settlement.

The Traveller camp lay hushed beneath the heavy night sky, the caravans cloaked in shadow save for the occasional flicker of a lantern or the soft snuffling of horses in the distance. The air hung cool and still, carrying the faint scent of moisture clinging to the trees.

As they approached Nicabar’s vardo, Rosselyn’s eyes caught a flicker of movement at the edge of her vision. She stilled, instinct prickling down her spine. Tugging on Nicabar’s shirt, she pressed a finger to her lips.

He turned a questioning gaze to her, brows lifting.

She pointed toward a shadowy figure slipping between the caravans, heading in the direction of the castle. The lamplight licked across flowing blonde hair she recognized at once. Rosselyn’s jaw tightened, her chest rising with indignation. “What is that girl up to?” she hissed under her breath.

Nicabar followed her gaze, his expression darkening. “Knowing Veronique? Only mischief.”

Setting their belongings outside the vardo, Rosselyn grabbed Nicabar’s hand, urgency sparking in her veins. “Come on,” she urged in a low whisper.

Together, they followed Veronique, keeping far enough back to remain cloaked by shadows.

Rosselyn’s heart thudded in her chest, loud in her ears as they darted between trees.

Her gaze never wavered from the blonde figure ahead.

Veronique paused occasionally, glancing over her shoulder, and each time Rosselyn and Nicabar melted behind the cover of a tree, holding their breath until she moved on.

When Veronique reached the back of the castle, Rosselyn’s stomach twisted into a knot.

She watched as the girl slipped toward the secret passage, her movements quick but too practiced for coincidence.

Rosselyn clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. “How does she know about the secret entrance? ”

Nicabar cursed softly under his breath. “She must have followed me,” he admitted, guilt shadowing his face. “I am sorry, mi amor .”

Rosselyn exhaled slowly, her anger tempered by his honesty. “The fault is mine,” she replied, firm and resolute. “Come on.”

They slipped through the hidden entrance, their steps feather-light against the worn stones.

The passage pressed close around them, the faint glow of torches guiding them through the cold, damp walls.

Moisture clung to the air, and Rosselyn’s ears strained for any hint of sound beyond the thundering of her own heartbeat.

Nicabar’s hand tightened on hers, a silent promise—they would face this together.

When they reached the end of the short passage, Rosselyn noticed the kitchen door was slightly ajar. She tugged on Nicabar’s sleeve, pointing toward it. He nodded in understanding.

The courtyard was eerily silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze.

Shadows stretched long beneath the flickering torchlight, cloaking the corners in restless dark.

Just as they were about to step forward, a guard strolled into view, his pace slow and casual.

Rosselyn froze, her breath catching in her throat as she backed into the shadows, pulling Nicabar with her.

They waited, pressed against the cold stone wall, the chill seeping through Rosselyn’s gown. Her lungs burned from holding her breath, but she didn’t dare make a sound. Finally, the guard disappeared around the corner, and she exhaled shakily, the release of tension leaving her lightheaded.

They crept toward the kitchen door, Rosselyn casting a wary glance around to ensure no one else lurked nearby.

Carefully, she pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The kitchen lay in shadowed silence, the hearth cold, its embers long dead.

The faint scent of stale bread and smoke lingered in the air.

Rosselyn closed the door behind Nicabar and lit a tallow candle, the flickering flame casting long, jittering shadows across the walls. Her heart thundered in her chest as she scanned the room. “What is that bitch doing in the castle?” she whispered fiercely, her voice tight with fury.

Nicabar placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, grounding her storm of fury. She pointed toward the door leading to the serving room, silently instructing him to check that direction. He nodded and slipped away, soundless as a specter.

Rosselyn turned toward the servants’ quarters but stopped dead as she passed the pantry. The door stood open just an inch—an ill omen. Cook never left the door open, wary of the stray cats that prowled the kitchens.

Raising the candle ahead of her, she pushed the door open slowly.

The room yawned before her with dark shadows fluttering under the quivering candlelight, packed with barrels of apples, shelves of dried goods, and sacks of flour.

Her narrowed gaze swept the crowded space, and her stomach sank when she noticed an empty spot on the shelf.

The honey.

Switching the candle to her other hand, Rosselyn spotted errant strands of blond hair peeking out from behind an apple barrel. Her lips curled into a snarl.

Snatching a fistful of Veronique’s hair, she yanked her upright.

Veronique screamed, the pottery jar in her hands crashing to the floor, honey spilling everywhere, the sticky sweetness pooling at their feet like golden blood.

“You little snake!” Rosselyn growled, wrestling the girl as she flailed and cursed in French.

The candle toppled from the shelf in the scuffle, landing on a pile of burlap sacks. The fabric ignited instantly, flames licking hungrily at Veronique’s skirt.

Rosselyn gasped, heat blasting her face—then a deluge of ice-cold water drenched her from head to toe. She sputtered, blinking through the water streaming down her lashes, while Veronique shrieked as the flames hissed and died.

Nicabar set the empty bucket aside with a grunt and grabbed Veronique, hauling her out of the pantry past Rosselyn with a rough yank.

The household flooded into the kitchen, lanterns bobbing like restless fireflies as people shouted over one another. Nicabar restrained Veronique, who twisted and struggled like a wildcat, her soaked hair plastered to her face as she spat curses in rapid French.

Rosselyn ignored the chaos, her focus narrowing to the broken pottery on the floor. Amidst the sticky pool of spilled honey gleamed a small vial. Her heart plunged. She snatched it up, uncorked it, and took a cautious sniff.

Her stomach flipped, bile rising in her throat. “That little bitch.”

Dipping her finger into the tainted honey, she tasted it, grimacing at the bitter tang of poison beneath the sweetness, which she spit to the floor. A chill crawled down her spine.

Rising slowly, she clutched the vial, her knuckles white as she turned toward the others. Davina had arrived, pale with confusion, her wide eyes darting between the faces in the crowded kitchen.

“What in God’s name is going on here?” Davina demanded.

Rosselyn’s lip curled as she jabbed a finger toward Veronique.

“ Nicabar and I caught her sneaking into the castle,” she announced, her voice trembling with fury.

“We found her in the pantry.” She raised the nearly empty vial high, the lantern light catching the glass like a damning beacon.

“She was trying to poison the honey supply…with autumn crocus. ”

Gasps erupted around the kitchen. Faces paled as the staff exchanged horrified glances. Beatrice, the kitchen maid, clutched her shawl tighter around her trembling frame. “Doesn’t Lady Lilias use that in her tea?”