For the Love of a Gypsy

by Madelyn Hill

  He scoffed as a foreboding chill raised the hairs on his neck. He remembered nothing of the night—nothing. “You are a liar.”

  She frowned. “Nay, Declan. I speak the truth of it.”

  He pushed open the door that led to the estate’s kitchen garden. Fresh air slapped him like a wave of cold water. He inhaled, trying to rid himself of the putrid feeling deep inside. He was certain he was rotting from the inside out, his gut clenched as beads of sweat dripped down his forehead and back.

  “M’lord, your food grows cold,” Sadie purred from behind him.

  He ignored her and paced toward the stables. How, he questioned himself, could he have forsaken Martine by coupling with Sadie?

  The image of Martine appeared before him, her face softly lit by candlelight. Her luxurious hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, teasing across her breast. He rubbed the back of his neck as Declan remembered his love and her wish he leave. He should have stayed, pleaded with her to see the sense of plan.

  Sadie curled her hand over his shoulder and attempted to pull him toward her.

  He remembered.

  It flooded his mind with murky illusions. Sadie grinning across the table. Her proclamation they’d be together, him stumbling up the stairs, his vision blurred, his throat parched.

  Declan turned to Sadie, his anger traveling as fast as an errant ember catches dry timber on fire. He clenched his fist at his side, wanting to pummel her for her deceit. “What did you do to me?”

  The feigned innocence of her gaze incensed him further. He couldn’t quell his fury. “Tell me,” he demanded.

  “Declan,” she began as she stepped backward. “Don’t ye see? We should be together.”

  “Me and you?” He sneered at her, his mouth a frown as tension ran its course through his body.

  Her lip trembled. “Aye. I wanted you to see how we should be together.”

  “You drugged me?” he growled.

  She paled a bit and tears filled her eyes. “Aye,” whispered past her lips. “We did not . . . we . . . you were too drugged.”

  He slammed his fist against the side of the barn. “Damn you, Sadie.”

  She threw herself at him, wrapped him in an embrace so tight he was forced to struggle out of it.

  He ripped Sadie’s arms from their strangle hold around his neck.

  “Go,” he said as he pointed to the house. “Gather your things and go.”

  With steely determination, she straightened and made her way to the house. “The magistrate will hear about this, mark my word,” she threatened as she paced away from him.

  “I’m headed to the magistrate myself. I’ll save you the trip.” He entered the barn and began to ready Kindred for the ride to the village.

  “That’s my lad,” he said to his steed as he brushed his coat to gleaming. The horse stomped in response, obviously eager to go for a ride.

  As he hefted the saddle onto the stallion’s back, an acrid smell drifted into the barn. He sniffed again and tossed the saddle aside.

  He raced from the barn. Black smoke billowed from the estate.

  Riverton.

  He picked up his pace, then broke into a run.

  Riverton was ablaze.

  ’Twas a lost cause. Never could he stomp out the fire licking up the roof and lapping angrily out the windows.

  A movement near the main entrance attracted his attention. He moved closer, then ran to the bottom of the steps.

  Sadie Bannon stood just inside the door. A look of madness widened her eyes as she shook her fist at him. “’Tis mine, Declan. All mine.”

  He bound up the stairs and clutched the edge of her gown. She wrestled from him, delving into the pit of hell burning within the estate.

  “Sadie,” he yelled. She disappeared near his study. He ducked as a beam fell behind him. Smoke clogged his lungs and singed his eyes. Still, he searched for her. “Sadie!”

  A flash of white near the kitchen lured him further into the inferno.

  He wiped sweat from his brow and crouched close to the floor and continued. Coughing fiercely, he leapt over a hole burned into the floor. He entered the kitchen, yet there was no Sadie. Bollocks, where had the blasted woman gone? Beams crashed behind him, blocking his retreat to the front of the house. Declan skirted a flash of flames near the stove and broke through the garden door.

  He rolled on the grass and vegetables, cooling his body and extinguishing sparks on his clothing. Sadie wasn’t there.

  He lifted from his knees and moved away from the burning building.

  “What a lovely sight, to be sure.”

  He turned toward the voice. Sadie stood behind him, pistol drawn. Her dress was scorched along the hem and ashes smudged against her fair skin.

  “Come, Declan.”

  “Put the gun down.”

  She shrugged, but wildness filled her eyes. “Now why would I be doing that?”

  “You want me, so you have me.” He kept his voice low, placating, as he slowly walked toward her.

  “Aye, I have you, love. Not like Abigail, she couldn’t handle a man such as you.”

  Her manic gaze darted between him and the direction of the village.

  He held up his hand and spoke in a soft tone. “Abigail was your friend.”

  “Ha,” she snorted. “She loved another and her father was poisoning you.”

  Declan furrowed his brow. Sadie had supported his wife while she lived. What had changed her mind? What? Poisoned? “Calm down and we’ll talk.”

  “No,” she said with an eerie, high pitch to her voice. She waved the gun toward him. “Don’t move, Declan.”

  He had to defuse the situation. “Sadie, what did Abigail do to you?”

  Her face lit up, and the waving gun stopped. “Why she stole you from me. Can’t you see? We are made for each other.”

  The woman was daft. “I married Abigail in London. I didn’t meet you until we arrived at Riverton.”

  As if sensing its name spoken, the west wall of the estate groaned and crumbled. The shattering clamor of broken glass mixed with the collapse of wood beneath the flames echoed across the yard.

  Sadie didn’t so much as blink. “Nay. Weren’t ye always mine, now? She tried to take you away.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. He had to move her toward the village and hopefully toward the magistrate. “You speak madness.”

  The manic gleam appeared once again in her eyes. “The villagers are coming. Quick, we must go.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. Aye, ‘twas the truth of it. Anger and frustration snapped through him. “Only if you tell me everything.”

  She sighed and attempted to sweep her skirt clean of soot and ashes. “He planned to kill you.”

  Ettenborough? Declan scoffed. “Not possible.”

  Sadie laughed, a hollow, ear-piercing howl. “The elixir for your megrims was poison.”

  He was speechless. Nay. Even Ettenborough couldn’t have been so mercenary.

  “I see you don’t believe me, you fool. But his blasted servant gave him the mixture. When you had megrims, he gave you more and more,” her agitated voice skittered up his spine. “You see, don’t you? The megrims were when the poison was wearing off. You were an addict.”

  Declan raked his fingers through his hair while trying to keep an eye on the crazed Sadie and the approaching villagers.

  “Don’t you believe me, my love?”

  “Aye,” he answered under his breath, still trying to absorb all that had happened. Could circumstances be any stranger?

  Sadie cackled. “Ettenborough was trying to kill you and his daughter ended up dead.” She shuffled a little jig with glee.

  Declan took the opportunity and lunged at Sadie. She toppled
to the ground. The gun landed several feet away from them.

  “Nay,” Sadie bellowed. “You’re mine. Didn’t I make sure she was out of the way?”

  He grasped her shoulders and shook her. “You killed Abigail?”

  She nodded and reached up and caressed his cheek. “We can wed. And we can have beautiful children.”

  Thunderous hoof beats echoed across the clearing, matching the rising chaos in his mind. Villagers now crowded behind them, their curiosity forcing them to close in, nearly sealing off any air. Declan tried to catch his breath, not sure of what to say as grief washed over him anew.

  “Let her go,” Trenmore Grey ordered as he pushed through the crowd.

  “Nay,” he said with a rasping voice. This woman had killed his wife. He was truly innocent.

  “We heard what she said,” one of the villagers yelled. “You can let her go.”

  He rose, emotions swimming in his mind and forming tears in his eyes. His wife had been murdered all for the obsession of one woman.

  The waste devastated him.

  He stumbled away from her. Trenmore leaned down and assisted Sadie to her feet. “That’s it, my love. Just lean on me.” His gentle tones soothed the crazed woman, who now resembled a child more than a murderer.

  The magistrate, Martin Connelly, rode up on a huge gelding. “Grey, what the devil is going on?” The man dismounted from his horse and straightened his suit coat. He swaggered closer, a scowl on his face. “Is that you, Forrester?”

  Declan nodded yet remained silent.

  “Won’t I be needing to talk with you?”

  Again he nodded.

  “’Twas Lady Bannon,” someone in the crowd yelled. “She killed Lady Abigail.”

  Connelly cocked a bushy brow and looked pointedly at Trenmore Grey. “Is that the truth of it?”

  Sadie leaned her head on Grey’s shoulder and began to weep. “Aye, ‘tis the truth,” he replied.

  The magistrate nodded to the men standing behind him. “To the gaol with her.”

  Grey held up his hand. “I’ll take her if ye don’t mind.”

  Connelly hesitated, then acquiesced with a shrugged of his broad shoulders.

  The crowd followed Trenmore and a cowed Sadie as they slowly walked toward the village. Inquiring whispers reached Declan as he watched with a mix of anger and pity.

  All he could think of was finding Martine. He turned and looked in the direction of the camp. Were they still there? Or had they moved once again in preparation for the marriage ceremony?

  He was torn. Should he go to her now that he had been proven innocent of killing his wife? Or should he ferret out the truth of his incarceration first?

  Glancing quickly at the villagers still making their way to the gaol, he turned back to the woods—to Martine.

  He was going after her.

  Chapter 16

  He grabbed Kindred, threw on a bridle, and leapt onto his bare back.

  They raced toward the clan’s camp. Declan heart swelled with eagerness to find her. Find the love of his life.

  A steady rain began. A slight tug on the reins and his steed slowed to a walk. He lifted his head toward the sky and allowed the water to wash over him. Aye, he felt alive.

  “Declan.”

  He opened his eyes and couldn’t believe the sight before him.

  There she stood—his love—his angel.

  Within a moment he’d slipped from Kindred’s back and was running toward her. All he could think was to have her in his arms.

  “Martine,” he said as he kissed all over her face.

  She laughed and pulled him closer. He lifted her and swirled her around. Happiness filled him so much he almost didn’t recognize the emotion. Aye, he’d been content in the past, but never filled with . . . joy.

  He cupped her face with his hands and soaked in the sight of her. He’d missed her beyond measure. And God she was lovely.

  “I like this better,” he said as he shifted his fingers through her auburn tresses.

  She tipped up her chin at him. “Me too.”

  He captured her lips in a long, searing kiss. The rain washed over them as each grappled to get closer, tighter against each other. Her mouth opened to accept him as he circled his tongue around hers. He splayed his hand against her back, supporting her, loving the feel of her beneath his touch. Their bodies melded into one. Her every curve was cradled against him, incensing him with desire.

  Martine caressed the back of his neck, warming his skin—ah, he loved her touch, soft as a feather, then more insistent.

  He raked his gaze over her. She wore red from head to toe.

  Her wedding attire.

  His heart nearly stopped. “Please tell me you didn’t wed Magor.”

  “Nay, I did not.”

  Never had he been so relieved. “Come with me.”

  She glanced at the woods beyond the narrow stream as she bit her lip. He could sense her wavering and pressed on. “We can leave Ireland. No one will look for us.”

  Anguish creased her beautiful face. “My family.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “We can create our own.”

  “I am Rom.”

  “You are English,” he said fiercely.

  “Anya,” she whispered as tears shimmered anew in her eyes.

  Aye, he’d miss her as well, but he knew deep down she’d support their union. “She wishes us well, I’m certain.”

  Martine nodded as she sniffled. “She does wish us well.”

  His heart pounded as his blood sang through his veins. “You’ll stay with me?”

  She nodded as a smile filled her face. “I am sorry I deceived you. I couldn’t hurt the clan that saved my life.”

  He kissed her brow. “Rafe shared the story. I understand.” He squeezed her against him, just to prove she was real. “What did Magor say?”

  She shuddered. “I’m not certain. I left before the ceremony.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “I’m surprised we can’t hear my brother screaming from here.”

  “Aye. I’m sure he’s angry with you and me.”

  “No matter. Linka’s daughter will replace me. ‘Tisn’t as if it was a love match. Just a joining of clans.” The bitterness in her words caused him to frown.

  “I have deceived you as well.” His gut clenched as he thought about what he had to share. His life had been filled with hatred and turmoil. He’d hate for any of that to affect the woman he loved.

  She looked up at him. Her eyes wide and lovely, filled with compassion and love. “You are innocent. I know it in my heart.”

  He pulled back. “How long have you known?” Sweat coated his back as he thought of her knowing he was accused of murdering his wife.

  “Rafe told me yesterday and I knew you were innocent. I told him as much.”

  He cradled her cheek with his hand. “My love, I am innocent. Sadie Bannon is on her way to the gaol as we speak.” He kissed her, drawing her in deep.

  As he kissed along her silky jaw she said, “Ask me again.”

  “What?” he murmured against her neck, gaining a shiver as she gripped onto his shoulders.

  “To be your wife,” she whispered as he tilted her face up so he could look directly into her eyes.

  He grinned. “I want you to be mine. But I have to ensure we will be safe. There are matters I must settle in London. When I do, will you marry me?”

  “Aye, Declan Forrester, I’ll be yours.” But a troubled furrow formed between her brows.

  He tipped up her chin. “What is it my love?”

  “I have left my clan to be with you. But what are we to do now? I’m no longer accepted by the Rom, and the people of your village will not accept me.”
>
  He thought for a moment. They both searched for things that may be impossible to find. Innocence and acceptance. “My love, you will be accepted. I promise you. You will be Lady Forrester.”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward and he chuckled. Still the doubt in her mind showed through her eyes as they darkened with uncertainty. What he wouldn’t do to ease her fears.

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and together they walked back to Riverton. There he’d prepare for their departure to London. If they made haste, they’d be fast on Finn’s heels.

  “I need to find out why I was imprisoned, Martine.” God, he hoped this wouldn’t change her mind. “Without knowing who worked against me, we’ll never be safe, and I wouldn’t do that to you or our children.”

  She grasped his hand. “Declan, I will stand by you. I will help you.”

  What had he done to deserve such devotion? He swung her into an embrace. “I love you. When I thought I’d never see you again, it nearly killed me.”

  Tears shimmered in her eyes, making them glisten like precious brilliant stones. “Aye, and I love you.”

  She narrowed her gaze and pointed to the north. “What is that?” Martine asked.

  “Riverton,” he said with little emotion. While his life in Ireland had saved him from a terrible fate, now he would be tied to something owned by Ettenborough.

  Her eyes widened as she gasped. “Your estate? You’ve lost everything.”

  “Nay,” he said as he shook his head. “All I need is here in my arms.”