“I would be honored if you’d consent to share my table and selta for the duration of your visit, my lord,” Yoska cordially offered.
Selta? What the hell was that? Ian didn’t recall ever feeling so out of step. He knew nothing of these people, their culture, or traditions. Nonetheless, he’d no choice but to accept. “Thank you, for the kind offer.”
Eldra made no effort to conceal her delight. Looping her arm through his, she pressed her ripe breasts against him while dragging him to her father’s campsite. Ian barely repressed a derisive snort. The woman he wanted, wanted nothing to do with him, and the one he wanted nothing to do with, quite obviously, wanted him.
Was it his imagination or was she deliberately rubbing his upper arm against her bosom? He tugged firmly, but she tightened her grip and smiled seductively.
No, he wasn’t imagining it.
Bloody hell.
Unable to sleep, Vangie rose and swiftly donned her Romani garments. She wanted no part of the English today, not even in her dress. Her shawl lay neatly folded on a shelf above Puri Daj’s bed. As she grasped it, her gaze fell on her grandmother. She slept on, bundled securely in her narrow bunk. Poor Puri Daj. Even in sleep, lines of worry creased her face.
Stealthily, holding her boots, Vangie crept from the wagon. Physically, she felt no different than she had upon wakening yesterday morning. Emotionally, however, she was forever altered. Scarred.
The brisk early morning air sent stiff gooseflesh chasing the length of her arms. Shivering, she perched atop the narrow steps and tugged on her boots. Except for the birds and a sleepy dog that raised his head when she’d stepped from the vardo, no one was about yet. Wrapping the embroidered woolen shawl tighter across her shoulders, she set off at a brisk pace for the river.
It wasn’t right. She’d experienced more discomfort and bleeding the morning after losing her maidenhead than she did after losing her child. No, it wasn’t right. There was nothing the least bit right about any of it. Nothing will ever be right again.
At the river’s edge, a bevy of jays, magpies, and other hungry birds scolded her for interrupting their breakfasts. She took in the glorious sunrise as her riotous thoughts churned.
What am I to do now?
Ian used me. He cares nothing for me.
How could I not have known I was with child?
The dowager is despicable. So is Ian.
I didn’t want to love him.
My poor, sweet, sweet baby.
Desperate to stop the chattering in her mind, she let her eyelids drift shut. On and on prattled the inner voices, until she wanted to cover her ears against the silent onslaught and shriek at them to stop tormenting her.
Her eyes flew open at a particularly loud squawk from a raven overhead. She frowned at the grand display on the horizon. How could God allow the splendid pink, lavender, and coral streaks to splay across dawn’s newborn sky? The day should be dark and grim with gloomy shadows and dismal gray clouds to reflect her crushed spirit. Not this jubilant, hopeful new morn.
The joy of her love for Ian had vanished, and Vangie was certain she’d carry her sorrow for the rest of her life. The remnants of her shattered heart she’d bury under the guise of self-preservation. She’d sent him away last night, and despite his unconscionable betrayal, her soul ached at his going. God help her, she loved the knave even now.
Vangie place a hand on her flat stomach. The loss of the babe only magnified Ian’s treachery. She hadn’t known she cradled a child in her womb. But oh, how she’d wanted it.
Had it been a boy or a girl?
Stop it!
Such thoughts served no purpose.
Vangie didn’t have any aspirations about acquiring a title or wealth, or advocating for a cause—other than her Roma kin. Her heart’s desire, for as long as she could remember, was to have a child. She needed someone to love unconditionally and who would love her in return.
She wandered to a log, her boots crunching on the riverbank gravel. Sitting, she gazed at the river. A trout jumped, snatching a hovering insect.
What would it have been like to hold her baby? Her heart was full of love, waiting to be poured out on another. Except for the infrequent visits with Uncle Gideon and Puri Daj, her life had been void of love and compassion since she was six. She hadn’t felt sorry for herself. There’d always been the hope she’d have a child to love. Until now.
She’d even convinced herself Ian felt something for her. He’d been so tender—
Vangie kicked a rock. Fool. Ninny. Goosecap. Exhaling slowly, she spoke aloud. It had always helped her sort her thoughts. “Without Ian’s love, could I have been content?” She toed another round rock. “Especially surrounded by our children?” Bending over, she selected a smooth, flat greenish stone. “I would’ve loved him and always hoped he might come to love me.”
She sent the stone skimming across the burbling water. Sighing, she stood and stretched. Would that have been enough? Perhaps not for some women, but for her? Yes, it might have been. She turned her lips up. She blamed her Romani blood. Her people were perpetually optimistic.
But now? Things were different now.
Ian had intentionally sought to cause her misery. Why? Trudging through the trees on the way back to the encampment, she pressed her lips together. The unanswered question taunted her, and she shook her head in disgust. She was naive, the intricacies of love far beyond her understanding. It was one thing to harbor hopeful, adolescent fantasies about unrequited love. It was another entirely to have the object of her affection black-heartedly contrive her disgrace.
Soft nickering drew her attention. Sweeping a glance at the horses, she was caught off-guard. Ian, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, stood inside the makeshift corral speaking with Tobar. Their backs were to her, their attention riveted on a magnificent honey-colored mare prancing at the end of a lead rope.
Ian must have sensed her presence. He swiveled, his haunted eyes roaming over her. His hungry gaze lingered on her face, and she felt his visual caress across the distance.
No. She wouldn’t think of him like that anymore.
Chin tucked to her chest, she continued on her way. The ruffles of her layered skirts swished through the green blades. She lifted the fabric and carefully picked her way up the slippery slope, casting sideways peeks at the corral the entire time. She couldn’t face him. Not yet. She must to make her way to the vardo.
She slipped and almost fell. Dratted, damp grass.
Ian started toward her but turned his head when Tobar spoke to him, drawing his attention back to the horse. He said something and gestured in her direction before ducking beneath the rope.
Vangie increased her pace, skidding again on the dew-laden grass. Ian reached her as she crested the ridge. She didn’t want to talk to him. Couldn’t without crying.
“Vangie, please, wait.”
Keeping her head bowed, she didn’t slow. Lord, blasted tears again? What was he still doing here, anyway? She thought he’d left last night.
Ian gently grasped her elbow, forcing her to halt. “How do you fare?”
He sounded genuinely concerned, and she flicked a swift glance at him through her lashes then lowered her gaze. He appeared exhausted. No doubt, she looked a sight herself. Likely dark circles rimmed her eyes from a sleepless night and the many tears she’d spent at his expense.
“Why are you here? I thought you left last night.” Vangie plucked at the shawl’s fringe, refusing to meet his eyes again.
“I shan’t leave you, Vangie. You’re my wife.”
The breath hissed from between her teeth. She hadn’t expected that. Tobar came up behind him. Pausing briefly, his black eyes questioned her. He answered the gentle shake of her head with a terse nod and strode past them. She didn’t need him to fight her battles.
“Ian—”
“Please, let me explain.” He blew out a breath, running his hand through his russet hair. “I’ve wronged you, terribly, deplorably, and for
that I beg your forgiveness.”
Vangie stood gazing at a bunch of bluish-purple lupine waving in the early morning breeze. A carpet of bluebells and cowslip blanketed the slope. Her gaze intent on the flowers, she murmured, pain lacing her every word, “Why do you hate me?”
“Hate you?” Ian reached across the distance separating them and touched her face. “Sweeting, I do not hate you. I…”
Angling her head away, she broke the contact. She couldn’t think straight when he touched her.
Ian dropped his hand to his side. “I love you.” he whispered hoarsely.
That was the wrong thing to say. The absolute worst thing he could’ve said at that moment. Vangie snapped her head up. Disbelief whipped through her turning her grief to ire. Furious, she glowered at him. “Oh, so that sets everything right? Do you expect me to throw my arms around you? Tell you I forgive you and vow my undying devotion and love?”
He blinked, obviously not anticipating this reaction.
She poked him in the chest. “You’re sorely mistaken, Ian Hamilton, Viscount Warrick!” Hands on her hips she railed at him. “If I were a man, I’d call you out. You’re cruel to jest about something so precious. Something you know naught of, or you’d never have treated me with such calculated contempt and callousness.”
Turning, she ran several steps before wheeling around to face him. Her shawl dangled off one shoulder. “You know nothing of love.”
She tugged the shawl around her back, then across her chest, never stopping her tirade. “Love is patient, kind, considerate. It’s what I’ve tried to show you, day after day.” Her voice broke as emotion rendered her nearly incapable of speaking. She pulled in a shaky breath. “Only to have you repeatedly trample my heart underfoot.” She wrapped her arms around her middle in an effort to ease the crushing pain in her chest.
Ian lifted his hands in supplication. “I do love you. I wanted to tell you, tried to tell you the day we first explored the gardens together.”
Vangie’s thoughts skipped to that wonderful morning. Ian had opened his mouth to say something. More than once, in fact. She’d mistakenly believed renewed grief brought on by discussing Geoff’s duel with the duke had caused his inability speak.
An unbidden thought flashed into her mind, and she stood stark still. Lord, no. Her head whirled, and she clutched a nearby oak to steady herself. She must be wrong. Oh, God, please, please let me be wrong. She wasn’t though, and she knew it with every fiber of her being.
“Vangie?” He took a step toward her, worry furrowing his forehead. “Are you all right?”
Am I all right? God no, you jackanape. I’m not bloody well all right.
“Lord, how you must be laughing.” Her voice shook with the strength of her emotion. “The duke—your brother—the woman whose honor he defended. It was me, wasn’t it?”
Ian paled beneath his tan, his slate eyes rounding in guilt. He closed them briefly, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
Everything made perfect sense now.
She continued, speaking to herself. “That’s why I never saw either of them again. Geoff called the duke out. They both died—because of me.” She lifted her gaze to Ian, accusing him with her eyes, and he sucked in a ragged breath. “You knew, Ian, and that’s why you sought me. You said you were determined to meet me. You planned on leaving me half-naked in the retiring room, didn’t you?”
“Vangie, I had a change of heart—”
So, he as much as admitted it. She’d rather he’d denied any such thing.
Grimacing, she shook her head. “I’d be ruined with no hope of atonement. But you didn’t leave soon enough and were caught in your own trap.” She heard a laugh, a pathetic gut-wrenching, agony filled laugh ending on a sob. Was that her? He’d reduced her to this. “No wonder you were furious.”
“Sweeting, I’ll admit. I was at first but…”
Tears threatened anew, and Vangie presented her back. Blasted waterworks. She scrunched her eyes tight against the stinging. Clenching her hands, she bit her lip to stop the sobs struggling to escape. Ian didn’t deserve her tears. She would cry no more for him. She knew what she must do.
“Just leave, Ian. You cannot hurt me anymore. I shan’t allow it.” Sucking in a shaky break, her voice devoid of any life, Vangie delivered the death blow. “I hate you.”
Ian had no idea how long he remained staring at the spot Vangie vacated. She’d revealed her soul to him then crushed his with her tormented words. He’d no one to blame but himself.
Sometime later, Simone found him there. She didn’t question him. Instead, she handed him a plate piled high with food. “Eat, Ian. Without wood, the fire would die.”
“Forgive me, but I don’t understand.” His gaze traveled between her and the plate.
She smiled, and a pang kicked his ribs. Vangie had her smile. “You cannot fight for what you most desire when you have an empty stomach.”
Lifting his eyes to her calm, sympathetic gaze, he asked, “Is there any reason to fight?”
She inclined her head and laid a hand on his arm. “Love is always a reason to fight. It is the reason to fight, to hope, to endure.”
“I fear it’s too late.” Ian shook his head. “I’ve wronged Vangie. Mightily. She has good cause to distrust and despise me.”
“Ah, but is that not the key? Zora doesn’t despise you, and for that you should be praising God,” Simone sagely advised.
He wiped a hand across his brow. “She said…,” his voice caught and grief constricted his throat and burned behind his eyelids. “She hates me.”
“At this moment, she may believe she does. But trust me in this Ian, she does not. Now eat.” She pointed at the plate. “It is peržala, scrambled eggs with meat and herbs.”
Leaning against a tree, he obediently lifted the spoon to his mouth. He took several bites of the tasty concoction. Simone lingered nearby, gathering wildflowers. He was sure she had more to say but wanted to give him a chance to eat first. He was beginning to understand how wise she was.
Eldra sauntered his way, a siren’s smile on her lips. Two children pranced near her skirts, one carrying a fat puppy. Her primrose blouse hung low, revealing her creamy shoulders and a generous portion of her ample chest. Upon spying Simone staring at her with her hands full of flowers, Eldra thrust out her chin and glared. Was she daring the older woman to chastise her? Was the chit dimwitted?
She greeted Ian with an invitation. “The morning is lovely, my lord. What say you and I enjoy a walk?” It was perfectly clear no one else was invited. “I know a lovely secluded grove some distance upriver.”
No surprise there.
“I’m not—” Ian began.
“Acting the part of a singorus doesn’t become you, Eldra.” Leveling the brazen beauty with a steady look, Simone spoke plainly. “Enticing a man from another woman is common and contemptible, and far beneath a Roma.”
“Zora’s divorced him.” Smiling unpleasantly, the girl declared, “He’s no longer hers.”
Simone slanted a glance in his direction, and he raised an eyebrow, curving his mouth slightly at the corners. She was handling Eldra quite nicely. “Lord Warrick’s heart is committed to another. You’d do well to remember that,” Simone admonished.
Indeed, it was. Forever and always. He finished his breakfast and set the plate on a nearby stump.
The grubby-faced cherub holding the puppy said, “Look, your lordthip. I goths me a babbi jakkel. You wanths to hold her?” Grinning, and exposing her two missing front teeth, the urchin thrust the wiggling pup at Ian.
Eyeing the brown, pudgy ball, he took the pup into his arms and cradled it. The dog licked his face in excitement. A thought niggled its way into his brain. At first, he discarded it, but the notion persisted and wouldn’t leave off.
His gaze accidentally met Simone’s, and he swore she nodded, before giving him a closed-mouth smile.
She continued descending the sloping path. As she passed Eldra she said, “Y
our father’s looking for you. He’s none too pleased.”
Eldra glowered at Simone before she hurried off, muttering under her breath.
Ian examined the dog in his arms. “Are there anymore pups in the litter?”
“Aue. Two more but I gots the only chai,” the child announced proudly, jumping up and down. “Only chavvi are left.”
Obviously, the imp believed male puppies inferior to females. Suddenly feeling the smallest smidgen of hope, Ian smiled. “Show me, will you please?
Vangie sat cross-legged atop a sloping wildflower-covered hill some distance from the camp. Twelve days had passed since she’d fled Somersfield; days of seeing Ian from afar. She hadn’t spoken more than a half dozen words to him since the morning he’d told her he loved her, though he’d tried to talk to her several times since. The man was obstinate and persistent if nothing else.
Being near him was painful and awkward. And heartbreaking. So she’d become adept at avoiding him. He was too perceptive, and if she spent any time in his company, he’d uncover her secret. She didn’t hate him, though Lord knew she’d tried to. Hating someone for betrayal was natural. Loving them despite their perfidy was excruciating. What would he do with the knowledge? She didn’t trust him not to hurt her further.
She scrutinized the encampment, her attention falling on Eldra posed provocatively on a rock by the corral. Vangie didn’t trust her either. For nearly a fortnight she’d watched Eldra act a shameless wagtail. The girl touched, leaned on, or draped herself all over Ian at every opportunity. Vangie was loath to admit it, but it infuriated her no end.
It was true she’d left Ian, but Eldra needn’t be blatant in her attempts to beguile him. The trull displayed her voluptuous wares so vulgarly, Vangie blushed for her. Today, everything but the tips of Eldra’s monstrous breasts bulged above her blouse. If she sneezed, the nipples would pop over the edge and give her two black eyes.
How could she be so forward? Why was Yoska allowing it? He’d never permitted such fast behavior in his daughter before. Had he washed his hands of the wanton girl? Then again, mayhap, he hoped to snare Ian as his son-in-law.
The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1) Page 24