by Lindy Corbin
Juliet watched as she placed a copper kettle over the flame of a small burner and measured tea leaves into a china pot with faded red roses painted on its rim. Cups were pulled from hooks on the wall and the woman spun a stick in a pot of thick golden honey, adding a hefty portion to each. When it was ready, Vadoma handed her a cup and settled next to her on the bench. The old woman sighed with pleasure as she sipped at her own cup of steaming brew. Hot and sweet, it was exactly what Juliet needed.
“Marko was named our Rom baro two years ago,” the woman said, her words heavily accented with the rhythm of various languages. “I have watched him grow into a strong man, one not likely to give over to a girl’s whim.”
“Marko is the tribe’s leader?” Juliet couldn’t keep the wonder from her tone. She’d sensed the change in him – the tough, almost dangerous edge that he’d not carried when she’d known him before. It made him more attractive, she realized with uneasy surprise. What kind of woman was she that her breath quickened and her body tightened with cravings for the dark and dangerous?
“We chose him because he is experienced in the outside world. We have done well under him.” The old lady spread her hands to display the gold rings that adorned each finger. “We have what we need and it is enough for most, but not for Marko. I fear that he is being seduced by the outside ways.”
Roms, Juliet knew, preferred to keep their money on their person in the form of jewelry or coins. It wasn’t so much the gaudy display that most people thought as a handy way to trade. To be tied down by too many possessions was sacrilege. Gypsies wanted no more than the wind at their backs and the stars over their heads at night. They traveled with the seasons, wintering in the warmer climates and returning to England with the spring. It had once been all Juliet desired as well, but looking around the tiny wagon, she wasn’t sure if she could have turned her back on all she knew to take up this life. “To desire a sturdy roof over your head is not an unusual thing,” she said with a touch of asperity.
“Perhaps not for some,” the old woman agreed. She took another sip from her cup. “We have adopted other things from the gadjos. Our marriages have been blessed by the parish priest these long years now. Our children are baptized and thus can’t be taken from us as heathen slaves.”
Juliet frowned. “But I was bound to Marko. I watched your tribe dance around the May pole–”
“Yes, yes,” Vadoma interrupted, “we honor the old ways as well. To not do so would be to tempt fate, wouldn’t it?” She shrugged. “I have seen many generations jump the Springfire for luck, but still very little of it falls on my people.”
The gypsies had lived with distrust and persecution for centuries. The ways in which such a history would shape a person were hard to imagine. Juliet frowned as she stared into her cup. There was some undercurrent to the conversation that was eluding her. “So you don’t believe in the ancient magic?”
Carefully setting her cup to one side, Vadoma reached to take Juliet’s hand and turned it palm up. Her skin was surprisingly smooth; it was likely the younger women of the tribe did most of the chores. Juliet’s breath caught and held as the woman bent her head over their joined hands and stared down at them with quiet intent.
“I believe we are born with a destiny that is written in the stars and reflected in our palm,” she said at last. She traced one fingernail across Juliet’s palm, the touch light yet somehow searing at the same time.
Juliet wanted to jerk her hand away, to scrub the skin of her palm against the fabric of her dress to erase the mark that must surely be there. Instead, curiosity rose in her. Destiny. It was not something she’d placed much faith in these last years. If her destiny was to endure the life of a spinster, fallen from grace, she cried foul. There had to be more to expect from the rest of her days. She wanted to run her own home. She wanted a husband to help shoulder the burdens of life and children to brighten her days. She wanted peace, comfort, passion and love.
She leaned closer to stare at her own palm. Hope thrilled through her veins. “What do you see?
The woman was silent for a moment. “The path is clear. Staying on the path? It is not so easy.”
Ambiguity. Disappointment settled into the pit of her stomach. She might have expected it. In fact, gypsies were known for saying just enough to lead their victim to draw their own conclusions about their fate. Looking intently at the lines etched in her skin, she wondered whether there was anything to be seen there at all or if it was just a way for the Rom to part the foolish gadjo from their money. In fairness though, Vadoma had not asked for anything in return for the palm reading.
“But if it’s destiny?” she said with an uncertain tremor. “Won’t you return to the path until it is fulfilled?” The idea that her life was pre-ordained held a certain appeal. It might be easier to bear the lack of a husband and children if the loneliness were not of her making.
A short knock sounded and the door to the vardo swung open, letting in a rush of cool night air. Marko leaped up the narrow stairs in a single smooth motion and pulled the door shut behind him. His presence seemed to fill the small wagon to the point of suffocation. Juliet’s fingers tightened over Vadoma’s. He was incredibly handsome in a dark, exotic fashion that drew her gaze. She knew she was staring but couldn’t stop herself. She had missed him dreadfully. Without him, it seemed that she had been stuck in limbo, existing with no real purpose, waiting for his return to bring color and excitement back into her life.
“Ma.” The woman patted Juliet’s hand then released it. “Madam Destiny can always use a little nudge in the right direction.”
“Shade the lamp,” Marko instructed in terse tones. “We don’t want to be seen as we go.”
When the door closed behind them, Juliet squinted her eyes as they adjusted to the dimness. Marko moved ahead, a silent silhouette against the flickering of firelight that edged between the trees. Lifting her skirts, she hurried after him.
The horse that had been saddled was a large, sturdy gelding as capable of pulling a wagon as carrying two people. Juliet stood at its shoulder, silently cursing herself for not wearing a riding habit. With the current fashion of narrow skirts, she’d have to ride sideways. Marko mounted then leaned down, one arm extended to help her up in front of him on the saddle.
He saw her hesitation but did not straighten. With quiet authority, he said, “Your brother and his companion are busy for the moment drinking our wine and watching our women dance. Come now if you do not wish to be caught here by them.”
James’ tongue could be cutting when he was angered and it was likely that he had his best friend, Lord Reginald Stowe, with him. The man tended to watch her when he was near. His gaze gave her the shivers, as if his thoughts were immoral. It was enough to spur her into action.
Tossing the edges of her cloak back across her shoulders, she raised both arms. Grasping the horse’s long, plaited mane with one hand, she winced as Marko’s hand circled her other forearm in a crushing grip. For a second, she was airborne then she was settled in front of him with surprising gentleness. Before she could catch her breath, he’d kicked the animal into motion.
Chapter 2
Marko groaned inside as Juliet settled more comfortably across his thighs. He could have sent one of the older men to escort her home but had insisted on doing it himself. He’d told himself that it was to ensure her safety as she was still a young and beautiful woman. Now that he held her, he knew it was because since he had seen her appear at the fire, all he’d wanted was to pull her close. He clenched his fingers on the leather of the reins in an effort to distract himself from the need to tug the pins from her auburn hair and spread the tresses across her breast.
He was silent for long moments, guiding the horse along the track as he absorbed the heat of her skin and imparted his own. She had grown more womanly in the years since they’d last met. The changes fascinated him. She was softer, her body more rounded, yet the gentle gaze and easy smile he remembered had been replaced by th
e nearly constant frown that creased her brow. She had not been happy. That sure knowledge disturbed him, and he shied away from considering it further.
He leaned toward her to breathe in the sweet perfume of her hair. That had not changed. The scent of lavender and rose brought forth memories he thought he’d buried long ago. Her hair flying around her, shining in the sun as she twirled in a field of early wildflowers, the strands sliding across his fingers as he’d held her head for his kisses. It was a delicious form of torture to hold her in his arms again, to feel the lush curves of her body press against him, arousing him with her innocent shifting against his most sensitive areas.
Perhaps not so innocent, he amended as she moved again. She had been touchingly eager to express their young love. He had taken her freely offered virginity even before their hand-fasting, though he had not been wise to the ways of pleasuring a woman. He often regretted those quick, fumbling couplings. Still, even if she had received no further tutoring, she could not be unaware of what she was doing to him. A soft hiss escaped him as she shifted again. “Be still,” he said through clenched teeth, “else you will receive a bedding this night if not a husband.”
She was rigid for a moment, then relaxed back against him. “I’ve seen your woman at the camp. It is unlikely that you would want me when she is waiting for you.”
He thought of Jaelle, a warm and willing mistress, a widow who wanted him only because of the status it gave her to be with the Rom baro. She secretly had eyes for Luca’s youngest son, something he’d known for a time. He’d intended to release her so that she could pursue the desire of her heart, but had never found the right moment. Perhaps it was because he knew that once the tribe crossed back into the north of England this spring, he might need to seek forgetfulness in her body.
“You would be surprised,” he said with deliberate taunting. “I could leave you and go to her later, taking you both in a night.”
She strained to lean away from him. “I have vast experience with exactly how base men can be,” she said, her tone tart with the flavor of bad memories.
“Have you now?” A slow burning fury rose in him at the thought that she’d welcomed other lovers after him. He had carried a heavy burden of guilt at taking her innocence then leaving her behind when the tribe moved on. Surely he had not wasted emotion on a woman who had become no better than a harlot.
“I’ve watched my brother court his love, Charlotte, at a ball with chaste dances and sweet words, then seek out the housemaid for a rut as soon as he returns home.”
“I am not James.” He was unable to keep the loathing from his voice. Juliet seemed to recognize the emotion, her body stiffening.
“You think you are more honorable than he because you trick your female conquests with the pretense of a sham marriage? I would prefer the honesty of admitting it was no more than slaking of a momentary thirst.”
He ignored the hint that she thought him a charlatan. Their marriage had been real enough to both him and the tribe, though short-lived. “Have you had much experience with this slaking?”
She was silent so long that he didn’t think she would answer. His muscles slowly tensed as if waiting for a blow. The sound of the horse’s hooves was muted by the soft mat of dead leaves. As his knees tightened around the saddle, the horse sensed the change in his mood and shifted, sidling with unease.
“I have often thought about what marriage to another would entail,” she said at last, her words soft and uncertain, “but I honored my vows.”
His anger evaporated in an instant, replaced by a fierce sense of satisfaction. He alone had touched her. He had endured months of teasing from the younger men in the tribe after he’d hand-fasted with this woman then left her behind. They had assumed that he had tired of her quickly. They’d not understood the attraction of her pale, soft skin or the honeyed sweetness of her kisses. Nor had they known her quick wit and intelligence, the satisfaction of long afternoons, talking with her and nights of holding her close while the moon slid slowly across the sky. Time had not dimmed the allure she held for him.
It would be interesting to find out if the same held true for her. A smile curved his lips. Though she had boldly demanded her rightful place with her husband, he doubted that she was intent on living the wandering life of a gypsy. Perhaps he should prod her to find out what she really wanted from him.
He bent so that his breath whispered against her cheek. “It seems a shame that someone so young and beautiful should be introduced to the pleasures of the flesh and then left bereft. It must have meant long, empty nights. Have your secret petals swelled and ached for me, my sweet?”
Her gasp was loud, though he couldn’t tell whether it was from outrage or excitement. “You shouldn’t say such things to me.”
“I was your husband. We can speak openly.”
When she didn’t seem capable of responding, he continued, his tone low and musing. “I feel that compensation should be made.” He moved slightly so that his lips grazed against the silken skin near her ear. He felt the slight shiver that she couldn’t control. Lowering the angle at which he held the reins, he allowed the weight of his forearms to rest against the tops of her thighs. He felt the soft, feminine curve of her under the thin skirts and shift. “Is there aught that you would command of me? Any service I can perform?”
“No,” she said, her voice shaky. Then as if it needed emphasis, she said more fiercely, “No.”
His lips curved against her skin. “I feel strongly about settling my accounts. Perhaps a kiss will go some distance toward paying the debt?”
“A simple kiss?” She seemed to grab onto the suggestion with relief in her tone. “That would be acceptable. Then we can have done with this foolishness.” With touching hesitancy, she settled back against him and reached to place her small palm against his skin at the open neck of his shirt. Her hand was cool, but the contact seemed to sear him, leaving him branded with her essence.
He stopped the horse in the edge of a clearing, one he thought she would recognize. Leaving the reins loose on the horse’s neck, he reached to rest one palm at the line of her jaw, tracing the smoothness of her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Tilting her face up toward him, he bent to place a light kiss at her temple. With the slightest increase of pressure, he touched his lips near her ear, then the turn of her jaw, stopping to taste her skin with the tip of his tongue as he went. She was delicious. The silk of her skin, the freshness of her scent made him want to slowly release her from the confines of her heavy cloak and dress, revealing every inch of her beautiful body to him.
As she relaxed, allowing her weight to rest against him, he slid his lips back across hers. With gentle strokes, he teased her mouth open and explored the soft borders of the inside of her lips and the hard edges of her teeth. He teased with a rhythm of increasing pressure then withdrawal, each time taking her more fully into him. The slowly building arousal was like nothing he’d ever experienced. He took his time, enjoying it, reveling in the taste and feel of the woman in his arms.
She made a slight sound, one he wasn’t sure was distress or encouragement. Deliberately, he stilled, testing her resolve. His voice low and surprisingly husky, he asked, “Tell me, Juliet, is this what you sought me out for?”
“No.”
The word had a breathless quality that gave him pause. Slowly, he lowered his head again, his lips settling across hers lightly. She returned the pressure for a moment before turning her head. He whispered against her cheek. “Do not attempt to lie to me. I remember a time when you forgot the gadjo restrictions and led life with your heart.”
She leaned away, against the constraint of his arms. “I have paid dearly for that time.”
Reaching for her hand where it lay against his chest, he slid his fingers against her bare ones. “You chose the path you travelled when you returned my ring.” He turned their joined hands so that she could see the ring he had given her years before, the one he now wore on his smallest finger.
“It was hand-delivered to me by your brother James, along with a message that you never wanted to see me again. Are you denying that you sent him?”
“You know that I didn’t,” she said, the words indignant. “I told you that I waited at our meeting place.”
The words should have brought him a small measure of peace, but instead regret at the time they’d lost rose like a shadow. What would his life and hers have been like if he had waited for her, taken her with him? He frowned as something else nudged at his consciousness. “What of the ring? How could James obtain it?”
She shifted restlessly, pulling her hand from his to pluck at the material of her cloak. “It disappeared from my dressing table. I thought one of the maids had stolen it, but I couldn’t very well ask–”
“Because you didn’t want anyone to know about your gypsy lover,” he finished for her.
Her silence condemned her. The painful twist in his gut was a surprise. He thought he had accepted the conclusion of their affair long ago, had guessed at the reasons for it even then.
“I was young,” she said at last, her voice low. “I was afraid my father would find out and try to stop me.”
“And now that your own kind has turned away, you want your gypsy husband back? I’m hardly flattered.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I no longer want anything from you.” Her voice was high, spiraling with tension. “You have given me your kiss. The debt you imagined is paid. Take me home.”
“Ah, but what if I want more from you?” With careful strokes of his lips against her cheek, he eased his mouth closer to hers. It no longer mattered why she’d come to him. It was enough that she was there.
“What you want is no longer my concern.”
He ignored the unsteady words, studying her actions with close attention. She allowed him to tighten his arms, pulling her closer. Her hands moved to his chest again, her fingers clenching in the material of his shirt. She inhaled deeply, the movement pressing the lightly boned edges of her stays against his ribs.