Defiant Desire

by Anne Carsley

  The woman said, “Our child wanders away sometimes. She has not been pert to you?” She had the faintest of accents, and the way the little girl looked up at her made Julian wonder if they spoke this way when they were alone.

  “Do you live near here?” Charles asked the seemingly innocent question, his gray eyes narrowed with concentration as he watched the child.

  “No.” The man almost spat the word, then turned to his family. “Come. There is no time. We have work to do.”

  “Wait!” The faint stirrings that had begun in Julian’s mind now became certainty. If handled properly, and if she were correct, they might obtain information and a bed for the night, perhaps even learn of some remote area where they might go to ground for a time. “Do you go on to the next town, then?”

  “No.” This time the hostility was more evident as the man pushed the little girl ahead of him. Only the young woman looked at Julian with interest.

  Julian took the chance that could destroy them. It had to be done. She had no illusions about what Brother Rob would do if he were taken, and who knew how close the soldiers were on their trail. Charles, shrugging, had turned away and was gathering up the reins of the horses. Nothing could disguise that bearing, that carved profile, just as the distinctive color of her eyes could not be hidden.

  “The Romany are not the only ones who flee in these days. We seek only a quiet place to rest. The danger is not from us but from those who rule.”

  The others stood very still, the man’s face growing darker as the woman moved closer to him. He fingered his knife and Julian thought, belatedly, that once again they must fight for their lives.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The small bird sounded his one-note call over and over. Julian was acutely conscious of the dog-shaped cloud merging with another one on the horizon. Her right foot was numb from the puddle of water she had inadvertently stepped in moments before. Charles came to grip her arm, his fingers closing on the very bone. A cow bawled in the distance, and a tiny green lizard flicked over a stone beside the child who knelt to touch it.

  The woman spoke to Julian in a rush of strange syllables, her brows lifted in a question. Julian shook her head as the woman stared assessingly at her, then subjected Charles to the same scrutiny. Elspeth had often complained of beggars and Egyptians in the grounds of Redeswan, but Julian had never been allowed near them; later persecutions had made the household more sympathetic toward those who fled.

  “Why do you tell us your secret?” The woman put her hand on the man’s, and he let it fall from the knife.

  “You are Romany. You know the ways of hiding.” Julian was surprised that her voice did not shake. “We are all fugitive, are we not?”

  “Come with us for now. You shall share our food and tell us your tale.” She smiled, and the black eyes lit up. "You are bold and that is amusing.”

  Charles expelled his breath with an audible sound. The dark man grunted, jerked his head at them, and strode away toward the distant hill, the child at his heels. The very set of his back was one of resistance.

  The woman said, “I am Armita, that is my husband, Yarno, and our daughter, Tasa.”

  “Alison and Ned.” Julian spoke quickly before Charles could. The simple tale that had come to her would have to suffice.

  “Come.” Armita began to walk swiftly ahead.

  Charles held Julian back for an instant and looked into her face, his gray eyes serious. “Boldly done. I hope it is wise. Those who seek us would do anything to get us back, pierce any guise, take any revenge.”

  Julian wondered if the old Charles Varland would have cared for the fate of others. Had she considered that, or had she thought only of the fact that they two were distinctive in appearance and known to be good at disguise? "We can give each other protection in a group.” She took his hand then, and they followed Armita.

  A temporary shelter was built into the side of the hill end was bordered with rocks, concealed with brush and cloth nearly the color of the ground. Unless one looked for it, the gaze would pass completely over. Now, however, a carefully tended fire burned in a niche close by, and delicious smells rose from a suspended pot. A bearded man of anywhere from forty to sixty whispered with Yarno, who indicated him as “my uncle, Sedril.” Sedril glared and said nothing.

  As they sat over stew and water, Julian spoke while Charles nodded encouragement. They had been betrothed since youth, loving each other always. She had gone to work in a great house in the northern part of England while he went with Philip’s armies. The master took liberties with her, then dismissed her in anger with no pay. Her family was dead, there was nowhere to turn, and she was then accused of theft, a hanging offense. Luckily, Ned deserted the army and returned to help her escape. Both were sought and had had some difficult escapes. Ned, she added, had noble blood. The wrong side of the blanket, of course, but still there. Their natural pride had to be explained in some manner. They were weary and needed something of safety.

  Armita was spokesman for the group, and her soft voice seemed the catalogue of Mary’s reign to Julian as she said, “Once we were a proud tribe, traveling in many lands. One branch came here and settled as much as we ever do, harming no one by holding to our ancient ways. We lived apart and wandered in the summer, returning in the winter to restore ourselves. The soldiers came early one morning last fall and fell upon us in the name of their Christian God and the queen. Few escaped, and now we wander from one place to another, barely pausing and suspicious of all.”

  “We are grateful for this shelter,” Julian told them.

  “The honor is ours.” Sedril spoke for the first time. “The tradition is ours and the words spoken. Welcome.”

  Charles said, “How can we repay your hospitality, this brief respite from fear? We are more than grateful.”

  Sedril laughed, and the sound was good to hear. “Take the shelter this night, you and the woman of your flesh. We will speak in the morning. I have a plan.”

  Julian felt her face flame in the dim light of the fire. Betrothal was counted as marriage and they had lain together many times, but this was before others and somehow different. She could not protest, nor did she really want to. The flames were reflected in the gray eyes opposite her, and her flesh longed for his.

  Later she waited for Charles, her body newly sponged and anointed with aromatic herbs, her hair a gleaming coppery mass down her slender back. The one candle gave off enough light to show the arranged pallets also scattered with herbs. She lay there, a soft garment of thin yellow cloth covering her from breasts to thighs, the pink tips of the nipples thrusting up. For the first time in a long while Julian was content to live in the moment and savor it, to anticipate the coming of her lover as any maid might do.

  “My love, my fair one.” Charles slowly, divested himself of the cloak he wore over his nudity. His body was honed hard and muscular despite the months of captivity; he had often exercised as he lay still, pressing muscle against muscle, relaxing and tensing them in a struggle to remain fit and to keep from going mad. There were scars on his back, and one ran from shoulder to hip over his chest. The tapering legs, the proud column of his neck, the thrusting shaft that was lifted erect, all joined in an eagerness that could not wait.

  They caught each other, clasped, and she opened to the hunger that threatened to overcome them both. There was pain, a quick igniting, an explosion. Then they lay fused but not satisfied, arms wrapped around and mouths together, waiting for the power that had ever been between them, that which had first lured and then taken and now was a part of the growing richness of their relationship.

  The fire came again and was as quickly assuaged. Neither of them could forget the times they had been torn, both by themselves and the forces of circumstance, but this was not the time for words. Their bodies spoke of loss and loneliness, the deep yearning that may go forever unsatisfied, and the ultimate departure of all flesh. In sensation, deep-locked kisses, and thrustings they pushed away the inevitable.


  When the joy came Julian was ready. Her hands remembered the secret places of the beloved body, her mouth recalled the taste of his manhood and the power of it on her tongue. This time she welcomed him into her mouth, drawing on him with eager lips, her fingers on the base of his delight. He erupted and she took it, making his juices her own, then writhing in her turn as his tongue found its way to the tiny, flaming mound and reduced her to shivering splinters of light.

  His mouth took one rosy nipple and pulled on it gently while one hand rose to the other. Julian touched the stalk that had penetrated and drained her, and saw that it grew strongly in her fingers. She began to tremble as she put her fist on his chest and pushed him backward. “I will have you now.” The voice might not have been her own, so soft was it, and his eyes widened as she rose to stand over him, her body bare and golden in the light. His face grew eager, some of the new lines were wiped away as his flesh arched expectantly.

  Julian swayed toward him, her legs spread so that she stood over his chest and face, her long hair tumbling almost to meet the darker at her womanhood, which was pulsating with banked longing. Charles lifted both hands to pull her down, but she shook her head. The time was not ripe. She began to move as though in the first part of a luring dance. Her fingers curled and slipped down her smooth sides, then rose again above her head so that her full breasts bounced, the nipples high and hard. One foot lifted, touched his chest and drifted down his stomach. She sank so low that his tongue reached out to flick at her warmth; she paused and almost yielded to the urge to remain there and let him take her. Then she pulled back and rose to sway back and forth, hands now lifting her hair, now cupping her breasts as she bent to kiss him. His manhood rose harder, and his mouth twisted but he lay still, watching her.

  Julian knelt and lowered herself onto the spike, letting it go to the fullest depth as it almost split her. Impaled and impaling she rose to the very end of it and came down again and yet again. Legs, arms, and body melted over Charles as she felt herself pulled by the storm that would take them both and over which neither had any control. Jagged flashes came before her eyes and she stiffened, then rose into brilliant light as sweat poured over her. Charles caught her to him, and his mouth locked with hers, their tongues going deep. Twined together they entered into the flames and rose as the phoenix.

  Later when a brief sleep had refreshed them, Charles sat up and drew Julian onto his lap while he teased and tantalized her breasts, caressed her mouth with brief kisses, and finally let his fingers drift lower to send little chills over her stomach and lead the way for the conflagration that was to come. In her turn she teased his manhood with her soft mouth, touching the tiny lips there until Charles clutched her waist for sheer hunger and both implored her to continue and to stop. They joined themselves together in exploratory fashion, her legs beyond his hips, and began to move slowly at first as they looked into each other’s eyes and tried to hold back the time of rising. It could not be done, and once again that magic that was peculiarly their own raised and tossed and burned. Julian felt that she could not get enough of him, that some part of them remained unjoined, and they clung together so tightly that neither could move. Their mouths locked, and he firmly remained in the depths of her body that refused to relinquish him—joyous prisoners of each other.

  Julian woke once in what must have been the deepest reaches of the night. The candle had gone out, but she could see the aquiline nose, the patrician lines of his profile as he slept on his back, open and vulnerable to her. She reached out to touch the long scar, then put her lips to it in the shuddering realization of how close they had come to death. He did not wake, but the sound of her name sighed across the darkness, and then he was still. She slipped closer to him and drew the covers over them both. Instinctively he fit his body to hers and sighed once more. “Love, dear love.” Was it her name or another’s? It did not matter, for this time and this moment they were together in passion and tenderness; that was all and enough.

  In the gray light of dawn Julian and Charles met again in a union of lips, hands, and flesh so slow and heart-breakingly tender that she thought she would remember it all her life. Their mouths met, cherished, drew apart and merged again as their hands touched and stroked. The final coupling was gentle and warm, a blessed-thing that made her understand the true meaning of the words that had previously been only that, “one flesh.”

  When they moved apart, she said, “I love you, Charles. I always will.” Bare as her flesh was her heart before him, her natural guard down in this time like no other.

  He touched her lips with one finger and whispered, “I should have met you long ago, Julian. Can you believe that?” His eyes spoke of love, but he would not say the words that might bind him.

  “Aye.” He had said them once in his extremity. In time he would say them again and freely. “I believe you, dear lord.”

  They curled close again; this time sleep was deep and profound.

  Julian had no idea of the time when she came languidly awake, stretched so that all the joints of her body seemed fluid, and rolled over to lie on her back, thinking of the enchanting things they had done in the past hours. How their bodies had ignited each other! Was this how it was for those who truly loved? Her lips curved into a smile, and she stretched again.

  “You are a purring cat, a tawny lioness, a lazy wench. I have been up these hours.” Charles entered the shelter and stood smiling down at her, his eyes alight as she had not seen in a long time. “Well, maybe just an hour. Get up, there is stew for breakfast.”

  “A delicacy I love. What have you been doing?” She drew the coverlet over her bare body and saw his gaze flicker with the beginning of the heat. At the same time she realized how hungry she was. They must be on the road as soon as possible, but the night had been a dream, a fantasy. She smiled up at him and welcomed the brilliant one he returned to her.

  He sat down on the edge of the pallet, his expression now grave. “I have been talking to Sedril. Soon it will be time for their spring and summer wanderings; they have lost many of their kin in that surprise raid and do not wish to return. He invites us to join them and become part of their group. He did not say so, but I think any suspicion might be allayed by the presence of two who are so obviously of the born English.” His lips quirked wryly. “I think we must do it for our safety, but I said that I must consult you.”

  It was one answer, Julian knew, and they would be far less recognizable in company. She could have hoped for no more, and she knew that Sedril was keeping the code of the gypsies. Charles knew it, too.

  “I can imagine what Sedril thinks of a man who thinks that he must consult a woman!” They both laughed, and her hand went out to cover his. “Agree and offer them our heartfelt thanks. How bitter it must be for all who are persecuted, and the way things are today, anyone is likely to be.”

  He shifted uneasily and said, “He told me another thing. All the country must know for certain what has been rumored for months. There was no labor, only a great convulsion, and the queen sustained a fever which passed. She is not with child for all that her stomach is distended. One of the physicians said so and barely escaped with his life; further, he said that her days were numbered. England will at least escape the fearful danger of a Catholic heir. The queen has been said to be in ill health before and has lived on. I must find out what is going on and how stands the cause of the princess.” The new peace had departed from his brow, which was furrowed with concentration.

  Julian caught desperately for the happiness that was just born. “We will find out in our travels, Charles, for much information can be picked up in the towns and inns. Are not gypsies welcome in many places simply for the mirth they bring? And safe enough so long as they move quickly about?”

  He slapped his hands together and rose, his expression lightening. “I am sure you are right. Dress quickly, wench, the stew awaits!” He strode from the shelter, leaving her to search for her gown.

  The days that foll
owed were those that Julian was ever afterward to call the days of the kingfisher, a halcyon time of drifting securely on the waves of a quiet sea. The first tentative spring winds opened and hardy buds of trees, and grass showed green by the roadsides. The noons were now a warm gold, the span of hours longer before the fragrant, chilly nights set in. Flowers showed in the hedges, and sometimes they saw a tree crowned in shimmering leaves as if to anticipate all that April and an English spring could bring. Julian’s heart opened out to the beauty around her and to the love that grew with each passing moment.

  They kept to the forest paths, venturing down into a hamlet only once. No one paid them any heed, but it was not a comfortable feeling for all that they tried to act as if they were friends or relatives traveling together. The others rolled in cloaks and slept outside at night. Charles grew adept at constructing a shelter of sorts for himself and Julian, and they remained apart from their friends, taking their pleasure of each other in the scented nights until they were exhausted.

  Charles talked no more of state affairs or the princess he served. Julian thought only now and then of the queen, who was near to losing the little she had. For now they two were man and woman in the spring world that might have been created for them alone.

  In this time, too, they talked as they had in the cave of poetry and philosophy and the ways of history, of themselves and their childhoods, of their delights and hurts. Charles came to speak of Beth naturally to Julian, and she, for her own part, found that much of the degradation she had felt by association with George Attenwood was leaving her. As time passed she even mourned the death of such a talent to Charles and found that he understood that, too. But of the future and what it might hold they did not speak.