Temptation of the Warrior

by Margo Maguire

  “He stay with Tsinoria bride. Come later.”

  “Where?

  “At last camp.”

  Jenny shuddered at the thought of Beti being stranded with such a husband, far from her own family. “What of the others who were wed last night?”

  “Same. Come now. You teach.”

  Jenny turned in her seat to hear him better, and they stayed at it most of the day. She was surprised at the man’s stamina. He’d memorized the letters and learned their sounds during lessons the day before, so Jenny was able to teach him a few simple words. By the end of the day, Bardo was able to read simple sentences.

  “Why do you want to read English?” she asked.

  “Most times, Gypsy way best for us,” he replied with a shrug. “But comes a time…gajo makes troubles. Gives papers with words. Someone need know.”

  “I see,” Jenny replied, aware that the Gypsies would find themselves at a serious disadvantage if the Kirtwarren constables or any other English authority wanted to give them trouble. The Rom were ingenious people, and Jenny was sure they were able to avoid most confrontations. But their inability to speak and read English would be a detriment if they were presented with warrants or other legal documents.

  “These basic reading lessons will not help you to understand official papers,” she said.

  “Oh, aye. Does help.”

  Whether her lessons were enough or not, Jenny intended to leave with Matthew in the morning. She’d learned enough about the Gypsies to understand that they were no different than any other people. Bardo would keep her only for as long as she was useful. The moment he no longer needed her, she had no doubt the Gypsy would leave her.

  When they stopped for the night, Matthew lifted Jenny from the caravan, his eyes warm with the promise of pleasures to come. They had sat close together all day, barely exchanging a word, yet their connection had grown immeasurably.

  Bardo jumped down behind her.

  “How much farther is it to Carlisle?” Jenny asked him.

  “Oh…maybe four days,” Bardo replied.

  “Do you mean to say we only went four or five miles today?” Jenny asked, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice. She’d hoped to make at least ten miles! How was it possible to travel so slowly?

  Bardo gave his usual shrug and started walking toward his own caravan. He turned and pointed toward Jenny and Matthew. “You. Come to Bardo table. Eat with wife. With me.”

  It was nearly dusk, and had turned much colder. Jenny and Matthew settled their wagon, then joined Bardo and his wife for supper. The man’s ten-year-old daughter, Patia, sat on her father’s lap throughout the casual meal. She looked like a younger twin of her sister who’d been one of the previous day’s brides. Jenny wondered how the older girl fared with her new husband.

  And how Beti had survived the night with Tekari.

  “I marry off two daughter. And nephew. Two, three year more,” he said, patting his daughter on her head “my Patia take husband.”

  Jenny thought of her own tenth year with fondness. It was the year before her parents’ death, the year before she’d been sent to Bresland. By then, she’d felt so young and so lost, she could imagine how the child brides felt, being given away to their husbands at such an early age. Yet Jenny’s own lot had been neither easy nor simple.

  The Gypsy marriage customs were not all that differed from the English. Jenny had seen that the Gypsies had a very different understanding of stealing, too. Taking a chicken or a few eggs from an English farmer who might not miss them was not considered thievery, though the farmer would surely think differently.

  “Why old man come for you so much?” Bardo asked.

  Jenny looked into the Gypsy leader’s dark, piercing eyes. “The headmaster has accused me of stealing, but I—”

  “You bring nothing,” said Bardo, casting his glance toward her caravan, obviously thinking back on the possessions she and Matthew had brought with them. To Jenny’s knowledge, the Gypsy had not looked inside Matthew’s satchel. But then, Matthew was not the one accused of theft. “You know bad things from school? From…head man?”

  “Bad things?” Jenny asked, noticing Matthew’s interest in the question. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

  “Gajo care for two things.” Bardo reached over to his wife’s arm and slipped a gold bracelet from her wrist. He held it up for Jenny and Matthew to see. “What calls this?”

  “Bracelet.”

  Bardo shook his head.

  “Jewelry?”

  “No. Different thing.”

  “Valuables,” said Matthew

  The Gypsy nodded. “Valu-buls. Gajo care for valu-buls and name. You take no valu-buls. Must be you take away bad story of gajo man. Hurt his name.”

  Jenny was aware of many terrible things about Bresland School and Reverend Usher. But she knew of no one to tell. The parents or guardians of the students certainly did not care, or else they might have visited. Their children would never have been sent there. Jenny could think of no authorities in Kirtwarren who would challenge the headmaster for his harsh treatment of the girls. Not even the village doctor had objected to his abuses.

  But Norah…the memory of her last night came to Jenny suddenly, and she recalled Norah’s confrontation with Reverend Usher…her childish, naïve threats…

  He’d punished her, and then she’d died among a flurry of whimpers in the night.

  Matthew saw the light go out in Jenny’s eyes when she spoke of the school, and considered Bardo’s theory. The Gypsy was right. If Jenny had not stolen anything of value, ’twas likely she knew something she should not.

  Her past was nearly as mysterious as his own.

  He took her back to their caravan, determined to dispel her melancholy. He added wood to the stove, then removed her cloak and drew her down to the bed.

  “’Tis freezing in here.”

  “Aye. I plan to keep you warm.”

  Matthew pulled her close and felt her shivering. As their bed warmed with the heat of their bodies, he touched his mouth to hers in a long and sensuous kiss. He nipped her lips and sucked her tongue into his mouth while he skimmed his hands down her back.

  She wore the black Bresland gown, and Matthew was anxious to divest her of it. He made quick work of the buttons that held her bodice together while Jenny did the same to his sherte. Soon he was bare-chested against her soft breasts. He released the hooks of her skirt and pushed it down to her feet.

  Jenny draped the quilt over her shoulders and rose to straddle him. Matthew’s breath caught at the sight of her naked breasts, swaying just inches from his mouth. He lifted his head to reach one, swirling his tongue ’round her succulent nipple. “Naught has ever tasted so sweet, Jenny lass.”

  She slid her fingers through the hair on his chest. His cock roared up when she flicked her fingertips over his nipples, then leaned down to suck one into her mouth. She opened the buttons of his trews and slid them down his legs, agonizingly slowly. He finally took charge and kicked them off, anxious to feel her mouth upon him again.

  She skimmed her hands up his legs, stopping short of his cock, teasing him as her fingers retreated from the target he most wanted her to reach. She lowered her body onto his legs and skimmed her breasts against his thighs, then higher, soon brushing them against the tip of his willing cock.

  “Jenny.”

  “You are not the only one who can tease,” she whispered, pressing her face to his belly. “I will have my revenge for your torture this morning in the pasture.”

  She kissed his abdomen, then slid lower, dropping kisses on every surface but the one that strained to feel her mouth. Matthew’s heart seemed to stop when her breath warmed his cock. She encircled it with her fist, then touched her mouth to it.

  “Pull me in, sweet Jenny,” he rasped, and Jenny complied, sucking his hard cock deep inside her mouth. She swirled her tongue ’round it, and made a low sound of satisfaction as she did it. Matthew’s body was on fire, every
nerve burning for completion.

  But Jenny had no mercy. She tortured him just the way he’d done to her earlier, nipping and sucking, licking the length of him as though he were a tasty morsel and she had all the time in the world to enjoy him. Matthew watched her pleasure him, and when she looked up and caught his gaze, she released him and smiled audaciously at him.

  “Come here,” he rasped.

  With one quick move, he switched their positions, shifting her to her back. She slipped her legs ’round his waist and opened for him, as anxious as he was to complete their joining. Matthew wasted no more time, but plunged, stopping to relish the exquisite sense of being sheathed tightly inside her.

  Jenny moved her hips and set their rhythm, slow at first, her eyes locked on his as she moved. Their pace increased until he felt her muscles tighten and the spasms of her climax begin. Only then did he let go, leaving his body to experience true sòlas.

  And when ’twas done, they fell asleep, content and secure in each other’s arms.

  Matthew dreamed of the red-haired lady again. This time, she wept and begged him to hurry home. The clarity of the dream roused him from sleep, and he sat up abruptly in bed.

  “What is it?” asked Jenny, suppressing a yawn.

  “Naught,” he replied, gently stroking her cheek. “I’ll stoke the fire. Go back to sleep, lass.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and went to the stove, adding another wedge of wood to the glowing coals within.

  The image of the red-haired woman disturbed him. He still could not bring up any memory of her, but he knew she must be someone of significance from his past, else he would not dream of her so repeatedly. Yet he’d never joined with her, never known sòlas with her. Of that he was certain. Only with Jenny…

  She was as much a part of him as his next breath. He had to find a way to force his memory to return, for this uncertainty was frustrating and exasperating, all at once.

  He returned to bed, and Jenny gravitated toward him. She curled her body into his as she slept, while Matthew wracked his brain until the pale light of dawn seeped through the colorful curtains on the windows.

  And he had no more understanding of his history when dawn broke than he had when the sun had gone down the night before.

  Matthew watched Jenny make small, feminine movements, stretching her legs, then turning over to press her backside into him. She sighed and then made a sound of pure satisfaction. He smiled, turned onto his side, and slid his hand ’round her waist. Sleeping with a woman felt as intimate as the act of making love with her.

  He drew her hips against his erection, and she wiggled in place, inviting his touch. Matthew could not resist. He closed his eyes and savored the moment, then slipped inside her, rocking slowly and deeply as he touched the nub of feminine pleasure at her apex. He nuzzled her neck and whispered sweet words to her in the language he knew she did not understand, words that came naturally to him. “Sibh ar mèinn.”

  They slept another hour or more, and when Jenny awoke again, she saw that it was cold and overcast, giving her a strong sense of foreboding. She dared not wish that going to Darbury would be unnecessary, or that she would never need her locket. But she had no assurance of a future with Matthew.

  He must have swept up the mirror that had shattered the first time they’d made love, but he’d said nothing about it. Jenny managed to hide evidence of the cups she’d broken and the other damage she’d unwittingly caused on subsequent occasions. But it was only a matter of time before her weird quirk became known to him.

  How she dreaded that moment.

  Quietly, Jenny left the caravan and headed for the woods alone, unsure whether it would be worse if Matthew found out about her strange talent, or if he suddenly regained his memory. Either revelation would surely change everything between them.

  Since Tekari Kaulo had not returned, and there’d been no signs of Reverend Usher or the constables, Jenny felt safe enough going into the woods alone. Gathering her cloak tightly about her, she made her way to the river’s edge. She found a low ledge nearby, and sat down on it, taking a moment to gather her thoughts.

  The last time she’d gone into the woods to force an unexplained occurrence—the breaking of a branch—she’d heard strange voices. This time, she was not going to allow anything to deter her. She concentrated on the rocky banks, mentally calling to the heaviest rocks, commanding them to fall into the water.

  She closed her mind to everything but the rocks on the far bank, focusing her attention and all her energy on them alone. She pictured them moving, and saw an odd light that shimmered like long strands of silvery hair, emanating from the region of her chest and spreading to the rocks on the far bank.

  One of the rocks fell, pulled into the water by the shimmering strands!

  Jenny jumped to her feet, stunned. The luminous threads disappeared, but her skin tingled with heat at the center of her chest. Bright yellow sparks shimmered around her and dropped to the ground. She scrambled up and away from the river, unnerved by what she’d done, what she’d seen. She could not imagine how she’d acquired this strange ability, or why she had never been able to control it.

  To her knowledge, it had come upon her suddenly, soon after her arrival at Bresland. She’d been shocked and infuriated by her first punishment, and the window of Usher’s office had suddenly shattered. Jenny had been stunned by the realization that she was somehow responsible for the mess.

  Luckily, the headmaster had assumed the breakage was caused by a stone being thrown by a passing carriage. He would surely have denounced her as a disciple of Satan had he realized she could cause such strange and unnatural events.

  Jenny choked back a sob and looked down at her chest. When she pulled away the edges of her cloak, there was nothing to indicate that those strange, luminous strands had come from her chest. But they had! And the sparks that had fallen to the ground still remained as proof of her aberration.

  She felt ill as she gazed at the rock she’d disturbed. Such things should not be possible. But now she knew, without any doubt, how peculiar she was.

  Dazed, she returned to camp. Matthew was not inside their wagon, but she noticed some of the men already hitching the horses to their own caravans for travel. Matthew was not among them.

  Still feeling bewildered and dismayed by her experience at the river, she walked through the center of camp and saw Matthew outside Bardo’s caravan, haggling with the Gypsy leader. Jenny reached them just as a deal was made. Matthew dropped some coins into Bardo’s hand, then the two men raised their cups of coffee and drank to their agreement.

  “Ah, Jenny,” Matthew said. “Here you are, lass.” Bardo’s wife wrapped bread and cheese into a square of cloth and handed it to Jenny, along with another large, wrapped parcel of food.

  “Moghire is ours,” Matthew said, taking the packages from her hands. “And here are provisions for a couple of days on the road. Enough to get us to Carlisle.”

  She looked at him blankly. “Mr. Bardo does not mind my leaving before our lessons are complete?”

  “Nay, lass. I took care of that.”

  Jenny did not question him as they walked through camp, making their farewells to Rupa’s family. They were halfway to their own wagon when Matthew suddenly stopped at the caravan of an old woman who was packing her belongings. He pointed out a glass ball that rested on a lead pedestal.

  “You wish to know what future brings?” she asked, her words heavily accented and sounding rehearsed to Jenny’s ear.

  “I thought they did not know any English,” Jenny said to Matthew.

  “They doona,” he replied as the woman waved her hands over the clear glass. “Only enough to swindle the gajo with their sham predictions.”

  “But I’ve heard tales of the Gypsies’ mysterious powers,” Jenny said. “Why do you say they are sham?”

  “Because everyone knows this is no’ the way to use a ceirtlín.” Jenny had never heard of a ceirtlín, much less known how to use one. Perhaps she’
d been sheltered from such items at Bresland.

  Despite the old woman’s protests, Matthew used two hands to lift the glass ball from its metal stand. He spread the fingers of one hand a few inches above the ball and muttered a few Gaelic words.

  The ball darkened, then a fog of blue began to swirl inside it. The old woman gasped when she saw it change.

  “Aye. This is how ’tis done,” he said forcefully.

  “Is this some kind of trick?” Jenny asked, struck by the vivid display.

  “Nay, ’tis no…” His voice trailed off as a face took shape in the glass, that of a young woman with vivid red hair and bright green eyes. Her beautiful features contorted into an expression of worry, and her lips moved. They could not hear her words, but it was clear she was calling out to him. Quickly, Matthew returned the ball to its stand, relinquishing it as though it had burned his fingers.

  “Who is she?” Jenny whispered.

  “No one,” he replied. “No one.”

  A lump formed in Jenny’s throat, and her mouth went dry. She closed it and forced back the tears that were suddenly welling in her eyes.

  She’d been right. He had a wife.

  Chapter 8

  A fierce wind suddenly whipped through the camp, lifting cloths from tables and laundry from clotheslines, and tossing small items through the center of it all. Jenny’s heart felt as though it might burst. She turned abruptly and hurried back to her caravan without Matthew. Tears burned her eyes and her chin quivered, but she would not weep. Instinct had told her from the first that Matthew was not free. She should have trusted it.

  She ran into the wagon and grabbed her bag, shoving her remaining belongings into it. How many days had she wasted here, she wondered, while Harriet lost herself in Carlisle? How long would it take Jenny to catch up?

  How had he made that face appear in the glass ball?