Page 37 of Midnight Conquest

Broderick let the flap fall shut behind them and crossed to his table. “Have a seat, lad,” he said, gesturing to the cushion across from him. “Let’s see if there’s anything in that palm of yers that’ll make yer mates jealous.”

Jamie smirked and extended his hand.

∞∞∞

The Traveller camp pulsed with sound and color—a vibrant, living tapestry of firelight and celebration. Fiddles shrieked with joy, tambourines jangled like falling stars, and the smoky air swirled with the scent of roasted meat, sweet wine, and something exciting underneath. Every beat of the music tugged at something restless in Rosselyn’s chest.

Her grin bloomed before she could stop it.

Aberdeen. Nicabar. That night.

The first time, she’d roamed freely amongst the Romani, barefoot and breathless, pulled into a dance of danger and delight. She could still feel his hands guiding her, the press of his body against hers, the way the world had narrowed to a shared rhythm and a stolen kiss. That night had changed her. The swirl of skirts, the laughter like wind, the beat that pulsed through her soul—it had awakened something she hadn’t known she craved.

Freedom. Fire. Him.

Rosselyn’s chest tightened with that same ache she’d nursed for over a year. Not just for Nicabar—but for everything he represented. A life untethered. A life of motion and music, of belonging to nothing but herself.

The camp breathed with that promise. Warmth and wildness wrapped around her, drawing her in as she followed Davina deeper into the heart of it.

Davina turned, her eyes dancing in the firelight. “You’ve been restless since we arrived. Go on, Rosselyn. I know why you wanted to come.” She gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Find him. I’ll look around for something to bringUncle Tammus back into a better mood.”

Rosselyn hesitated. Just for a moment. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Davina’s smile held no judgment—only encouragement. “Go on, now.”

With a breath that reached all the way to her toes, Rosselyn nodded and slipped away into the crowd.

Her eyes swept the shifting bodies—flashes of crimson skirts, swirling shawls, gold gleaming at ears and wrists. She approached a few Romani, her voice soft and polite. “Do you know where I might find Nicabar?”

Each time, a shrug, a vague gesture toward the deeper shadows of the camp.

She thanked them, though her pulse surged with every step. The music melted into the thrum of her blood.

And then…

There he was.

Across the clearing, Nicabar leaned into the glow of firelight, arms crossed, jaw shadowed in gold. His dark eyes locked on hers, unblinking, and heated. A promise. A possession.

He didn’t smile.

But the corner of his mouth quirked, just enough to encourage her.

Rosselyn’s breath caught as their eyes locked. Between them, the dancers spun and swayed, a vivid blur of movement and sound, but she saw only him. His presence was magnetic, drawing her in with a pull she couldn’t resist. Her feet moved of their own accord, weaving through the crowd as she tried to close the distance between them.

Nicabar didn’t make it easy. Each time she stepped closer, he shifted just out of sight, then reappeared, his gaze never wavering. He moved with the ease of a predator—unhurried,graceful, and utterly in control. A slow smile finally curved his lips, and Rosselyn’s cheeks flushed with heat.

Her lips tilted into a sly grin of her own, confidence blooming beneath his attention. Two could play. She eased her pace, letting her gaze sweep the camp as if he’d lost her interest, pretending to be drawn to a nearby cart or the embroidered scarf of a passing dancer. But she felt his stare rake over her skin, kindling embers in her belly.

Then, in a blink—he vanished.

The crowd surged between them, and when the laughter faded and the dancers spun away, he was gone.

Her heart stuttered. Panic whispered. She pivoted, scanning the shadows behind a painted vardo, her steps careful, her pulse thundering.

“Looking for someone,mi corazón?”

The voice—low and rich—brushed her ear like velvet.

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