While considered divorced according to Romaniya, gypsy law, her Christian upbringing held that she remained, inarguably and forever, Ian’s wife. Unless he divorced her.
The notion didn’t bring the relief it ought to. She didn’t know which culture she wanted to honor, to be a part of anymore. She uncrossed her legs, careful not to wake the pup snoring lightly in her lap—a peace offering from Ian. Releasing a long breath, she ran a hand over his silky black-and-white speckled coat. What did she want? I don’t know. Nothing was simple anymore. Her feelings were a paradox of mixed emotions.
She returned her regard to the corral where Ian studiously ignored Eldra. He seemed totally put off by her evermore ardent efforts. That pleased Vangie enormously.
Only yesterday, from her perch on Puri Daj’s vardo steps, she’d watched him spurn the wench. Eldra threw her arms around his neck, pressing against him so tightly, a malnourished flea couldn’t have squeezed between them. He’d gripped her arms, prying them off his neck as he stepped from her. The dark scowl on his face revealed his irritation. He’d said something to Eldra and strode away.
Pouting, she’d peered after him, her arms folded across her abundant chest.
Vangie’s breath had caught as Nicu stomped to Eldra, hauling her aside and berating her. She’d been infuriated. She’d angled her chin, shook her upraised fist at him, and issuing a sharp retort, had flounced away. Poor Nicu. He and Eldra were expected to wed. It had been arranged between their families when they were children.
Vangie had chewed her lower lip. Nicu hadn’t moved after Eldra stormed off. He glared at Ian across the encampment, one hand on the knife tied at his waist. Nicu didn’t blame Ian, did he? Ian wasn’t the first man Eldra had acted like a dinli with. Nicu knew that. Faith, everyone in the encampment knew it. Unlike most Romani women, Eldra was neither chaste nor discreet.
The plump pup in Vangie’s lap stirred in its sleep, interrupting her musings. He rolled onto its back, his fat belly upward. She rubbed his smooth tummy, grinning as his hind leg twitched reflexively.
Vangie had slipped into the vardo late that first morning in camp. Her encounter with Ian left her physically and emotionally overwhelmed. If she had to smile at one more clan member, she feared she’d scream like a dinilo manishi, crazy woman. She wanted nothing more than to climb beneath a quilt, bury her head, and sleep—for a month.
The puppy, a blue ribbon tied around its chubby neck, had been inside when she opened the door. The little darling lay in the middle of her bed, along with a telling puddle. She knew full well how the dog came to be in Puri Daj’s wagon. A puppy was by no means sufficient to mend the chasm between her and Ian, but her heart was oddly touched by his boyish gesture. And strangely enough, the pup had helped to ease her grief.
Desperate to be rid of the mongrels, the ancient crone, Dika, had been begging the members of the gypsy troupe to take them. The next afternoon when Vangie walked by the old woman’s fire with the pup in her arms, Dika had winked. “His lordship paid five pounds for him,” she cackled, quite pleased with herself.
“Five pounds? Dika, that was robbery!”
She nodded her diklos-covered head and rubbed her gnarled hands together in glee. “I told him, ‘Ze jakkle is a rum bugher, a blessed dog. He will bring to you kushti bok.’” She grinned, exposing a missing front tooth.
“For shame, Dika,” Vangie said, chuckling. “He’s a common mongrel. No more a good luck dog than you’re a duchess.”
Gazing at the puppy, Vangie smiled at the memory. Dika was cunning, and apparently, Ian was gullible at times. The puppy awoke and promptly set to chewing on Vangie’s fingers. She glanced up as a shadow fell across her lap.
Leading Pericles, Ian climbed the hill.
At his approach she stilled, flicking her gaze to the saddled stallion then to Ian. Was he leaving at last? Her stomach sank and sorrow swathed her. Well, wasn’t that what she’d told him to do? Truthfully, he’d stayed much longer than she’d expected. Why didn’t the knowledge bring her relief, but instead felt as if a millstone had been tied to her already burdened heart?
“Thank you, for the puppy.”
He was leaving, and she was thanking him for the puppy? What was she thinking?
Ian tilted his head. Was he waiting for her to go on? When she didn’t, he sighed. “Have you named him?”
Vangie nodded, while attempting to save the end of her scarf from the pup’s sharp teeth. “Lancelot.” She flushed hot. Would Ian recognize the analogy to a knight in shining armor, or worse yet, Lancelot, both the greatest and worst of knights?
The puppy growled playfully as he tugged at her scarf. Little beast.
Ian said nothing, though his mouth twitched upward. Mortified, Vangie almost groaned aloud. Why had she told him that? Why hadn’t she named the dratted dog Herbert, or Archibald, or…or…Zebulon?
“Vangie, I must return to Somersfield.”
“I know.” Her eyes once again downcast, she clenched her hands.
Lancelot chose that moment to defend her from Pericles. Tumbling off her lap, he bounced on his short, pudgy legs around the stallion’s mighty hooves, yipping ferociously.
Pericles’ nostrils flared, and his eyes widened and rolled at Ian as if to say, “What an annoying, inferior little rodent. Please do remove him from my noble presence.”
Ian scooped up the pup and deposited him wriggling and barking in protest, onto Vangie’s lap. She smiled at the brave, if somewhat misguided antics of her new charge.
He swept a calming hand the length of Pericles’ neck. “You misunderstand me, sweeting.”
She skirted her gaze away from his again. The deep purr of his voice stirred her purposefully buried sentiments. Why couldn’t she be done with him? Why did her optimistic heart yet hold a smidgeon of hope?
“I’ve purchased horseflesh from Tobar and must arrange for their transfer.” He tapped his thigh in the same manner he had the day they’d become betrothed. “I also need to update my steward and leave him with my directives for an extensive absence.”
“That seems wise.” Absence? He’s not staying at Somersfield? Disappointment wrenched her. London then. She hadn’t expected that.
“And truth to tell, Vangie, if I have to wear this clothing one more day, I’ll go mad.”
“You might have borrowed—”
Ian’s elevated eyebrow halted the suggestion. No, she couldn’t picture him asking Besnik or any of the others for a change of clothing. Ian was taller and leaner than the Romani men. She suspected pure pride prevented him from asking anything more from them. They’d housed and fed him for nearly two weeks.
Ian tapped his thigh with his hat again. He did that when he was nervous or aggravated. “Vangie?” Thwap went the hat. “Lucinda’s bizarre behavior has me truly concerned.” Thwap. Thwap. “I want to assign someone, a trusted servant or perhaps even an agent, to watch her.”
Slanting her head, Vangie frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t trust her in the least. I think she may have slipped into complete madness. She’s always been a bit unhinged.” Thwap. Ian’s gaze meshed with hers. “I fear she may be dangerous.”
“Oh.” Oh? That’s it? Ian suspected Lucinda was dicked in the nob, and all she could say was, “Oh.”?
Mayhap because all she really cared about was that he was leaving her.
In fact, Ian wished Ewan McTavish was available right now. He excelled at covert operations and spying. Ian should’ve returned to Somersfield days ago, but he couldn’t bear to leave Vangie. This was the first time she’d said more than one or two words to him in over a week.
“I’ll return sometime this evening,” he promised.
She seemed absorbed with the pup plopped in her lap, but her white-knuckled hands atop the dog revealed otherwise. She still wore his ring on her finger, and relief swept over him. If she looked up, she’d see the love he couldn’t hide brimming in his eyes.
Neck bowed, her dejection was tangible. Did her
lips tremble?
He considered her for an extended, searching moment.
Ah, it came to him then. She didn’t believe he’d return. She thought he was abandoning her. Squatting, Ian gently cupped her chin and tilted it upward. Her gaze, riddled with suspicion and doubt, reluctantly met his.
Staring into her expressive eyes, the blue flecks in the irises as deep and dark as any ocean, Ian reassured her. “Sweeting, I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay with you here or travel with you wherever you,” his gaze roved the encampment before returning to her, “or they go.”
Her eyes widened.
Was she pleased?
“You’re my wife. We belong together.” He rubbed his finger over her ring. “It matters not to me if it’s at Somersfield, London, or the circuit your family travels. I shall not forsake you.”
Vangie’s eyes misted, and the tiniest smattering of hope sputtered in Ian’s soul where it flickered dim, but intrepid.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I care not where I live, as long as I’m with you. Even if you’re never able to forgive me, or can never love me in return.”
A tear balancing precariously in the corner of her eye toppled over the edge. It trailed down her cheek where he caught it with his forefinger. A subtle shifting in her eyes gave him courage.
He grazed her lips with a feather-light, butterfly-wisp of a kiss. The corners of his mouth slanting upward, he leaned back. Her eyes remained closed, her mouth parted. Pressing a firmer kiss to her forehead, he patted the playful pup—who had been chewing on the buttons of his coat the whole while. Ian levered to his feet in a swift, fluid motion. “Goodbye, Vangie.”
His boot was already in the stirrup when her soft voice crossed the distance between them.
“Latcho drom. Goodbye, Ian.”
Swinging into the saddle, he brought Pericles around, reining in the prancing horse. The muscles in his thighs bunched as he held his mount with his knees. “I give you my word. I shall return.”
Ian sent her a penetrating look. With his gaze he tried to communicate the feelings he knew she wouldn’t believe if he spoke them aloud. He kicked his heels into the stallion’s sides and, with one hand lifted in farewell, they bolted across the meadow.
The time had come to deal with his stepmother.
Vangie glanced to the sun again. Perhaps two minutes had passed since the last time she’d checked. Stop looking. It was late afternoon. Ian hadn’t returned last evening like he’d promised. Sighing in resignation, she lowered her gaze in disappointment. She shouldn’t care. She didn’t care. Liar, her heart taunted.
She’d believed him to be a man of his word before they married. Now, she didn’t know what to make of him. The hoofbeats of an approaching horse echoed in the distance, but she was afraid to look. Afraid it wasn’t him. Afraid it was.
From beneath her lashes she dared a peek. There he sat, straight and tall and handsome, and staring straight at her. He slowed Pericles from a gallop to a canter when he reached the periphery of the Romani camp.
Relief swept over her—only because she’d been concerned for his welfare, of course. Vangie firmly set her other emotions aside. She remained beside Puri Daj and the young girl, Lala, Pur Daj was treating for a campfire burn.
Ian rode Pericles directly across the clearing, stopping before her. Something delicious skimmed across her senses before she returned her attention to the child. She handed Puri Daj a soft linen cloth to wrap Lala’s calf in.
He had returned.
She truly hadn’t thought he would. Surely the fluttering in her middle wasn’t gladness? After what he did? She wasn’t completely addle-witted. No, she’d not eaten anything since morning. She was hungry—that was all.
Nonetheless, from the corner of her eye, she watched him. Holding the reins in his left hand, he grasped the horse’s mane and then swung his right leg over the stallion’s hindquarters. Giving a powerful shove, he dropped to the ground.
With a smart bow, Ian honored Puri Daj by greeting her first. “Droboy tume Romale.”
A pleased expression flashed across her face. She inclined her head in welcome. “Thank you, Ian. You learn our language. This is good.” She smiled her approval.
He was learning Romanese? Vangie squelched the happiness attempting to bubble to the surface. Balderdash and rubbish. It meant nothing. If he thought he could wheedle his way into her affections by learning a bit of Romanese—Drat, now he turned that rakish smile on Lala.
Ian bowed to the child. “Droboy tume tinka.”
Lala giggled, burying her face in Puri Daj’s skirt.
Vangie dipped her head and hid a smile. He could charm a stick into throwing itself into a fire then have it thanking him for the honor of burning to ash.
“Vangie.” His deep voice interrupted her musings. “I’m sorry I didn’t return last evening.” He rubbed Pericles’ forehead before patting the horse’s sweaty neck. “I was delayed.”
Obviously.
“It’s of no importance.” Vangie placed the stopper on the jar of pungent ointment. She wiped her hands on her apron, and searched his face. Lines of fatigue marred his brow and crinkled the corners of his eyes. Had he slept at all? Unease washed over her. Something was wrong. Picking up the ointment, she tucked the jar into the medicine basket.
“Come tinka,” Puri Daj said, taking Lala by the hand. “Let’s see if your mother has finished the pirogo. Mayhap she’ll give us a taste while it’s yet warm. It’s my favorite dessert.”
“Mine too,” the child piped as she limped away.
Vangie watched them go. She couldn’t even think of an excuse to ask Pur Daj to stay. The silence after her departure hung heavy and awkward with constrained emotion. Ian’s gaze kept wandering; first to Yoska’s vardo, then the river and corral, and finally to the hillside behind the camp.
“All is well here?” He scanned the clearing again before he settled his gaze on her once more. Something indecipherable glimmered in his eyes before he masked it. “You are well?”
“Yes.” Vangie tilted her head, scrutinizing him.
Ian appeared reserved and preoccupied. Did he regret his promise to return? His gaze roved around once more. “A letter arrived for you.” He withdrew the slightly crumpled paper from inside his coat pocket. “It’s from your cousin.”
She took the rectangle. “Thank you.”
“Forgive me, Vangie, but I must speak with Yoska and Tobar.” He bowed and then leading Pericles, he went in search of the men.
Eyebrows pulled together, she stared after him, perplexed. Untying her simple apron, she tossed it across the makeshift table. She didn’t know what to make of his peculiar greeting. He’d seemed happy to see her, almost anxious to talk to her. Then he’d retreated into his shell of indifference. She’d not seen him behave that way since the night she shot the highwayman.
Well, there had been those few moments in Somersfield’s drawing room too.
Why had he returned if he only meant to keep her at a distance?
Do I really want to know?
No. Yes. No. Oh, bother and blast. She’d never been so double-minded in her life.
She turned the letter over. Yvette’s dainty writing slanted across the front of the foolscap. Finding a quiet spot behind Puri Daj’s wagon, and comfortably settled on a blanket, Vangie broke open the wax seal. She quickly scanned the contents.
Papa is expanding his shipping enterprises once more. He is moving us to Boston, Massachusetts for two years. Dearest cousin, how can I bear being away from you so long? We are to leave in September. Papa has said I may come for an extended visit next month…
Yvette was leaving England? For two years?
Vangie fought bitter tears. She should be overjoyed at the prospect of a visit from her beloved cousin, but despair better suited her mood. She worried her lower lip while twisting a strand of hair. What was she to do? She wasn’t ready to explain her altered marital status to anyone yet, most especially her family.
&nb
sp; Heaven help her, she could already envision the secretive pitying looks. It simply wouldn’t do to have Yvette visit if Vangie weren’t in residence at Somersfield. But how could she tell Yvette she couldn’t come? And she did so want to see her cousin before she sailed.
“Latchi divvus, Zora.”
Vangie hadn’t heard Besnik approach. Smiling a welcome, she patted the blanket. “Good day to you too. Come, sit with me, dear friend.”
Besnik’s dark gaze searched her face. “You are well, nukkidai?
“Aue.”
“Will you remain with us now?”
Something in Besnik’s tone caused her to twist and peer at him intently. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
Angling back onto his elbows, one knee crooked, he smiled, revealing strong, white teeth. He truly was a handsome man, and if her heart weren’t already engaged, she might have come to love him.
“You kam him?” he asked.
Vangie dipped her chin and closed her eyes in acknowledgement. “Aue, I love him.”
“I would still gladly make you my rommadi.” His dark gaze roved her face.
Yes, if only she hadn’t met Ian, hadn’t danced with him at that wretched ball. She’d have been blissfully happy as Besnik’s wife. But now? It wouldn’t be fair to him when her heart, though mangled, belonged to another. Laying her hand on his muscled arm, she offered a nascent smile. “Thank you, but no. My heart is too full of him. You deserve someone who will love you with her whole heart.”
He accepted her rejection with the merest inclination of his raven head. “I thought as much, but I wanted to be sure.” He looked around. “Where is your jakkel?”
“Ailsa is playing with Lancelot.”
His gaze followed the fair-haired lass as she darted through the encampment with her usual entourage of children. As if sensing his perusal, she looked up. She smiled and waved cheerily before continuing on her way.
“She’d make a good wife, Besnik.” Vangie had seen the yearning looks Ailsa gave him.
The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1) Page 25