by Lila Dubois
A carriage rounded the last bend in the drive. There were five carriages in all, and cars behind that. The carriages stopped in the drive and men, women and children piled out.
They were elaborately dressed, in outfits that would at best be described as trashy. He knew more than most about the Romany people. His family was, after all, a patron of the Romany. At times when the prejudice against them was strongest, the Eahrington lands had been a sanctuary.
They were a strange people, full of contradictions. The women were chaste, guarding their virginity with a vigor that was entirely missing from the modern world, yet he saw vast expanses of flesh bared by their skimpy outfits.
There was a moment of discomfort as he saw a man in a suit climb out of the most decorated of the carriages. The girl’s father. They treated this like a marriage, and the father would have spent thousands of pounds organizing the event—but it was not a marriage. The girl was William’s property, not his wife.
A giant black meringue climbed from the carriage.
William blinked and blinked again, astonished by the size of the girl’s dress. They lined up, processing up the drive to the house. Small girls in hot-pink dresses scattered rose petals in the gravel, then moved off to the side.
William kept his eyes on the girl, who was covered by the large skirt and a concealing black veil.
She was so swathed in fabric he couldn’t tell anything about her.
“My good and kind Lord Eahrington!” her father shouted, coming to a stop.
William bowed in acknowledgement, then said, “My good tinker, welcome to my lands, may you always find sanctuary here.”
“Thank you. You do my people a great service.”
William nodded slightly. The father opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away. Again, William felt a pang for this man. Among his people, girls were given away in marriage but they would never be far away. It was rare for a child to really leave, as his daughter was about to.
“My, ahem, my Lord Eahrington. In acknowledgement of the service your family has done mine, and in hopes that we might continue to know your favor, I offer you a tribute.”
The man’s voice, already thick with an Eastern European accent, grew harder to understand as emotion filled his words.
“I offer you flesh of my loins, blood of my veins. I offer you my daughter, a beautiful woman and a fearsome flier.”
He pulled back the blusher that covered her face and William caught his breath.
She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Her face was a pale oval with almond-shaped eyes fringed in dark lashes. Her breasts swelled from above the bodice of the overly sequined dress and her waist was so tiny he was sure he could have wrapped his hands around it.
Her lids were lowered, hiding her eyes. The silence stretched as William struggled to find his voice. She looked up, a question on her face, and he was caught by her stare. Her eyes were the blue of a deep lake and as captivating as the glitter of a sapphire.
“I-I—” he stuttered. William shook himself and looked away from the girl. “I offer you my thanks for such a tribute. It is with pleasure I welcome one of the Romany into my house.”
He drew his sword. He held it with the tip pointed down. Slowly she came forward, moving away from her father. The girl was supposed to kneel and kiss the crossbar of the sword. As she was about to kneel William caught her elbow. A shock as sharp as if he’d licked a battery zipped through him when his hand made contact with her bare skin.
He raised the sword, bringing it to her lips rather than making her kneel. She smiled, a dark thing of wonder that made her eyes glitter. She kissed the sword, then dipped her head and backed away.
The women in pink gathered around her as if they were a flock of radioactive flamingos and escorted her back to the carriage. The men stayed in the clearing, waiting.
He hadn’t expected to have this kind of reaction to her. His father’s falcon had been a dark-skinned, dark-haired woman who laughed too loud and ate too much—nothing like this beautiful girl.
One of the women ran up to the girl’s father and whispered in his ear. He nodded.
He approached William, who shook himself to return his attention to the present.
“My Lord Eahrington, enjoy your gift and remember the Romany.” He handed William a thick leather glove. William slipped it on. The inside had been lined with sheepskin, the leather beautifully tooled with patterns of the cosmos.
William nodded.
The girl’s father stood there for a moment, poised as if he would say something more, but he didn’t.
Instead he motioned for one of the other men to bring forward a trunk, which was set at William’s feet.
The Romany were all looking to the sky. William tipped his head back, knowing what was to come but excited nonetheless.
She appeared from among the tops of the trees. She was sleek and beautiful, darting through the sky effortlessly.
The falcon rose high into the air until she was no more than a speck, then dove, wings drawn in slightly to increase her speed.
With his heart in his throat, William held out his arm. He had eyes for nothing but the peregrine descending from the heavens. The falcon dipped so low he worried for a moment she would hit the gravel, but she pulled up, wings spread to break her progress, and landed with a heavy thump on William’s outstretched wrist.
The falcon turned wide, round eyes on him, regarding him with an intelligence that could be mistaken for nothing but human.
Tentatively he stroked her back, whistling softly. The falcon dipped its head.
He’d imagined this moment for so long, yet his imaginings were nothing compared to the wonder he now felt.
When he looked away from the falcon the drive was empty, the Romany gone.
Chapter Two
The falcon too looked around the empty driveway. Her beak parted, wings lifting but she did not fly away.
William opened his mouth to say something to her but realized he didn’t know her name. He looked at the trunk at his feet and wondered what it carried. Carefully balancing her, he knelt and flipped it open. Jeans, shirts, makeup, a brush, underwear. Blushing, he quickly shut it and stood.
The falcon was watching him. He could see the shadow of cool blue eyes in her black stare.
Perhaps his grandfather had been wrong. Perhaps there was no need to treat his Hunting Pair like animals. William’s carefully laid plans for dealing with the falcon and wolf were fading under the enchantment woven by the beautiful falcon-woman.
Her head turned, cocked to the side. Her wings spread, one slapping against William’s face as she took flight. He fell back a step, hand on his cheek. The falcon pulled a tight circle around his head, then flew to the house. She landed awkwardly on a window ledge, looked back at him and then took flight. Again she circled him and flew back to the house.
William didn’t understand she was warning him until he heard the growl. By instinct he reached for the sword in the scabbard at his side, but he didn’t free it in time.
The wolf’s leaping attack knocked him down, trapping his sword arm across his body. It snarled, teeth inches from his face.
The snarl stopped, the wolf’s tongue lolled from its mouth. William’s heart was beating so loud he could hear it. The wolf licked his cheek.
“Ugh,” William said.
It made an odd chuffing noise, then casually got off William. Was the wolf laughing at him?
The wolf loped away, around the back of the house toward the forest. William stood and lifted his hand. The falcon, who’d been circling the drive, settled on his wrist, head bobbing.
“It appears my other tribute has arrived,” he told the falcon, “with much less ceremony than you received.”
She cocked her head and William wondered if she could understand. Falcon hearing was different, more precise, than that of humans. His grandfather had told him that neither the falcon nor the wolf could understand the words of humans when they
were animals, but that they could read lips.
William considered saying it again, more slowly, but decided to wait.
A blond man, tall and lean with arms roped in muscle and a quicksilver smile, appeared from the forest. He carried a duffle bag and a leather coat.
With a mocking smile, he dropped the bag and bowed.
“From your, ah, furry friends,” he said in a deep Norwegian accent. “Don’t let the bad men shoot us, and in exchange you get me.”
He couldn’t be more than twenty-five, and looked younger when he grinned and swept his long, blond hair back from his pale face. So this was the wolf.
The werewolf cocked his head and looked William up and down in a decidedly lustful manner.
Wonderful, William thought sourly.
The man leaned toward the falcon, taking a deep breath. His pupils dilated briefly and he snapped at the bird, who jerked back, nearly falling from her perch on William’s arm. Her talons dug into his arm, painfully pinching his flesh through the glove. He reached for her with his other hand and the falcon snapped at him, her sharp beak gouging a piece from his arm.
“Stop,” William barked, tone reverberating with command.
Perhaps his grandfather had been right. For all they could look human these two were animals. The soft feelings that had blossomed when he’d seen the girl were ruthlessly uprooted.
These creatures were his property—nothing more.
“You will return to human,” he told the falcon. He lifted his arm and she flew into the sky, disappearing into the trees that lined the drive.
“You are the wolf,” he said to the blond man.
“Christoffer, my lord.” He bowed mockingly.
William would teach the boy to respect him. He blotted at his bleeding arm with a handkerchief. Christoffer grabbed his arm and began to lick the wound. William pulled his arm away. Disgusting.
Christoffer laughed.
William’s teeth clenched in mounting anger. The situation was slipping from his control and he would not have it.
There was a rustle and William and Christoffer both looked to the trees. The girl, completely naked, tentatively stepped onto the gravel.
Her hair hung to her waist. She’d pulled it forward to cover her breasts and had one hand spread over the apex of her thighs. Her gaze was lowered, a painful-looking blush covering her cheeks.
William took a step forward, intending to go to her, but Christoffer loped over to the girl. She shied away, her hair falling away to reveal one pert breast. William ran over. He grabbed Christoffer, pulling him away from the girl. He was surprised at the younger man’s strength, as he wrapped his arms around Christoffer’s chest and struggled to hold him.
“Dress,” he barked at the girl. She winced as she made her way across the gravel to the trunk. William released Christoffer.
“She smells good.” Christoffer leaned in to William’s shoulder and sniffed, then pulled back sharply, his eyes wide in surprise. “You smell…” He shook his head and said something in what William assumed was Norwegian.
“You will speak English from now on,” William said tersely, tugging the hem of his shirt. Christoffer smiled, showing his teeth.
William turned his back on the boy, though his shoulders prickled. Instinct bade him keep the wolf in his sights, prevent a sneak attack, but he knew better than to show that he was rattled.
The girl was now clothed in a pair of low-riding jeans and a tight shirt made of some fuzzy fabric in a horrid lime-green color. Travelers were not known for their modesty or good taste, for all their “purity laws”.
“My God, what is she wearing?” Christoffer propped his elbow on William’s shoulder.
William pushed his arm away. “She’s Romany,” he said, knowing it wasn’t really an explanation.
“Sigøyner?” Christoffer barked out a laugh. “She’s a gypsy. No wonder she dresses like a Czech hooker.”
“You’ll show her respect,” William commanded, feeling protective of the girl. Christoffer raised his brows and, for a moment, William doubted himself. Had he shown weakness by defending her? No. She was his property, just as Christoffer was, and he would have to teach Christoffer to respect her because of that.
Christoffer snorted and wandered away to pick up his duffle bag. William moved to the girl, whose head was bent, her hair falling around her face. She was still blushing. Christoffer walked up and she lifted her head.
“You will watch your words,” she said, voice tight. Christoffer’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“The little bird is angry with me,” Christoffer said to William, rolling his eyes. He grinned and turned to the house, dismissing her.
“You cannot run faster than I fly. You cannot weave through trees quick enough to protect your eyes from my claws. I am Kalo and you will respect me, you filthy, butt-licking dog.”
Her eyes sparkled, her chest rose and fell with each panting breath and William realized her face was tinged pink with anger, not embarrassment. Christoffer’s mocking façade slipping for a moment. His shoulders hunched forward, his knees bent and his eyes narrowed. The laughter was gone and what remained was a predator. The girl’s fingers curled into claws.
Animals. They were animals.
It was time to assert himself. The girl’s beauty and Christoffer’s unconventional arrival had thrown him, but no more. He was William Fitzwilliam, Lord of Eahrington.
William grabbed Christoffer by the back of the neck and forced him down. Christoffer fell to his knees, his shoulders tense. He reached back to push William’s hands away but William transferred his hold to Christoffer’s hair, forcing the boy’s head to bend and exposing his neck. Tension radiated off the werewolf and William stepped closer, looming over him. He pushed away fear, knowing the wolf would be able to scent it.
You are mine. I am your master, he chanted to himself, exuding dominant energy.
Christoffer relaxed, his body going limp and his head falling forward, further exposing his neck. William grinned in savage satisfaction. He turned his attention to the girl.
“You will not harm him,” William told her, his hand still fisted in Christoffer’s hair. “He is my property—as you are, and to harm him would be to disrespect me.”
The girl immediately nodded her understanding. She moved to William’s side and dropped to her knees, leaning into his leg.
William placed his free hand on her head. Her hair was wondrously soft.
As he looked down at the creatures that knelt at his feet, satisfaction such as he’d never known swelled within him. He was powerful, strong. He was complete now.
The Hunting Pair had arrived.
Christoffer stared at the gravel of the drive, heart pounding. This man was not what he’d expected. He’d imagined the lord would be commanding—he was rich and landed, which always came with some authority—but he had not expected real dominance. When the lord had forced him to his knees, forced him to expose his neck, Christoffer had slipped easily and quickly into the submissive role.
The lord was Alpha, the way Christoffer’s own father was. The minute Christoffer had felt and scented that dominance he’d had no choice but to obey. His veins hummed with calm expectation. Calm because a leader was there, and a leader meant guidance, security. Expectation because Christoffer must be ready to obey the Alpha at any moment.
The calm and expectation were the properties of the wolf. The human side of him was shivering in fear. This man was not what he’d expected, not what he wanted. He wanted someone soft and pathetic, someone he could push and goad by being outrageous so that when he left, betraying the agreement between the lord and the wolves, the lord would not seek retaliation. He’d agreed to be the tribute, but he had no intention of truly giving his life away.
Panic, creeping as the forest’s shadows, stole into Christoffer’s heart.
With a sigh of pleasure, Mirela leaned against the man’s leg. He was a strong man—that was good. He could control the wolf, which lessened
her fear. She did not know much of or like people who were not Romany, and the lord seemed different than other regular people, easier for her to understand.
She was not without worry. She’d seen the blood dripping from his arm where she’d caught him with her beak, but it had been an accident. Perched on his arm, if she fell she would not be able to spread her wings fast enough to take flight, and a fall to the ground could mean a damaged wing, which she could not bear.
She was glad he’d taken control of the situation with the wolf, who was a very strange person. There was no great quarrel between wolves and falcons, as they were both master predators of their respective niches, but there was no doubt that while on the ground the wolf was the more powerful.
She would protect herself if needed by taking to the sky, but she would much prefer that the lord control him. She dismissed the wolf from her mind. Her only concern was the lord. She would have to train him to hunt properly with a falcon, as she did not want an inept handler, but other than that she would have very little to do with either the man or the wolf. Her home was the sky.
“Rise,” William said, taking his hands from their heads. They climbed to their feet, the girl standing straight, calmly meeting his gaze, the boy keeping his face averted. The situation, which had briefly gone awry, was back under his control. He could now follow the plan he’d spent months crafting and outlining.
“First I will allow you to eat. Then I will show you to your quarters. Follow me.”
He pushed between them and started toward the house. Halfway there, he still hadn’t heard footsteps. He turned. The falcon was struggling to lift her trunk, the wolf watched with a smirk.
“Leave that,” he barked. “And you, leave your bag. You won’t need it.”
The wolf narrowed his eyes but slowly lowered the bag from his shoulder. The falcon immediately started forward and her compliance was deeply satisfying. William passed through the opening in the front wing, their footsteps moving from the crunch of gravel to the muted slap of stone. He opened the door, leading them into the foyer.
“Very English,” Christoffer said. William ignored the insult in the tone. The falcon was looking around with an appropriate level of awe. She stepped toward a tapestry. It was nearly five hundred years old and incredibly fragile.