The Gypsy Bride

by Sandra Madden

  “You will guide no one. Henrietta is beyond reach.”

  Steffan shook his head sadly. “Not only do you refuse to experience life’s pleasures, you expect others to refrain from savoring them as well.”

  “You experience enough pleasure for the two of us,” Lucien snapped. “I have no time for games. This tribe, and our father’s clan, is in jeopardy. I am attempting to save us from extinction. Have you not noticed?”

  “You will save us all, dear brother, when you marry Princess Sabina.” Steffan snapped his fingers to indicate how simple the solution to their problem. “We will double in number and strength.”

  Lucien nodded, unable at the moment to share his brother’s confidence.

  “Have you seen Sabina of late?”

  “You know I have not.”

  “It has occurred to me that Wolfgang might not be a casualty of war. He may merely be in hiding until she is safely married to you.”

  “Do not even jest about such a matter.” Lucien had revered his older brother, Wolf. Accepting his death, and his absence from Lucien’s life, had come with great difficulty.

  “I apologize,” Steffan said quietly. “The words came out before I thought.”

  “Apology accepted.” His brother spoke before thinking more often than not, although he did not often apologize for his words or actions. “There was never a reason to meet Sabina before.”

  “She may have grown to have the face of a horse.”

  “Enough!”

  “Quite unlike our beautiful new gadji, posing as a gypsy woman,” Steffan remarked, using the word to describe a non-gypsy woman.

  “I shall not say it again, Steffan. Do not give another thought to Lady Henrietta.”

  But even as he warned his brother, Lucien wondered if he asked too much. The beautiful English gadji’s lovely luminous eyes were difficult to dismiss, the warmth of her lips impossible to forget.

  “How can I not think about her? Lady Henrietta’s sweet countenance and lithe figure are quite appealing. I must confess she does attract me.”

  “Every woman attracts you.”

  “Man was meant to love woman.”

  “But not all of them, Steffan.” Pushing himself abruptly to his feet, Lucien shot his brother a menacing frown.

  “No, I suppose not. Our stamina would give out long before we were finished,” Steffan conceded. “Nevertheless, I have a notion that Henrietta would be bliss to bed.”

  Lucien glared at his brother. “If you say another word, I shall remind you who has always won when it comes to fisticuffs between us.”

  Undaunted, Steffan blithely continued, badgering with a teasing smile. “Have you not entertained the same thought? Do you not find her dimple charming?”

  “For the last time, I have no interest in Lady Henrietta,” Lucien barked. “My marriage is weeks away, and even if it was not, Henrietta is not one of us.”

  “One of us? The blood of aristocrats flows in our veins as well as hers, brother.”

  At the moment, Lucien could only feel the heat of aggravation rushing through his blood. Steffan enjoyed baiting him, bringing him to the point where he lost his temper and raged like an angry beast.

  “But we lead a Gypsy life.”

  Lucien did not consider his brother mean-spirited, but it was obvious to him that Steffan enjoyed the game of teasing and testing Lucien’s limits—a game that served to remind Lucien he must learn to control his temper. A quick-tempered leader posed danger to those he led.

  The tug and pull of sibling rivalry seemed to have escalated of late. Lucien did not understand its cause but knew he had to diffuse the situation. With so much at stake, it was not a good time to be at odds with his brother.

  He hunkered down on his heels. “Tomorrow you will travel ahead to the Romani camp and assist with the wedding plans.”

  “What?” Steffan’s gray eyes widened in disbelief, his jaw dropped slack. “I just returned from making arrangements for our camp in Gloucester.”

  “You will act as my emissary bringing gifts to Sabina and her father. You shall carry gold to purchase whatever is needed for the grandest wedding festivities any Gypsy tribe has ever seen. We shall enjoy a full week of celebration.”

  Steffan jumped to his feet, wagging an accusing finger at Lucien. “You are sending me away because of Lady Henrietta.”

  Lucien stood to face him. “I am dispatching you on a mission of major import, and well suited to your talents. You will charm my bride-to-be, her clan and her tribe.”

  “You are angry because I have raised concern about Lady Henrietta. She puts us all in danger with her presence.”

  “No outsiders will ever know the lady is with us. She was in need of help.”

  “You have lost your senses!”

  “As a precaution, however, I am changing the caravan’s route. I will advise you of our itinerary before you depart.”

  “Damn.”

  * * * *

  After several days on a dreadful road, Henrietta labored beside Mila and the others as the Gypsy caravan set up camp on the northern outskirts of Gloucester.

  While overjoyed to be on her way to Liverpool, and grateful to Lucien for agreeing to take her as far as Stoke-on-Trent, she remained an outsider.

  The group of thirty men, women and children who made up the caravan regarded Henrietta warily. She suspected most of the Gypsy tribe had no fondness for the British aristocracy and might very well be vexed with their king for offering her sanctuary.

  Jassy, the bear trainer, was one member of the tribe who befriended her from the first. Messen, a young man who played the violin as if it were an extension of his soul, was another. Hopefully in time, she would earn the trust of the rest.

  Villagers from Gloucester and the surrounding area streamed to the site within hours of the caravan’s arrival. By nightfall the camp was alive with music, laughter and dance.

  In a whop-whop of heavy skirts and the jarring jangle of her multitude of bracelets, Mila sidled up to Henrietta who watched the festive gathering from the shadows.

  “Girlie, stay inside the tent, out of sight. We’re still too close to Bath.”

  “Who would guess to look at me that I am not one of you?” Henrietta protested.

  She was pleased with her transformation. Beneath her skirt, layers of petticoats swished in a vivid swirl of colors from deep lilac to bright sunlight. She enjoyed her costume, so different from the simple flowing style of dress she was used to wearing. It made her feel different, womanly. Her colorful gypsy clothing called attention to her body and away from her features.

  Henna shaded Henrietta’s hair, dark kohl rimmed her eyes and the sun had bronzed her skin to the golden color of summer wheat. The very same afternoon she had climbed the tree and fallen into the spring with Lucien, her physical transformation had begun.

  That afternoon he had kissed her. At first she thought she had dreamt his tender touch, but as time went on she grew certain she had not been dreaming. Deep within her, she knew the truth.

  But her lips were evidently not to his liking, for he had forgotten her. She had not talked with him since, and had only seen him from a distance. She made too much over a stolen kiss.

  “Please, Mila. Let me come and watch how you tell fortunes. How else will I learn?”

  “Lucien’s orders,” Mila mumbled.

  “ ’Tis not fair!”

  “If you wish to journey with us, ye will obey our king, girlie. Mercury will stay with you. My baby has become quite attached.” She rubbed a gnarly finger on her chin. “I wonder why that is?”

  Henrietta eyed the irascible cat who followed her every move. She had not dared to tell Mila of her escapade with the Persian devil... and the king. “It is curious, is it not?”

  The old woman clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and scurried away whooshing and jangling.

  After an hour of listening to the lively music, the laughter of a steadily growing crowd and the mouthwatering aroma of r
oasting venison, Henrietta could not bear her isolation any longer. She could not remember how long it had been since she had enjoyed a light-hearted evening.

  After carefully tying Mila’s ill-featured black cat to the nearest pole with a length of ribbon, she left the dreary confines of the tent. She slipped through the shadows, dashing behind the stark tents and gaily carved vans, peering out from time to time. Slowly she edged closer to the open meadow where the gypsy musicians entertained.

  Henrietta longed to leave the shadows and dance to the frenzied beat of the violins and tambourines. Instinctively, her foot tapped and her hips swayed. The Gypsies’ music seemed to be either terribly melancholy or wildly exciting. She enjoyed both.

  Two Gypsy sisters of Henrietta’s age held a dozen or more villagers enthralled. Tawnie and Gilda abandoned themselves to the music and dance while a group of hooting, bug-eyed men from the village threw coins at their feet.

  Henrietta wanted a closer view. Except for a blanket of brilliant stars, and the scattered fires and torches of the camp, the night was black. Confident the darkness concealed her, she ventured forth.

  In a matter of moments, she had joined the merriment. She stood in the rear of the crowd, laughing and applauding. Her body undulated with the rhythm of the music and dancers as she hummed the rousing melody to herself.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Ayyyyye!” Startled beyond bearing by the deep growl in her ear, Henrietta spun around. And found herself facing a chest. She recognized the massive expanse at once as belonging to Lucien. She’d confronted a steely wall of muscle and man. It was too late to run.

  Crisp dark curls rose above the ties of his bright white shirt. The fine linen garment strained across his wide chest as he crossed his arms.

  Her breath caught in her throat.

  Lucien’s feet were planted apart. His jaw set into a grim line.

  “Why do you keep coming up behind me?” she bristled, as if she were the wronged party. “It is exceedingly disconcerting!”

  An angry Goliath glowered down at her. His dark brows dove into a deep frown. “You seem unable to take orders, Lady Hadley.”

  “It is why I am traveling to North America. There, I shall not be expected to follow the orders of tyrannical men.” Like you, she added silently.

  He seized her wrist in a painful grasp.

  “What harm have I done by watching the dancers?” Henrietta demanded, giving way to her frustration. “This is how I wish to earn my way while I am with your caravan.”

  “You cannot be a dancer.” He ground the words through his teeth.

  “Why? I can dance as well as they.”

  “You are a Lady.”

  “A Lady cannot dance?”

  His frown dove deeper still. “No. A Lady cannot dance in the Gypsy way.”

  “Are you expecting me to do the waltz?”

  “Come!” With an impatient tug on her arm, Lucien pulled her along behind him.

  She complained all the while. “All of my life I have been told what I cannot do. In North America it will not be like this. A woman is valued in the colonies for her mind and talents.”

  “I do not think when the United States achieved its independence the insurgents planned to include the women. Women everywhere must have their place and know it.”

  “You have much to learn about women,” she lashed out angrily. How dare he skewer her dreams?

  “No doubt,” he snapped.

  “Are you always this way?”

  “What way would that be?”

  She could not help herself. “Arrogant. Boorish!”

  “You sound like Steffan now.”

  He did not stop. He pulled her further away from the lights and the music and deeper into the black night. She should not have insulted him. She began to feel a trifle anxious. When she attempted to stop and take a stand, she stumbled instead.

  “Release me,” she insisted, with more mettle than she felt. “I shall walk beside you.”

  “I do not trust you.”

  But he slowed. Henrietta wondered if conversation would cool his anger. “Where has your brother gone? I have not seen Steffan in several days.”

  “He has been dispatched on a private mission for me.”

  Henrietta’s meeting with Steffan by the spring had been brief, but he had impressed her as a personable, intelligent fellow. “Will he return before I leave you?”

  Lucien stiffened and stopped. He regarded her through hooded eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  She’d asked only to make conversation, to divert him from whatever ill he was about to wreak upon her. “I simply wanted to know if I would have the opportunity to say good-bye.”

  “Not likely.”

  Sliding his clasp from her wrist, he enveloped her hand with his and led Henrietta on through the darkness at renewed speed. The pace forced her to run. At odds with his icy mood, his hand felt warm and protective around hers. Her heart gave an odd flutter, like a feather caught in a sudden gust.

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You disobeyed an order, Lady Henrietta. We are going where we cannot be seen.”

  A shiver of apprehension ran through her. But she did not resist as Lucien pulled her to the far edge of the camp to the crude, hastily erected enclosure where the horses were kept. Torches planted at intervals shed a flickering light on the area. A lone guard stood on the far side of the pen.

  She almost collided with the sullen king when he came to an abrupt halt. “Lucien, I do not think you should worry about me being seen,” she said, seeking to soothe him. “Even Aunt Beatrice would not recognize me now.”

  “Was your aunt myopic?”

  “No!”

  “Your eyes give you away. Your skin may have darkened but now your eyes seem brighter and bluer than before. Blue-eyed gypsies are extremely rare. Your basic appearance has not been radically altered with a change of skirts, Lady Henrietta.”

  “No one who knows me would visit a gypsy camp.”

  He released her hand suddenly, as if she’d become too hot to touch. “Such a visit would be beneath them?”

  She lowered her eyes. She had not meant to offend him. “No!”

  He gave her a wry smile.

  “Yes,” she conceded softly.

  “You might be surprised to learn who comes to our camp to have their fortunes told, my lady.”

  “I do apologize. I am not so insensitive—”

  Lucien interrupted with a curt change of subject. “Do you know the punishment for disobeying my orders?”

  Keeping her eyes downcast, she shifted from one foot to the other. Her heart pounded against the trembling walls of her chest. “Do you intend to sell me to the slave traders?”

  He hiked an eyebrow. “Now, that is an interesting thought.”

  She hiccupped.

  “But since this is the first time you have done so, I shall let you off with a warning. We shall abandon you by the side of the road if you disobey me again.”

  “Must I, must I stay in hiding all the way to Stoke-on-Trent?”

  His coal black eyes narrowed on hers. Slivers of piercing silver light sparked in their depths. “You will stay hidden until it is safe. I cannot allow one small headstrong woman to put my entire tribe in danger. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.” He was exceedingly arrogant

  “Do not dare to disobey me again, Lady Henrietta.”

  And unjustly harsh.

  “I have decided to take you to Liverpool.”

  “What?” She could scarcely credit what she’d heard. Her heart skipped a beat, and then two.

  “It alarms me to the depths of my being to think of you traveling alone.”

  In less than an instant, Henrietta’s spirits soared from deepest trepidation to highest elation. She impulsively moved to throw her arms around the scowling king but he’d turned away.

  Lucien strode forward to lean against the crude pen, resting a foot on the lower rail.

&
nbsp; She sailed to his side. “I shall be forever grateful!”

  “I am attempting to protect you ... and my tribe. I do not mean to be an ogre,” he said quietly.

  His anger had drained from him. It was over. She could feel his body relax as she brushed against him, seeking heat in the chilly night air.

  “I shall be careful, Lucien.”

  “See that you are.”

  With a doleful nod, she followed his gaze. The pen was filled with horses, some well bred and strictly for riding. The other beasts, the old and tired, worked only at pulling the heavy vans, packed tightly with all of the gypsies’ belongings.

  Although her dear Aunt Beatrice kept a modest stable, Henrietta had loved to ride. She fancied horses and had almost always won her races with Phillip.

  “Do you see the two mares off by themselves at the rear of the pen?”

  “They are splendid animals. Are they yours?”

  “I have raised Ursa and Bay since birth.”

  Even by the spotty torchlight, Henrietta could see the mares were superior to any of the other horses. “They are magnificent. You have done well.”

  “It was once my dream to raise horses.”

  “What happened to your dream?”

  His mouth turned upwards into a caustic smile. “I became king.”

  “Is there not an oppor—”

  “Bay and Ursa are my bride’s price now. When I marry, my bride’s family will receive my mares, in exchange for Sabina.”

  “Sabina’s family is most fortunate.”

  “To have me or the horses?” he asked. Although droll, his remark was the closest he’d come to showing a sense of humor.

  “Both,” she responded brightly. But she did not feel the happiness she expressed. Each day brought Lucien closer to his wedding day. A small sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She supposed it to be a measure of her sympathy for him and his arranged marriage.

  “Do you ride?” he asked.

  “Like the wind!”

  “What?”

  Her unexpected boast appeared to take him off-guard. She suspected it must have startled him to discover she could match his arrogance. She grinned.

  “I grew up racing with my cousin Phillip.”

  “Phillip again. Did you have no mother or father?”