“We’ve been on the road, lass.”

“Finally, he speaks!”

Rollo glowered at her.

“I don’t know . . . God this thing itches,” she said suddenly, scratching at the drab blue-gray bodice. “I’m pretty skeptical, Will.” She fought a flicker of despair. “Please tell me I’m not going to spend the rest of my life in this riding dress.”

“It’s called a riding habit.”

“Well isn’t that appropriate.” She unhooked her leg from the saddle and studied the drop to the ground. “Seeing as life in a convent might just be a little more thrilling than watching your back as we ride through the never-ending countryside.”

He merely shrugged, focused instead on scanning the distance, looking, she presumed, for the stableman.

His nonreaction to her peevish mood was making her even more peevish. She studied him, so in his own world. Could it be Will wasn’t the one? She’d come all the way back in time, just for him, and he hadn’t shown her one bit of emotion. Well, she’d thought there’d been a flicker of something, that night with the horse. But that had been weeks ago, and since then, nada.

He hadn’t even tried to kiss her. And really, Felicity thought, what red-blooded man wouldn’t even try? She was cute. She dusted off her skirts. Kind of dirty, but surely cute enough to kiss.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said. “What’s a tabor? And where the heck are we, anyway?”

He tilted his head, looking at her with a cocked brow.

“What?”

“Only that you have a strange way of speaking, lass.” He slid from his custom saddle and began to loosen his horse’s girth and carefully shorten and tuck up the stirrups.

Watching him, she felt a pang of sympathy. It struck her that what looked like an exercise in great care—readying his horse—was actually an opportunity for Rollo to get his blood flowing once more.

“A tabor is a drum,” he said, catching her stare. “For pipers. And we are in a place called Muirton.”

The sympathy dissolved and was replaced by peevishness once more. For a man who looked like he was in pain at the end of every day, he sure thought nothing of riding all over the country. How far away did his family live, anyway?

She frowned at him, just waiting for an excuse to snap. “I hate rabbit, you know,” she said abruptly.

A rare smile cracked at the edges of Rollo’s mouth. “And what has the wee creature done to invoke your wrath?”

Ignoring his question, she rattled on, “I was even a vegetarian for a while. But I do love my In-N-Out Burgers.” She shivered. “With special sauce. And fries. Do you know they make their fries fresh? You can even see them chopping up the potatoes.”

“You should be grateful—”

“I know, I know. Grateful for the food.” She sighed. “I am.” Felicity began to stretch out her legs. “Hey,” she added brightly, “do you think they have any oats here? I could sure use a big bowl of oats. I haven’t had oats in, ohhh, six hours now.” She giggled to herself.

“You can be facetious all you like, it won’t make my home materialize any more quickly. Though Duncrub Castle is but a day’s ride away now.”

“Do you really live in a castle?” Visions of the Disney castle filled her head with turrets and flags and grand balls. She sighed.

“More manor house, truly. But generations of Lords Rollo have preferred calling it a castle.” He shrugged. “A man can call a goat a horse, and he’ll still have to walk to market, aye?” He chuckled to himself.

Oh . . . That sound again. That hesitant, husky laugh. She caught his gaze and felt her insides go all gooey. Surely he knew what he did to her . . . right?

“I’ll secure our rooms,” he said, once again hard as granite. He handed her the horses’ reins. “Do not stir from this spot. These mounts would fetch a dear price this far north. It’d be a shame if harm came to them.”

“I’ll be fine too, don’t you worry. Thanks for the concern, though.”

Was that another smile she caught cracking his features?

She crossed her heart in her best Girl Scout promise. “No harm will come to the mounts,” she told him, affecting a deep bass voice.

Felicity watched Rollo shuffle away, then turned her energy to the horses. “You appreciate me, don’t you,” she cooed, running her hand down the long, hard plane of her horse’s nose.

Will’s horse nudged her with his head, and she giggled, patting him hard along the neck. “You too,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t forget you, laddie. We need to find you two something to munch on.”

She felt so at ease with the animals, and marveled at how her attitude had shifted so dramatically from fear, to apprehension, to real affection.

Which wasn’t to say she hadn’t fantasized a million times about riding the rest of the way to Rollo’s in Aunt Livia’s old Volvo.

Livvie. She sighed.

Livvie would know she was gone by now. What would she be thinking? Would she have been back to Felicity’s apartment? Had she seen the candle? The cards? What would she make of it all?

Felicity reached up to scratch the mare’s head, and the animal flicked her ears.

She knew in her heart of hearts that Livvie would want her to stay. Liv would miss her terribly, sure, but, more than anything, her aunt would want her to have a grand adventure with a man meant for her. Livvie, who’d sent her off to Central America so Felicity could have a “vision quest.”

She laughed to herself.

Livvie most of all would tell her to grab hold of Mister Right and hold on tight.

Now if only there were a way to communicate with her aunt just one more time. Tell her she was safe.

“Such a symphony of expressions on such a lovely face.”

The voice was smooth, a mellow, masculine sound the aural equivalent of velvet.

Felicity turned to find a face that matched the voice, on a man standing not five feet away, smiling at her.

“Cute,” she whispered under her breath. Was the seventeenth century where all the hotties were hiding?

Acute self-consciousness swamped her. Did she have to be such a filthy mess? She curled her hands into fists to hide her blackened fingernails.

“I must know what thoughts whisk you along such a spectrum of emotion.” His smile was broad but polite, he was long and lean without being skinny, and his sandy blond hair shone in modestly cut waves along his shoulders.

“Oh,” she said, mustering a big, surprised smile. She knew her teeth were whiter than anything old Scotland offered, and so she’d taken to playing it up in the past weeks.

“Well?” he purred.

“Well . . . ?”

Maybe she had it all wrong. Could this be Mister Right?

She gave the thought a second to germinate while she stared openly at the man.

Nope. She wasn’t feeling it. Wasn’t feeling that crazy zing thing she always felt when Rollo caught her eye. As if every molecule in her body stood to attention in Will’s presence.

“Ah, I see confusion too.” Beaming, the stranger stepped closer. He was a foot away now, tilting his head this way and that, admiring Felicity’s face. “First mirth, then melancholy, and now hmm . . . I dare say we need another m.”

She froze, feeling a blush creeping all the way to her hairline.

“Mystery,” he exclaimed. “Yes, that’s it. I see such mysterious machinations playing on your bonny mien. Was that too much?”

“Uhhh . . .” It was nice to be paid attention to, but the dude was trying way too hard.

“Too many m’s, that is?”

He gave her a wink, and something inside her drooped a little. Will never winked at her. What she wouldn’t do for a wink from Will.

“But what am I thinking?” He playfully slapped his brow. “I have been remiss. I must introduce myself.”

He pulled her hand into his, lightly kissing her knuckles, and she wasn’t sure if she was more elated at such a thrill ingly gallant gesture, or horrified by the stinky, horsey grime that she knew encased her hand like a glove.

“Alexander Robertson, utterly charmed to make your acquaintance.”

She began to pull her hand away. Surely she stank like muck and dirty leather.

He only gripped tighter, giving her fingers one final squeeze.

She shivered. If only Will would grab her hand and give her a proper squeeze.

“And who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“Oh . . .” She and Rollo had discussed this. She was to give her real name. It worked out quite nicely that her last name, Wallace, not only sounded Scottish, it was also a large, relatively amorphous clan hailing from outside the city of Glasgow.

As for how to explain their travel together, Rollo had told her she could claim a betrothal to him.

Now that had been like pulling teeth.

“Felicity Wallace,” she hesitated.

“Fe-li-ci-ty,” he let the sound trip joyfully over his tongue. “A name as delightful as she who bears it.”

She smiled. Will had sounded stricken at the name. This was more like it.

“And what brings you to stand so lovely and forlorn, here in this modest village, bearing two mounts? Please do not tell me you await your husband.”

“I . . .” She blushed. “He’s not my husband, exactly—”

“Capital!” He stepped closer. His proximity cast her in shadow, and she instinctively took a slight step back.

“Now, do tell where you are from, Felicity of not-exactly-a-husband.” He smiled wider, placing his hand on her horse’s back. It struck her as an overly familiar gesture.

“Outside Glasgow.” She looked around. What was taking Will so long?

“And is your almost-husband from Glasgow as well?”

The way he referred to him made her blush, as if she’d done something improper. Were women not supposed to travel with their fiancés? Was she giving him some horrible impression of her?