Meg washed in a bucket at the back of the wagon. She combed her hair and tied it again in the green scarf. Moments later she joined the others before a fire.
After a breakfast of meat pies and hot black tea, she followed Nicoli to the corrals where the horses were kept.
Tristan would have cursed the Gypsy all the more if he'd known how happy and relaxed she was this morning. That is, if it were possible to curse her more. It wasn't.
Tristan rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn, just as the cabin boy entered the captain's quarters with a tray of coffee and freshly baked bread, bought from a bakery a block or so from the docks.
He stood naked beside his bed and groaned in pain as he stretched his arms over his head. Jesus, what had ever possessed him? His head was splitting open. Even though his suffering was solely his fault, for any man with a lick of sense knew better than to drink himself into such a sorry state, he cursed the woman who had sent him to find oblivion in a bottle. Yes, he should have known better than to behave so childishly, but he'd been so filled with anger and frustration, there had been little else to relieve the torment but drink. Certainly taking one of the whores who prowled the docks at night would have brought no relief. It wasn't another woman he wanted. It was a dark-haired, lying, beautiful Gypsy witch that intrigued.
Tristan was not thinking about the sweet and gentle Linda who waited back home, for another had come to possess his mind. And none else but the Gypsy was likely to satisfy.
He eyed the tray and then the boy who wisely made a quick exit. The thought of food made his stomach lurch, but he forced down a hefty slice of dry bread. A moment later he sipped at a hot cup of coffee. How the people in this country could drink that awful tea was beyond him. To his way of thinking, coffee, black and strong was the only way to wake up in the morning.
It was four hours before Edward finally arrived. During that time, Tristan had kept himself busy overseeing the unloading of a cargo of spices and rum. While he worked, he imagined in all of England there was no man more anxious to be on his way to a certain Gypsy camp north of London.
"Jesus, you took your sweet time."
Edward grinned. "With those two, I consider myself lucky to walk, never mind leave when I did."
"You mean you had both of them?" Tristan was far from thrilled to hear this bit of news. Not when he spent the night feeling sorry for himself cursing a damn Gypsy, and nursing a bottle of rum alone.
Edward didn't bother to answer. His grin alone told the truth of the matter.
Tristan sneered. "Bastard."
"What? What did I do? You're the one who wouldn't leave. How did last night go?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
Edward laughed. "Meaning what? Don't tell me. She disappeared, correct?" He laughed again. "I told you to come with me, old boy."
Tristan wasn't about to tell his friend she had indeed disappeared, and with his money yet. He figured Edward was enjoying himself far too much as it was.
"Let's go."
Edward grinned at his friend's surly mood as the two left the ship. A half-hour later, astride horses rented for the day from the nearest livery, they were heading north to a destination approximately ten miles out of London.
The morning was long gone before Tristan and Edward finally came across the encampment.
After the midday meal, Meg returned to the care of the horses. She was brushing down a raven beauty when two men entered the camp. Meg shot a brief glance toward the commotion behind her. The men were far enough away so she couldn't make out their features. But one of them . . . Meg's heart stumbled and then raced madly. No. He wouldn't be here. He didn't know where she was. He couldn't have found her so easily. Meg pushed aside the panic that assailed her and turned back to her work. Even if it was him, she had nothing to fear. Her hands might tremble at the thought of him following her, but she knew she had no cause to fret. As long as she stayed here, her family would protect her.
She didn't know those two. Lord, she prayed she didn't. Many came to the Gypsy camp, some to buy copper pots for their kitchens while others to bargain over choice horseflesh.
Meg berated her wild emotions. It was guilt she suffered. She had to get control of herself. She had to remember the man had gotten no more than he deserved. Perhaps the next time he thought to buy a' lady's favors, he'd be sure -first that they were for sale.
"I missed you last night," came a deep voice, suddenly beside her.
Meg gave a startled jump. She hadn't heard his approach. She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she hadn't' heard a thing but the sudden deep rumbling sound all too close to her ear. It took some doing, but Meg finally managed to tear her gaze from the horse and face this man.
The moment their eyes met, she was sorry she had. Again he captured her in his dark gaze, only this time his eyes held no tenderness, no humor. Meg saw anger blaze in the depths of his eyes, and she shivered at his silent promise of revenge. "I must have misunderstood," he gritted out. "I thought we were supposed to have met at one." "I'm sorry about last night." "Exactly what are you sorry about?" "I didn't mean to give you the impression that I would—"
"The hell you didn't," he interrupted angrily and then gave a silent curse. He hadn't meant for her to know how angry he was at her treachery. It took some effort, but Tristan finally managed to bring his emotions under control. "That was exactly the impression you meant to give."
"I have the money," she said, her voice on the edge of panic. "You can have it back." Silently Meg promised she'd give the good sisters that exact amount from her own allowance as penance for her sins.
"I don't want it."
"You don't?" she asked in amazement, wondering how a man could be so unconcerned about his money.
"I want what the money bought me." "As you can see, it bought you nothing." "That's not how I see it at all," he said, offering no further explanation, but leaving her to fret about how he did see things. His gaze moved to the horse she'd been brushing. "A remarkably good piece of horseflesh, wouldn't you say?"
Meg nodded in agreement, her voice soft and shaking only a little as she remarked. "She's beautiful." •
"That's what I thought from the first moment I saw her."
His gaze returned to hers, his eyes dark, darker than last night, filled with —what? Determination? Anger? A promise to avenge the wrong she had done him? Meg felt a chill of fear race down her back.
"A bit spirited, though. But I think that only makes her more desirable."
Meg didn't answer him. She didn't know what to say, for she had the distinct impression they weren't talking about this horse. "Her coat is — "
"Like black sunshine," he interrupted with a brief smile as his gaze lingered on her hair. And then his voice suddenly lowered to an incredible huskiness that caused Meg's stomach to tighten with unfamiliar discomfort. "It makes a man ache to touch it, to run his fingers through it, to breathe its sweet scent."
Meg swallowed. For the life of her she couldn't utter a word.
"But it's the eyes, I think, that most attract. Dark and clear, they flash with humor and intelligence."
Now Meg was certain they weren't talking about the horse.
"I don't think . . ." Her composure was a thing of the past. Her voice trembled like a young girl's, for she didn't know what to think except how to get away from this man.
"What?" he asked with a small, hard smile as he watched her eyes widen in what looked like confusion. Tristan cursed the thought, knowing she knew well enough what he was talking about, "That she can take the weight of a man?" He shook his head. "She might be a bit slender through her flanks, but she's wide enough where it counts." His gaze took in the lush beauty of unconfined breasts. A small satisfied smile curved his hard lips as he watched her nipples grow tight beneath his intense gaze. And when his glance moved to the soft flaring of her hips, he licked his lips, and Meg felt again a distinct tightening somewhere in her belly. "Her shoulders are smooth." He was looking
at hers. "Her neck perfect, long and strong. I'd say a man would have to search far and even then wouldn't know more pleasure than the feel of her beneath him."
Meg's cheeks blazed with color. Instead of feeling embarrassed at his audacity, she should be furious. It was obvious he was talking about her in the most unseemly way possible. Idly she wondered why she didn't slap his face. Why instead did she allow his words to affect her so? How did the husky timbre of his voice send a shiver of excitement and fear up her spine? Meg realized she was having some difficulty breathing, what with him standing so close. She took a step back. . . I have to go."
"Don't!" he said with such authority that Meg, for the moment, never thought to disobey the command. "We aren't finished yet."
"I'm sorry about last night," Meg blurted out in a rush of sudden honesty. "Truly I am. I was angry. I've never done anything like that before."
Tristan had cause to correct his first impression of her acting abilities. This one was good, better than most. If he hadn't been the one duped, he would have believed every word that came out of her lying mouth.
"Why were you angry?"
"Because . . ." Her face flamed. "Because you assumed that I would . . ." She couldn't find the right words. Meg knew she was deserving of this confrontation, but Lord, this was so mortifying!
"Kiss a man you don't know?" he sneered.
"No!" she answered quickly and then sighed, "Oh dear, I'm sorry about that to."
"It seems you have quite a bit to be sorry for."
Meg felt her hackles rise. How dare he put all the blame on her shoulders? She fumed that he should be so ungallant. After all, much of what had happened was his fault. In truth, all of what had happened was his fault. "Actually, if I remember correctly, it was you who did the kissing," she said in righteous anger. "If you hadn't insulted me by offering money — "
"Oh?" Tristan's dark brow raised in disbelief. A hard smile curved his thin lips. The lines that bracketed his mouth deepened. Meg couldn't believe how startlingly handsome this man was. Even now in anger he set her heart to racing. "Are you now claiming you would have come to me of your own free will?"
Amazingly enough, Meg was feeling less guilty by the minute. As a matter of fact, upon closer inspection, this man wasn't half as handsome as she'd first thought. "I claim nothing of the sort. It was you who asked how much."
"And did I force you to name fifty pounds as your price?" Tristan leaned forward, his stance an. obvious threat. Fury blazed in his eyes as he unconsciously wished to cower her. "If it wasn't enough, tell me what is."
But Meg was angry enough in her own right to dismiss the threat. She glared in return and snarled, "A thousand isn't enough- There isn't enough money in the — "
"How much?" he asked, his rage only barely under control. His hands longed to reach for her, to drag her body against his, to feel again her softness, to absorb again her exquisite trembling. He wished to hell they were alone. "Damn you, name your price!"
"I hate you!"
"Maybe," he granted her with a nod. "Still, last night you kissed me like you couldn't get enough."
"I did no such thing." Meg turned away and shuddered. She didn't want to be reminded of that particular indiscretion. Damn this man's soul that he should dare to bring it up yet again.
She wanted to forget last night and this man along with it. She wanted only to never see him again. If God could grant her this wish, she'd never, never do anything so foolish again. "If you want your money back, fine. If not, go away and leave me alone."
Tristan laughed at her order. "It's not that easy, sweetheart."
Meg was about to ask what he meant when he interrupted with, "What's your name?"
Meg turned to face him again. "Why?"
Tristan grinned. "I make it a point to know the names of all the ladies I sleep with."
"Then you'll never need to know mine, will you?"
Tristan's grin grew into low rumbling laughter. Damn, if this woman wasn't the most appealing little morsel he'd ever met. She interested him like no other, especially when she used that beautiful mouth to sass him. Her eyes flashed with anger, and Tristan felt a surge of lust tighten his loins. Silently he swore he'd have this spirited woman, and if he had anything to say about it, it would be soon, damn soon.
"Stop doing that."
"What?"
"Laughing at me."
"Why? Does it bother you?" he taunted smoothly.
"Yes, it bothers me," she mimicked bravely. "No one likes being laughed at."
He almost grabbed her then. Meg never realized how dangerously close he was to losing control. Tristan fought back the impulse, licked his lips as if remembering some. exquisite taste, and asked lazily, "Like I said, Gypsy, name your price."
"Is there no limit to your insults?"
"Some women would believe my interest a great compliment."
"Well, I'm not some women." Meg tightened her lips into a straight, prim line. "I find you insolent, and your continuous harping on your apparently desperate need for debauchery offends my sensibilities."
Tristan laughed out loud even as his eyes widened with surprise. He hadn't imagined a Gypsy to be familiar with such words. "Do you now? How much would it take before I became more appealing to your sensibilities?"
"It's not how much, it's what."
"All right then, what would make me more appealing?"
"Finding your body floating in the Thames would do for a start."
Tristan laughed again. If possible his eyes darkened with more interest. He couldn't wait for the moment when he was able to wipe that superior look off her face. God, but he was going to enjoy this one like he'd never enjoyed a woman before.
"I see our Meggie has entertained you well. She has wit, does she not?"
Tristan turned to greet Nicoli with a broad smile. "Indeed she has," he remarked, his gaze moving again to her angry face.
Meg sighed with relief to find Nicoli at her side. "So you like this filly, do you? She is my favorite, I think. She won't come cheap."
"I never thought she would," Tristan returned, his eyes never leaving the fuming diminutive woman standing before him.
Meg murmured a few words and excused herself, leaving the men to talk over the business of buying horses.
Chapter Four
Meg knew he watched her throughout the remainder of the day. She could feel his gaze, feel it as if it were a touching, a caress. They had no further contact and yet she never glanced up from any chore without finding his dark gaze moving boldly and with far too much interest over her body. He watched her while she ate. He watched her when she talked to others. He watched her when she laughed and played with her young cousins. And the more he watched, the angrier Meg became.
Meg wished she had the nerve to walk up to the beast and slap his face, for nothing less was worthy of this kind of insolence.
She tried to ignore him. She truly did. But what woman could disregard eyes so hungry? Twice she'd dared to meet them across the campfire when they sat eating their evening meal. And twice she'd been caught in their devouring depths.
She wanted him gone. Lord, when would he leave her in peace?
Meg was rocking her little cousin against her breast when the music began. She smiled at the dancers and wished she was brave enough to lose herself in the pulsating beat of this music.
"Come, little one, you must dance."
"Nicoli, I can't. The baby" she said as she looked down at the sleeping child.
Nanna took the baby into her arms, leaving her without an excuse.
Still, Meg refused. "I don't know how."
"There is little to learn but to move with the music.
"I can't," she murmured even as he pulled her to her feet. "I'll look like a fool." Meg's cheeks grew in color as she imagined Tristan's dark eyes watching her every movement.
Nicoli laughed. "You will not," he assured as he brought her into the circle of dancers.
Her movements were stiff as
she tried to copy the others. She felt totally inept and close to tears as she swayed awkwardly to the music. How could she relax and move with the music while that man watched? Go away! Go away! her mind screamed. I don't want you here!
Meg's eyes met with his again. She saw the mockery in their depths. He knew it was because of him that she didn't want to dance, that she couldn't dance. Meg's backbone stiffened as she silently cursed her foolishness. Why should she allow this man such control? He was nothing to her. Less than nothing. She would ignore him. If she couldn't make him go, then she'd pretend he was gone, pretend he didn't exist.
Meg stood still for a moment as her cousin moved easily, smoothly before her. His dark eyes flashed with laughter as he silently taunted her to put aside her timidity, her lack of confidence, to let go of her reserve and give herself up to the music.
Meg closed her eyes in obedience as she allowed her mind to absorb the beat. Its throbbing sound seeped slowly into her blood. She soon forgot her questionable ability as the music took hold and caused the movement she was powerless but to allow.
She never realized her hips swayed. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back as her body became part of the music. Her movements grew purely sensual as she became immersed in the rhythm, in the thrill of moving, in the freedom of expression. The throbbing took control. It entered her blood, it palpitated throughout her body, daring her on to more erotic, seductive mobility. She danced because she was helpless but to do anything else, and just as helpless were a pair of dark eyes across the camp, drawn to the beauty of her alluring motion.
Her eyes met his through the dim light cast by the fire, and Meg suddenly realized she moved for both their pleasure. Despite the unsettling feelings he caused, despite her anger at him today, she knew she danced for him.
His eyes widened in admiration. His gaze never left her, and Meg's movements grew bolder, more daring as she taunted his senses to madness.
Tristan stood alone, leaning against the trunk of a tree. He watched her as he had most of the afternoon, wondering if his legs would stop shaking long enough to walk to her and drag the little witch into the woods. God, had he ever seen anything half so beautiful as this woman? Her body flowed as if it had absorbed the sound and she were the music. She twirled in a circle. All thoughts of modesty abandoned as her skirts rose to display naked legs. Her arms reached high above her head as she leaned back and thrust her breasts enticingly toward her partner. And then she grinned as her gaze met the approving eyes of her cousin. All too soon she lowered her arms to. her side and whirled again, her hair flowing wildly about her face and shoulders as she leaned just a bit closer to the man before her.
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