Deeper Than Roses

by Charlene Cross

  “For the greater part of my life I have, but not always. Before I was called Balo, the name given me by my mother’s people, I was known by another. My father, who was a Scot, called me Logan. I am a mix of your race and theirs,” he said of the Romany. Then he noted her slight frown. “I am not a by-blow, Kristiana, if that’s what you are thinking. I am my father’s legitimate heir. My parents met while her people camped on my father’s land. According to his account, he was stricken by her beauty from the first moment he set eyes on her. Because my father welcomed the Rom, they circled the countryside to return once monthly. On their third stay my father approached my mother’s father and asked for her hand in marriage. My grandfather refused, of course, but undaunted, my father persisted. After six attempts—the last made with the inducement of several fine stallions and a pouch of gold to satisfy my grandfather’s supposed loss—my parents were finally united in a Gypsy ceremony. To be assured it was legal, they were also wedded by the bishop once my mother converted. His seal is on the document that proclaims their marriage was recognized by the Church. I have seen it myself.”

  “Who were your parents?” she asked.

  “My mother was called Keja. She died shortly after I was born, the result of a fever. My father’s name was Henry Chandler. Fourteen years ago he was murdered by my stepbrother.”

  The hair stood up on the back of Kristiana’s neck, and a cold chill ran through her. Such similar circumstances, she thought, their fathers both having been slain. “But why? What were his motives?”

  “Greed. Jealousy. A combination of both. He was nearly a man when my father married his mother. Lilith was a cousin of the Stuarts. She was also a distant cousin to my father. Her first husband, Gavin, a relation to the Red Douglases, had died, leaving his wife and son penniless. Her marriage to my father was an alliance for money and title, not love. All went well until the third year of their marriage, when Lilith fell ill. She died in a matter of days. My stepbrother remained with us, for he had no money of his own. I can only assume it was then he began to plot against my father and against me.”

  Kristiana detected the vehement tone of his voice. Light fingers stroked his face, hoping to calm him. “Are you able to speak about what happened?”

  The harsh look on Logan’s face faded at her touch. Masking his anger so he wouldn’t frighten her, he continued: “Our king, who was then only fourteen, was being held captive at Edinburgh Castle by his stepfather, the sixth Earl of Angus, Archibald Douglas. Incensed that James was imprisoned, leaving Angus to rule in his place, my father, my stepbrother, and I had set off to join some loyal Scots, who were of a like mind. We left in secret, hoping to effect a plan to free James.”

  “You were to ride with Lennox?” she asked, knowing some of the history. His attempt failing, the earl had been murdered at Linlithgow. It was said the young king cried upon learning of Lennox’s death. James had remained prisoner at Edinburgh until his escape to Stirling Castle two years later. “My father was among the ten thousand who attempted to free him, although it was for naught.”

  “Aye, and we would have been there, too. But we never made it to the appointed meeting place. As he rode behind us my stepbrother drew his sword and slew my father. He left me for dead. Fortunately, my mother’s people were near and found me. I have been with them ever since.”

  A picture of him rising naked from the stream filled her mind. “The scarf” Her fingers settled at his waist. “This is where he wounded you?”

  “It is.” His hand covered hers, pressing it against the ancient injury, his tunic acting as a buffer between the two. “It serves as a reminder of his treachery.”

  Kristiana thought a moment. “Douglas… were the Earl of Angus and your stepbrother closely related?”

  “Not closely, but close enough.”

  “He slew your father, but for what purpose? To keep the earl in power?”

  “Possibly. At least until he had been granted that which he desired most.”

  “Which was?”

  “Title to the lands that were once my father’s. Once Angus fell and James was freed, I have no doubt the murdering bastard quickly switched his allegiance. Otherwise he would have lost all.”

  “But in truth, the lands are still rightfully yours,” Kristiana stated. “Do you know where your stepbrother is?”

  “Not at this precise moment, but when the time comes, I know where to find him.”

  “Then you hope to take back what is yours?”

  “I intend as much. In fact, my plans to do so are the reason I have kept you at a distance. They are the other desires I spoke of.” She seemed to understand, but he needed to be certain. “I have lived with the thought of revenge for many years. I cannot simply turn those thoughts aside.”

  “I would not ask you to,” she returned. “I also lost my sire, and I, too, want revenge. But as a woman, it is hard for me to accomplish such a task. I have not the strength to lift a sword and run him through. I wish it were so, but—”

  “Perhaps together we can avenge both our fathers’ deaths,” Logan said, dreading the moment when he would mention Edward’s name. Inquisitive as she was, he knew she would ask.

  “Perhaps we can,” she said with a smile. “Since your father had been granted land, was he possibly a baron like mine?”

  Logan chuckled. “If the answer was yes, would you find me more appealing than when I was only a Gypsy?”

  Affronted at first that he believed her to be that superficial, she glimpsed the twinkle in his eye. “It depends on what title you hold,” she teased in return.

  “Will an earl do?”

  “It will do nicely. Have I, perchance, heard of this earldom?”

  The moment was fast approaching for his revelation. Logan drew a long breath, then released it “I’m positive you have.”

  Kristiana waited for his pronouncement, but it never came. “Well? What is your full title?”

  His golden gaze held her eyes for a long time, then he spoke: “I am Logan Elliot Chandler, third Earl of Muircairn.”

  Kristiana pulled back from him. “Muir—but that is the title Edward MacHugh holds. He’s… he’s—”

  “My stepbrother,” Logan finished for her.

  For some unexplained reason Kristiana felt as though she’d received a slap in the face. “Then you weren’t camped near Harcourt Castle simply by chance.”

  “No, not simply by chance,” he admitted. “I had been watching Edward’s movements for nearly a month, following him from Muircairn to Harcourt Castle. My mission complete, I was setting out the next day to join the Gypsies and to plan an assault.”

  “You planned to attack him alone?”

  He smiled. “Not alone, Kristiana, though I might as well be,” he stated, thinking of the fledgling group of men Sebastian had recruited. Then he wondered about their progress. “Through his vile acts Edward has spawned many enemies. There are others who wish to see him pay for his misdeeds.” Golden eyes ensnared hers. “It was not by chance I was in that particular glade, but it was fate that brought you to me.”

  True, Kristiana thought, for she could have ridden in any number of directions when she’d fled the castle. But something had propelled her to set a course toward a less familiar area within the bounds of her father’s estate. “I suppose it was fate,” she said, thankful it had intervened. Then she asked, “Why did you help me? You could have handed me over to Edward and been on your way. He would not seek you now.”

  Logan laughed. “It was hard to resist the pleas of a half-naked girl, especially when she tumbled straight into my arms and was as comely as you. I had little choice but to hide you.” He noticed Kristiana’s blush and chuckled again. “Had you been fat and old, I might have withdrawn my arms and let you hit the ground.”

  “Had I been fat and old, Edward would not have chased me.”

  “True enough,” he agreed, then he continued with his answer. “When I realized it was Edward who pursued you, I knew something terrib
le had happened to you. I couldn’t leave you at his mercy. Obviously you had suffered enough.”

  Kristiana thought of the time she had awakened in the cart and the mad chase up the lane that followed after he disarmed her of the dagger. “But you threatened to take me back to him.”

  Logan readily remembered the incident. “You had angered me, sweet, with your insults. I had just risked my life to save you. My head had nearly rolled across that glade, and had it not been for the thrashing noise in the near wood created by the black beast you rode drawing Edward and his men from my camp, I would now lie in my grave. I was in no mood to hear aspersions about my ancestry.”

  Knowing she was guilty of those actions, her gaze fell from his. “My only excuse is that I was frightened by you,” she said, her tone subdued. “I didn’t know you or what you intended. I was wrong in saying those things. I’m sorry I did.”

  He smiled at her tenderly. “You have already apologized—several times. And I forgave you long ago.”

  “You could have left me there and then. Why didn’t you?”

  Logan sighed heavily. “If the truth be known, Kristiana, I had thought to keep you with me, hoping somehow I could use you to draw Edward out. But as time passed I knew I couldn’t risk something happening to you. You had found your way into my heart, and I had to keep you out of harm’s way. I must confess I fought a hard battle with myself—desiring you, desiring revenge. I was convinced I could have only one of the two. I have lived with hatred for so long, it was hard for me to feel anything else. But once I allowed myself to experience the opposite emotion, somehow my quest to see Edward punished wasn’t as important as it had been.” His hand lifted to her face and laid itself along her cheek while long fingers threaded into her silky hair. “I love you, Kristiana,” he said huskily, his gaze reflecting those words. “I want you to be with me forever. I want you as my wife.” He looked away. “Right now I have little to offer you other than my love. In truth, I may never be able to give you anything more. I can’t help wondering if it will be enough.”

  Kristiana gazed at his handsome profile. Proud yet wary, she thought, certain he feared her rejection. Had he not the sense to know his circumstances meant little to her? Whether he be a prince or a pauper, an earl or a Gypsy, she loved him with all her heart. And whether he called himself Logan or Balo, she wanted to be with him always.

  Fingers rising, she urged his face forward. “For me it is enough,” she whispered, her love shining brightly in her eyes. “I care not if we live in a castle or under the stars… if you have a title or none at all. It is the man, not his riches, I love. From the first my heart ached when you were not near, and whenever you were, and you would turn away from me, your eyes cold, I thought I would surely die. I have loved you from the beginning, my handsome Gypsy. To be with you forever would not be long enough. But for all the time we might have, I want you as my husband.”

  Logan’s heart swelled with such hope he thought it would burst. “Give me your lips, Kristiana. Prove your love to me. Take away my fears and uncertainties.”

  Willingly, joyously, Kristiana lifted her face to his. Their lips met, tenderly at first; then, as their hearts soared—Logan’s racing like the wind of a tempest, Kristiana’s tripping wildly over itself—their eager mouths opened fully to taste the hidden treasures within.

  His arms surrounding her completely, Logan pulled Kristiana hard against his pounding chest. There he held her, fearing she might escape. His tempered passions suddenly broke their bonds. Hungrily his tongue savored her lips, then plunged through their softness to devour the feast beyond. A slight whimper rose to his ears, and he knew he’d frightened her. Constraining his desires, he eased back. Then, with one light touch to her lips, he withdrew.

  Dazed, Kristiana stared up at him; she blinked. “Why do you stop?”

  Noting her confusion, Logan chuckled. “It is best we continue this in our marriage bed. Otherwise, once we have finally been wedded, there will be no proof of your virginity.”

  “Proof?” she asked, startled.

  “It is required by the Rom. If a bride is not a virgin, the groom can immediately return her to her family. Even now we break their rules, for there is to be no courtship, no physical contact whatsoever. It is to ensure a pure bonding.”

  “Oh,” she said, thinking she understood. Then another thought struck her. Some cultures required a group of spectators to view the deflowering. “They don’t actually watch, do they?”

  Logan’s teeth flashed white in the dim moonlight “Only the whole tribe, minus the children,” he teased. A sputtering Kristiana jerked herself upright; Logan held her fast, his laughter erupting. “Relax, sweet. There will only be you and me and the linen cloth we lie upon. The showing of the bloodstained cloth will confirm that you were a virgin.”

  At the thought of the intimate moment Kristiana blushed. “Dare we seek a church for our nuptials?” she asked, uncertain if they should risk any contact with the outside world at present.

  “No. We will be married by Gypsy law. Later, when the danger has passed, we can stand before a priest, if that’s what you want.”

  “But the legality—”

  “Our marriage will be legal, not only by Gypsy law, but by Scottish law. In February James signed a writ—a treaty of sorts. Though it was drawn for reasons that have nothing to do with marriage, it states in effect that my people have the right to practice their own laws and customs within the kingdom of Scotland. I have no idea how long this treaty will last, so the sooner we are married, the better chance we have of it being legal.”

  Kristiana frowned. “When shall we take our vows?”

  “At the full of the moon.”

  “That’s less than a fortnight away!”

  “It is, love. But most Gypsy marriages take place within a few short days of their arrangement. I have chosen that time in hopes we will be joined by a friend.”

  “A friend?” she asked, cuddling close in Logan’s arms.

  “Yes. A very special friend. When you meet him you’ll understand what I mean. Until then I’ll say no more.”

  Kristiana continued to question him about his “friend,” but a smiling Logan refused to answer her, so she gave up, and the couple sat in momentary silence. While Logan’s hand stroked her hair, his gentle kisses raining down on her head, her thoughts suddenly turned to Liza. A picture of two pairs of feet, their owners hidden behind a wagon, leapt into her mind. Heels raised upward, lingering in the air for a long moment. Abruptly she pulled herself up. “Tell me something,” she said, “and tell me true.”

  Logan blinked. “What is it, sweet?” Then, as she squirmed around on his lap, facing him fully, he bit back an agonized groan.

  “Have your lips ever touched Liza’s?” she asked in a clipped tone.

  At first stunned, Logan countered: “What brought that question to mind?”

  “It is not important—just answer!”

  Fire flashed in her gaze, and Logan grinned. “Do I see sparks of jealousy in those lovely green orbs?” Her glare intensified; quickly he sobered. “Our lips have never met, Kristiana, though she has tried to make the connection. Liza means nothing to me—she never has.”

  In the dim light Kristiana examined his eyes. He spoke true, she decided, then she leaned her head against his shoulder. “She will not like the idea of us marrying,” Kristiana said, gazing up at her handsome Gypsy.

  “It matters little if she likes it or not. I have chosen you, and that is the way it will be. I love you,” he whispered, repeating his vow, wanting her to hear it often. Tenderly, gently, his lips lowered over hers to show his affection. In the soft moonlight the couple basked in their newfound love, trusting that their hopes and dreams would be fulfilled. It was a time for lovers, so Kristiana and Logan enjoyed the moment, for it belonged exclusively to them.

  Hidden behind a tree not far from where the pair embraced, Liza watched the affectionate display through narrowed eyes. Her lip curled contemptuous
ly, then she turned on her heel and left the wood, her black thoughts centered on revenge.

  8

  Kristiana and Logan had little time to luxuriate in their happiness. Upon the couple’s return from the wood they found the entire camp astir, most of the activity concentrated around Sidi’s wagon. Seeing Kristiana’s questioning look, Logan guided her across the compound, then led her through the mulling crowd.

  The light from the crackling campfire illuminated the group’s grim faces. To Kristiana they seemed to be keeping some sort of vigil. “What has happened?” she asked at large.

  Liza, who stood only a few feet away, turned her head and gazed at Kristiana with cold eyes. “It is Sidi. She will soon die.”

  A small cry broke from Kristiana’s lips, and she slumped against Logan. Steadying her shaky form, he whispered: “Easy, sweet. It may not be as serious as Liza imagines. Let’s go inside.” He urged Kristiana toward the steps, where he assisted her up them; together they stepped through the open doorway.

  Across the small area beside Sidi’s bed sat Rupa. “Aunt, is she gravely ill?” Logan asked.

  Rupa’s silver-threaded head turned toward her nephew. Her sharp gaze raked over his face, then shot to the girl who stood in front of him. A look of condemnation entered her eyes. “She collapsed,” Rupa said. “We found her lying in the dirt by the steps. She does not respond. We must be ready when her time comes. Your uncle has gone to fetch the string. After she has been measured you must help him make the coffin.”

  “No!” Kristiana cried, breaking away from the gentle hands holding her shoulders. She rushed to Sidi’s bed to kneel beside it. “She cannot die!”

  “She is old,” Rupa snapped. “It is time she went.”

  Anger flared in Kristiana’s eyes. “How can you be so callous? Because she’s old is no reason to wish her gone. She is a good person… one with heart.”

  “And it has nearly given out,” Rupa replied. “She is now a burden. No one has the time to care for her. It is best she die.”