For the Love of a Gypsy

by Madelyn Hill

  They stayed in the barn, refusing the comfort and speculation of the villagers. The night air meshed with ash and loam as it curled around them with the moistness known to Ireland. Martine snuggled next to him, her shallow breaths telling him she was asleep.

  He’d have to talk of his imprisonment—of that he was certain. And if she forgave him, forgave his numerous sins, then he’d be a happy man. Declan had no doubt the priest in London would wed them once he learned all of his past.

  Would she have him, he worried? Could she forsake the fact that he’d been imprisoned and truly was a murderer?

  He pulled his arm out from beneath her and laid her sleeping form back onto the blanket. The cushion of straw helped ease the harshness of the ground, but his body still betrayed him with stiffness. Declan stretched as he walked out of the barn and into the night. His back ached as it had since prison. Another souvenir he had to remind himself of his hell on earth.

  He continued toward the house, now a pile of ashes and charred boards. Nothing was left of his life at Riverton. ’Twas as he wished it, yet he’d never thought it would be so unbelievably final.

  And Abigail. How had she felt when Sadie had drawn the knife across her throat? Knowing the woman she claimed as friend had turned into a foe. His stomach clenched as he thought of his wife. He kicked a smoking board as he drew his fingers through his hair. Damn, he still didn’t have the answers, only a few explanations, but still gaping holes remained. It nagged him so, the fear of the unknown. And maybe the fact he might not want to know the past and how it affected him now and in the future.

  Declan turned toward the direction of the village. Candlelight flickered in some windows, while others remained as dark as the night. He rubbed the back of his neck, wanting to ride to the magistrate and demand he give him all the answers he sought.

  “Declan?”

  Martine wrapped her arms around him from behind. He caressed her hands clasped about his waist. Her head rested against his back and the very essence of her, rose and lavender, immediately calmed him.

  “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t,” she said. “I missed you, ‘tis all.”

  He pulled her around to face him and tipped her chin up. The moon haloed her face with an amber glow, etching her beauty so lovingly, it took his breath away. “I have something to tell you.”

  She tensed. How could she not? So much had already happened and now he was going to add to the turmoil. Declan butted his forehead against Martine’s and sighed. He waited a moment, reveling in her presence and how he loved her.

  “You know I was in prison.”

  She pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes. “Aye.” Confusion filled her gaze, yet she remained silent.

  He inhaled, then spoke. “I was in Newgate in London. I spent five years in hell until Abigail’s father wagered for my release.”

  Tension shifted through her body. “Why?” she said with a raspy voice.

  He shrugged, sorrow filling him as the pain of his time in prison resonated. “I don’t know.”

  Her brow rose in question. “How can that be?”

  He clasped her hand and they began to walk toward the barn. “It has to do with my father, Ettenborough, and a man named Broderick. I have been searching for the truth for years.”

  She clung tighter to him. “Oh, Declan, how you have suffered.”

  The concern, not pity, flowed through her words. Och, he hated to upset her further, but he must tell her everything. “Martine,” he began, “I am not proud of my behavior, to be sure. But life in prison—”

  She placed her finger over his lips, silencing him. “You don’t need to tell me more.”

  He shook his head. “Nay. I must tell you everything. I want you to be certain you want to marry me.”

  A smile filled her face and humor glimmered in her brown eyes, lightening them to cognac. “I don’t scare that easily, Lord Forrester.”

  He scoffed and hugged her tighter. “Just Declan.”

  “Och, the shame of it all. And me wanting to be a lady all these years.”

  Her laughter was contagious and he found himself chuckling along with her. Declan swooped her into his arms and captured her lips with a deep kiss. She infused him with goodness and he greedily took it from her.

  A sobering thought stopped him. She was a lady. ‘Twas the truth of it. Would she want to seek her inheritance? Become ensconced in the ton. God save him if she did.

  “Martine, your family—do you want to see them?”

  Shadows darkened her gaze. “Nay,” she said barely above a whisper. “They are not my family.”

  “But your inheritance—”

  She gave an angry shake of her head. “Nay, I have no interest in the money.”

  God, she was a unique woman. “I love you.”

  She grinned, an expression that chased away the shadows, hurt and pain. “Aye, and I love you.”

  A horse neighed, startling them from their embrace.

  “It seems as if the big mon has found a way to distract himself.”

  Nate swung down from his horse and patted Declan on his back. Lange and Pierce did the same. Matthew stayed astride, his gregarious smile visible even in the darkness.

  “We’ve been waiting for the dust to clear, so to speak,” Pierce said as he hugged Declan. “Oh, sorry, m’lord.” He swept Declan’s shirt free of wrinkles as he was wont to do when he worked in the house. “Grand. All set now.”

  Declan chuckled and patted his valet. “Not to worry, Pierce.”

  He bobbed his head as the other men stared at Martine.

  They were huge, all except the one he called Pierce. Rough and a bit ragged, she witnessed camaraderie among them that made Declan seem less the solitary man. She liked the warmth, the softening of his stance.

  She watched silently as the men inspected her. Wariness, some primal predatory reaction, she supposed. Declan was their leader after all and here she was distracting him.

  “This is Martine,” Declan finally said. The men tipped their heads toward her. Only one reached out to take her hand.

  She wondered if Declan had purposely left out her surname. Petrulengo was Rom. Was he acting as if she wasn’t Rom? Did he think if he didn’t mention it, others would accept her?

  Not that the men would run into many a lass called Martine.

  “I’m Nate,” the man with a reddish mop of hair said. She could discern he was from Scotland; his brogue was thick, yet friendly.

  She accepted his hand, trying not to be intimidated by the brawn of the man.

  Declan stepped closer and eased an arm around her shoulder. “Where is Finn?”

  “He sent us back in case ye decided to follow him.”

  He shook his head. “The bastard took off before the sun rose.”

  “Don’t be vexed,” Nate said. “He did what was best. Broderick wouldna speak if ye were there as well.”

  Declan grunted. Martine stifled laughter at the disgruntled look on his face. He looked toward her, and her heart turned as his ire melted into a charming grin. “Men,” he said, “I’ll speak with you in the morn. As you can see, the house is gone. Make yourselves comfortable in the barn or in the village at the pub.”

  “Aye, the pub will suit us.” Nate mounted his horse and saluted Declan before leading the animal and the men toward the village.

  She was sad to see them go. She wanted to learn as much about Declan as possible and it appeared as if these men were a huge chunk of his life. One he hadn’t shared with her. Pah. Men weren’t chatters like women. They didn’t gossip around the dinner pot or mending circle. He’d tell her, of that she was certain.

  After all the men had mounted their horses and left the estate, Declan led her into the barn. He adjus
ted the blanket that served as a makeshift bed and beckoned her to lie upon it. She fell into the straw that made the mattress and sunk into the heat of him. The sheer size of him against her made her feel safe. Martine blessed her luck and snuggled even closer. A possessive arm wrapped around her. Safe, lovingly, and perfect.

  It was as if Declan had taken a key and, with the slightest twist, opened her heart and mind. He gave her the courage, or at least made her aware she was brave enough, to leave the Rom. ’Twas perhaps the hardest decision she’d ever made. And she still missed her grandmother with a fierceness that overshadowed her current happiness.

  Declan kissed her brow and whispered goodnight. She sighed, content to be in his arms, and fell asleep to the rhythm of his breathing as if it paced her heart.

  Chapter 17

  In the distance a cock crowed. Martine rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groaned as she sat up. She quickly inspected the barn and Declan was nowhere to be found. She rose and swept her skirt free of straw.

  The acrid scent of ashes still lathed the air, oppressively so. Martine frowned as she searched the yard for Declan. Had he already gone to meet with his men? Surely he’d tell her. Her heart began to race as she ran behind the ruin of the house, then to the side garden. No horses, no men, no Declan.

  She ran back to the stables, panicked and out of breath. Tears clogged the back of her throat as she gazed over the horizon. The empty landscape hastened her fear.

  Had his past returned? Had they taken him from her?

  Had he left her? Did he realize she’d never be accepted? No matter she wasn’t of Rom blood, she’d lived with them, adopted their traditions, embraced their way of life. He must have determined she’d be too much trouble.

  Dear God, what was she to do now?

  “What news did you bring?” Declan paced the small room on the second floor of the pub. Nate, Lange, Matthew, and Pierce all gathered at the table breaking their fast and telling of their travels.

  Nate shrugged. “Randolph didn’t reveal much, the bastard. All he said was tae make sure ye dinna follow him. He was going to break Broderick and force him to tell all.”

  Declan raked his fingers through his hair. “There has to be more to it, man.” Frustration had him refusing the coffee that Lange offered.

  “We must go to London.”

  Nate nodded. “Aye, ‘tis his plan, ye big amandon. He knew ye wouldna be able to stay here.”

  “And what of your lady?” Matthew asked. “Will she be going with us?”

  Declan pinned the young man with a glare. “And why wouldn’t she be? She’s to be my wife.”

  Nate put his hand on Matthew’s arm. “Och, now, Declan. The lad meant no harm. ‘Tis just concern for her safety.”

  Matthew nodded his head. “Aye, that’s it.”

  He looked out the window, toward Riverton, and thought of all he’d lost in his life and how, at this moment, it didn’t matter. He had Martine. She didn’t care he’d been to prison. Nay, she loved him regardless, and that was the gift she’d given him.

  “I’ll return later.”

  The men made some disparaging remarks, in good humor of course. He rode Kindred back to Riverton as if his life depended on it.

  “Martine!” he called as he entered the yard at a fast canter. He leapt off his horse’s back and just released the reins. Kindred snorted as he began to eat the ample grass before him.

  He ran into the barn. Weeping drew him to the stall they’d slept in the night before. Martine sat, knees drawn toward her chest.

  “Martine,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “What happened?”

  She looked to him, her eyes widened like those of a startled doe. “Declan.” She clutched his hand. “I thought they’d taken you, and then I thought you’d left me.”

  “Nay, my love,” he said as he kissed her. “I was meeting with my men. I left a note.”

  Her eyes widened as he reached by the blanket and retrieved the note.

  She shook her head and a crooked grin pulled at her mouth. “I kept thinking,” she said between tears, “that I’d have to go back and marry Magor.”

  “Never,” he growled. No man but him would ever have her. He tipped up her chin. “Tell me. What made you come to Riverton?”

  She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. She inhaled and quickly tipped her head to the side. “My grandmother brought my wedding dress to my wagon.”

  She stopped and looked at him. Her pleading gaze almost stopped him from probing further. Curiosity and the basic need to know won out as he questioned her once again. “I need to know you came to me of your own accord.”

  “Pah, it would be no other way.” A hint of laughter eased some of his worry. “‘Tis red,” she said as she fingered the material of her skirt.

  “Isn’t that the custom?” Declan attempted to hold in his chuckle but failed.

  Martine playfully slapped at him. “’Tis tradition if you’re still a maiden. All brides long to wear red.” She wiped the corner of her eye free of tears. “Anya asked me if I could wear it or had I lost the right.”

  Declan sobered. Anya, who had once championed him, had forced Martine’s hand in the matter of her honor.

  She waved at him as if reading his thoughts. “She knew before I could tell her. I’ve no doubt of that. And I couldn’t lie to her.”

  He gripped her shoulders. “Look at me,” he demanded. “We have nothing to be ashamed of. We love each other. And we’ll be married.” He prayed soon because it would mean he’d discovered why he was sent to prison.

  She caressed his face with her hands. “I couldn’t stay and wed Magor. I know I’ve left my brother in a horrid position. I’ll never see my grandmother again, even if I wanted to. It wouldn’t be allowed.”

  He hated the sadness overshadowing her features. “I understand your sacrifice.” How he wanted to challenge Rafe for the position he’d forced on Martine. ‘Twas his actions and decisions forcing tears to swim in her gaze.

  “Nay. ‘Tis not a sacrifice.” She turned away and gnawed on her lip. “It was my choice. I was ready to make it. I needed to make it.”

  Although her words were softly spoken, they calmed his rising fear that she hadn’t come of her own volition.

  “I knew I had to find you. I would have searched all through Ireland to find you.”

  He smiled at her honesty. “’Tis lucky I was still at Riverton.”

  She stood and held out her hand to him. “Aye. I knew you were.” She playfully slapped at him. “I didn’t know your estate had burned to the ground and you’d found the woman who killed your wife.”

  He stilled, not yet ready to deal with Sadie Bannon and the horror she wrought.

  Martine brought her hand to her mouth. “Declan, ‘tis sorry I am to have ever mentioned it.”

  He rose and they walked out of the stable. They’d have to find proper lodgings after they wed, and it was odd he would think that at this moment. “Nay,” he said as he shook his head.

  She scowled and her fist clenched. “’Tis no matter now.”

  He called to Kindred. “Aye, you’ve the right of it. I am no longer suspected of killing my wife. We will travel to London, and there we’ll wed.” He looked into her eyes, soft brown and full of compassion. “Without knowing who sent me to prison we will never have peace.”

  A frightened look furrowed her brow and she chewed on her lip once again. “What priest will marry us? I’m Rom.”

  “You’re English.” He grabbed the reins from the ground and held them tight.

  She scoffed. “I’ve lived with the Rom longer than anywhere else. The way I talk, the way I dress, all say Rom.”

  “Father Anthony will marry us,” Declan said with conviction. “He’s the priest near my home in L
ondon.”

  She looked uncertain, but she accepted his help onto Kindred’s back regardless. Declan whispered a prayer as he leapt into the saddle that his absence at mass wouldn’t cause the priest to punish him. Of course, a few pounds in the offering cup would go far to soothe the man. Luckily his money was kept safe in a metal box the fire wasn’t able to breach. And he had other resources in London.

  As they made their way to the village, they drew the attention of those working the fields or herding sheep. Some called to Declan in an attempt to show support. Probably feeling guilty over the day they tried to lynch him. Martine rode stiffly in front of him, her body tense. He patted her hand. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

  Martine looked down at her clothing. “I must clean up.”

  She still wore her red wedding gown. Declan looked at her and saw nothing but beauty. The gown’s full sleeves drew tight at the wrist and lace edged the neckline hiding her ample cleavage. He wouldn’t change a thing, but he realized the wrinkles and tears bothered Martine.

  He gazed down at her. Even though she’d spent the night in a barn, she looked truly magnificent. The dormant sun flickered through cloud cover and shone over her luminous skin. Her thick hair teased over her shoulders, infused with brandy highlights. He wanted to bury his face in its softness and inhale the scent of her. A swift shot of lust tightened his loins. Bollocks, she was lovely.

  She tipped her head up to him as a quizzical look raised her brow. “Why are you grinning so?”

  “Because you are so beautiful.”

  She swatted at him. “Pah, don’t you think compliments will win me over.”