“Perhaps you also need something else from me?” April interrupted, startling him with her insight. “Since you are not truly Rom.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted. He changed the subject deftly to avoid going into detail about that. “But believe it or not, April, I do find you attractive. And I want you in the way a man wants a woman.”
There. He had said it. Expecting to see fear or revulsion on her face, he was surprised when she looked at him frankly with her jeweled eyes and said, “Well, you have me now. By Romany law you can do with me as you please.”
“And you won’t fight me?”
Damien saw her swallow hard, but she shook her head. He suspected she was frightened, but no threat would make his little lioness tremble. Slowly, he raised a hand to touch her cheek. April stiffened, but did not bolt. Gently, he ran his fingers down the curve of her jaw to her throat, where a pulse fluttered rapidly under the smooth skin.
“What if I choose to take you now?” he huskily asked, and saw an answering quiver run through her taut body.
Lips parted, April gazed up into Damien’s aquamarine eyes. His touch sent strange thrills through her, like bolts of flame, and she did nothing but look at him in helpless wonder. She suddenly noticed his clean hair and clothes. He was making an effort for her, she knew, but she still wasn’t sure she wanted to accept it.
What kind of woman was she to respond to a gajo‘s touch? And worse yet, what wife wanted her husband to follow through on any threat? But April had a powerful urge to melt into his arms and surrender to the warmth and comfort he offered her now. Only her pride prevented her from caving in, and with a supreme effort she swallowed and replied, “You are my husband, and I will obey. But you will get no pleasure from me.”
Damien chuckled. “You vowed that much before, April. But surely you know a man can get pleasure from a woman even if she does not desire it? I think you are more innocent than you pretend.”
Her moonlit cheeks flushed pink. “I know what happens between a man and wife.”
“The basics, perhaps. But what of the pleasure … the love?”
“Love?” she exclaimed scornfully. “You cannot expect me to believe that you, a gajo, care about such a useless emotion. Do your people not mock the Romany for their romantic songs? And your mother, did she teach you love is important in the gaje world?”
Damien hesitated, surprised. He had not thought about Marcelle for several months. It was as if being away from the glittering, brittle world of the European courts, he easily put aside everything that went with that life.
“Yes,” he said at last, deciding on a half-truth, “but it was before she died.” That should satisfy any further curiosity over his past, he hoped. Actually, Marcelle did have a romantic streak. But then, she was French, and given to passion. His father, Edward, had scoffed at anything but marriages of convenience.
Sympathy flooded April’s eyes. She asked quietly, “Did she die when you were young? Were you raised alone by your father?”
Damien silently cursed himself, realizing one lie bred another in quick succession. “Yes,” he answered shortly. “But now he, too, is gone.”
“I’m sorry.” She suddenly touched his hand in comfort, a surprising but admittedly pleasant show of gentle emotion. Her fear and distrust had momentarily vanished, and he saw a side of her he suspected few others had seen.
“I have been alone for years and am used to it now. I understand it has been much the same for you, since Tzigane is not your real mother.”
April’s hand quickly withdrew and her eyes darkened unexpectedly. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Of course.” Damien cleared his throat, uncertain how to proceed. Damn the girl, why did she have to be so appealing? Gazing up at him with those bright green eyes, she was everything he had dreamed of, and more. Here was no petite French butterfly or refined English lady, but a strong, self-sufficient young woman fully capable of reducing a man to smoldering ashes.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore the strong male instincts that urged him to make her his own. “I expect nothing from you, April. You need not fear that I will take unfair advantage of you. That is the real reason why I was anxious to get you alone, to reassure you about the future. As to our — er — arrangement, it would be helpful if you would cook a little, perhaps, and wash clothes once a week, or look after the horses. I’m not terribly talented in such areas.”
April would not admit to being disappointed in his suddenly practical air. She said stiffly, “That sounds fair enough. It will pay for my keep.”
Damien started to protest. She had misunderstood his intent.
“No.” April shook her head defiantly. “A gypsy wife earns her way in the world. I am no drudge to be lazing about. I will earn our living, and you may work or not as you please.”
Damien knew she was serious, or he might have laughed. He hardly believed he had only found such a woman among gypsies, for in France or England, any lady would be thought mad to aspire to be anything beyond decoration in a drawing room.
He found he liked the idea of partners, uncommon though it might be. “We shall both contribute equally, I think. I hope in time you will come to see that I’m a decent man.”
“Why do you want to be a gypsy, Damien?”
He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t put it into words. When you saw me before in Constantinople, I was an unhappy man — rich and bored and lacking challenge in my life. Perhaps you’ll think me mad, but I’ve always wanted to live as one with nature, with no limits but the sky. And,” he admitted, “when I saw you again, I knew my decision was the right one.”
How had he read her heart so easily? April drew in her breath, startled by Damien’s revelation. He was turning his back on his other world for her, as well as for himself. Did he also feel the same powerful urge to link his body with hers?
April didn’t know the answer to the question, but couldn’t quell the rapid beat of her heart or a soft moan when he suddenly leaned close and pressed his mouth down upon hers.
Thrilling, electric sensations pulsed through April at the innocent kiss. Damien did not try to thrust his tongue into her mouth or rudely grope her as Nicky had done. His lips were firm but gentle, subtly possessive and experienced. She knew in that moment what it was to be kissed by a man.
Nevertheless, when he finally lifted his head away, April said, “You must understand, I won’t sleep with you. You can’t make me do those things.”
Damien hid his amusement at her emphasis of “those things.” What horrors did she imagine? But he said gently, “Don’t worry about any of that right now. There will be plenty of days and nights ahead of us on the road where we can talk. Right now, we both must get some sleep. We need to think of getting an early start in the morning. I will walk you back to your mother’s wagon. Are you ready to head back to camp?”
She nodded and got to her feet beside him. Shyly, April asked, “Will you hold my hand?”
“It would be my pleasure, wife.” Damien’s blue eyes sparkled like the pond lapping softly behind them, and with a sudden gallantry that made April laugh, he offered her a strong, warm hand and led her back to camp.
Chapter Eight
GOODBYES WERE SAID WITH tears and laughter, and parting gifts were pressed upon Damien and April, some by those they thought their enemies. Though Belita did not show up, Nicky lurked on the edge of the crowd, his dark eyes watching them closely as he passed up his own gift, a blanket for their new horse.
April did not want to part from her mother. She clung to Tzigane and cried, unashamed of her emotion as the others watched somberly. When Damien finally touched her shoulder gently indicating that it was time to go, she broke free from her mother and fled into the trees one last time.
“Let her go,” Tzigane said, when Damien made a move to follow. “She just needs a little time alone. She has never been without me, and the change is hard for her.”
“Why did she go to the forest?” Damien as
ked, his eyes fixed on the slim silhouette that vanished into a thick crop of shadows under the canopy of leaves.
Tzigane nodded toward the trees. “I found her there as a baby. Somehow she senses it holds the key to the secret of her past.”
“And does it?”
A strange light appeared in the distant gaze of the gypsy woman. Without answering him, she murmured thoughtfully, “Perhaps the trees know the truth.”
When April returned, most of the camp had already gone off to pack for their own move. As winter approached again, the gypsies sought a warmer climate, and the tribe’s destiny was again Constantinople. To avoid the spillover of war, and a chance encounter with any soldiers, the king would lead his people in a roundabout course through Ankara, rather than directly along the coastline.
April climbed up onto the wagon seat beside her new husband. Somehow she managed to keep from blushing at the randy wishes thrown up at them as they rattled out of camp, leaving deep tracks in the dark earth behind them.
She only looked back once, to be sure that Tzigane was still there watching them. She wanted to fling herself down and run back to her mother one last time, nudged by a sudden dread of losing the only relative she ever had. Later, she would regret she did not. But there was no time now, not when the rest of the world and an exciting new life beckoned just beyond the next rise.
BY LATE AFTERNOON, DAMIEN and April had gotten as far as the outskirts of a small mountain town nestled near the rugged ring of the Caucasus. Damien had driven steadily, not taking April up on her offer to spell him off, and their fresh horse was weary by the time he agreed they might take a break.
The trees surrounding them here were unfamiliar, twisted and half-dead and somehow frightening. April stayed close to the wagon without being told. She had been quiet during the journey, which concerned Damien deeply. He sensed that she was carrying a burden greater than the one he had forced upon her, and it bothered her more the farther they got from the Lowara.
“We’ll camp here tonight,” he suggested, watching her closely as he spoke. “The horse is tired and it would be foolish to try to travel in unfamiliar territory by night. I’ll go look for fresh water.”
April nodded, not really listening. Her gaze was fixed to the south, where the tribe had gone. “I will free the horse to graze.”
He nodded and strode off with a tin pail in each hand, whistling a deliberately cheerful tune. He knew April was still afraid of him, if only a little, and he was determined to put her at ease and earn her trust. It was crucial for them to appear a loving couple when they arrived in Moscow, and somehow he needed to persuade April to adopt a sweeter attitude.
Sweetness was the last thing on April’s mind, however, as she set the mare free and then restlessly combed the immediate area for firewood and a handful of edible nuts and berries. She was hungry and unwilling to wait for dinner. As she devoured the wild currants, she thought about the abrupt turn her life had taken.
She had lost Prince Adar, though she had gained a husband, and now she also had the awesome responsibility of safeguarding a priceless jewel that somehow held the key to her turbulent past. Tzigane had finally convinced her to take the gem. It was still in the green velvet pouch her gypsy mother kept it in, but it was safely tucked away in the wagon where April did not have to look at it.
There was, however, no way to force it from her mind. Like Damien, the diamond teased at her with its secrets. It held the key to her past, but how did she begin to unravel a seventeen year-old mystery?
April was startled from her thoughts when the mare, who was greedily grazing the grass, suddenly raised her head and whickered softly, urgently, in the direction of the forest.
April rose from the boulder she was sitting on, her eyes searching the thick grove of trees. She heard nothing. But only one thing would likely distract a hungry horse, and that was another horse.
“Adar?” she whispered, half in hope and half in fear, and she suddenly heard the distinctive rapid beat of horse hooves coming through the forest. April knew she was not mistaken when she saw a familiar flash of black and then the stallion, catching her scent, bolted wildly in her direction.
Upon the Barb’s back a rider cursed and fought the reins unsuccessfully, breaking free of the cover with tree limbs whipping at his scarred, twisted face.
“Nicky.” April stepped back, not from fear of the plunging horse, but from uncertainty. Her first thought was that something had happened to her mother or someone else in the gypsy band, and Nicky had come to fetch her. Then the ugly leer of his lips told her otherwise. In his free hand, Belita’s bastard gripped the steel-blue barrel of a gun.
“Where’s your gajo man, eh?” His taunt carried across the clearing as Nicky dug his heels viciously into Prince Adar’s sides and spun the frantic horse in tightly controlled circles.
It was obvious he had ridden at a breakneck pace, for the stallion’s hide and muzzle were flecked with white foam and he rasped for air. The cruel bit Nicky had put on Adar caused April to clench her fists in pure rage, for the animal was obviously agonized every time Nicky yanked on the reins.
“They all said he couldn’t be ridden, except by you,” Nicabar jeered. April saw he wore wicked spurs, too, with which he had worn off strips of skin from the horse’s ribs. “But I can tame anything, including you.”
April knew Nicky had come after them with some twisted idea of revenge. He confirmed this with a soft, evil laugh that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Think of it, April. You could be with me. Together we would be the perfect pair. You earn gold with your dancing, while I deal in horseflesh, fine as this beast here.”
“I want nothing to do with you,” April hissed, and when Nicky purposefully yanked the reins and the stallion squealed in pain, she cried, “Don’t hurt him! Isn’t it enough that I gave him up and left the tribe? You are rid of me now.”
His eyes glittered feverishly down at her. “No. It is not enough. And your weak-kneed gajo was wrong to think a Rom will sacrifice revenge for worldly goods. I will not be satisfied until you have paid your debt in full, witch, and I’m here to collect on it now. You can either come quietly, or I’ll cut Adar’s neck right now and you can watch him die.”
April gasped in outrage and disbelief. “Nicky! You cannot. Horses are protected by Rom law.”
“Damn the laws,” he snarled. “Are you coming with me or not?”
“She’s not,” a deep voice suddenly announced behind them.
Nicky answered Damien with a mocking laugh. “Well. If it isn’t the high and mighty rei. I forgot to ask you before, gajo, if your brand of justice is learned or just bought. And don’t get any ideas; this gun is loaded and there’s a bullet in here with your name on it.”
Nicky leveled the barrel at Damien and April cried out, “Nicky! No. I’ll go with you —”
“The hell you will,” Damien snapped. “Just so this animal can rape and kill you? Well, he’ll have to come through me first … if he’s man enough.”
Nicky’s eyes blazed at that. “Keep your mouth shut, gajo.”
“Oh, come off it, boy.” The older man was suddenly the cool and austere Earl of Devonshire, giving advice to a hotheaded young swain. “If you fancy my wife, there’s an easier way, and one with more honor, too. Though I suppose you wouldn’t know much about honor, being a gypsy.”
April almost choked, sure that Nicky would blast the gun and she would see Damien crumple to the earth before her eyes. But she underestimated male ego, for Nicky actually took the insult and growled, “Fine words coming from a filthy gajo.” He spat to emphasize his disgust. “Rei or not, you know nothing of my people.”
“I know that you are a disgrace to them,” Damien retorted. He set down the brimming buckets and folded his arms as if to look down on Nicabar, though the younger man was still atop the stallion. “If you truly want justice, you should go about this in a more civilized manner. A brutal killing may give you brief satisfact
ion, but why not think of the long-term benefits. A contest of honor would give you more to brag about to your friends, and might earn you the respect of the king. And as for April — why rape, when you can persuade? You’re a handsome lad. She’s young, and young girls are easily impressed.”
April whipped her head around to stare outraged at Damien, but he kept his steady gaze fixed on the crazed gypsy with the gun.
Nicky appeared to be considering it. Damien nudged him by asking her aloud, “You’d go along with the winner fair and square, wouldn’t you? Put the past behind and bury your grievances against this boy. He’s more of an age for you anyway.”
“You’re mad —”April began, but Damien cut her off with a sharp hand movement underneath his folded arms.
Swallowing hard, unable to believe he asked it of her, she looked up at the gloating Nicabar and nodded.
The gitano‘s eyes sparkled dangerously, loving the power he held over them both.
Nicky couldn’t wait to best this gajo, to cut his throat, then make love to April beside her husband’s bloody corpse. His nerves raw with excitement at the thought, he demanded, “What do you suggest?”
Damien thought a moment. “Well, if we intend to be gentlemen about it, a duel would be in order. However, seeing as how you’re a gypsy and I’m certainly no gentleman, I think a knife fight would be more appropriate.”
“No!” April cried.
Both men ignored her. With a slow, wicked smile, Nicky thought it over. “One hand tied behind your back,” he added with obvious relish.
Damien didn’t flinch. “Fine. We’ll each tie back our weaker hands —”
Nicky shook his head, still grinning. “Not mine. Just yours.”
“But the rules …”
“Devil take the rules, gajo. I’ve got the gun.”
Damien shrugged and nodded. The boy had a valid, if irrational point. And besides, haphazardly handling the gun as he was, Nicky was more dangerous right now than he would be with a knife.
Pleased with himself, Nicky steered the black stallion over to their wagon. Then, keeping his weapon aimed at April, he carefully dismounted and tied the horse. Stepping around to face the pair, he presented them with the muzzle of the gun.
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