by Sarah Price
She spent most of her days by herself, nursing her baby. In the beginning, people left her alone. She preferred it that way. But after a few weeks passed, the older women began to complain to her. “You want to eat? Then you must work!” they said, tossing some dirty laundry at her to take to the stream to wash.
She let the laundry fall into the dirt. “I will not wash your dirty rags,” she snapped and walked away.
They complained to the man, the leader of the family. He listened and nodded. But he did nothing. He had other things, more pressing things, on his mind. But he knew that he would have to address the situation soon. The girl was not adapting to the family and it was up to him to see that she did.
Chapter Six
Her heart skipped a beat, sinking in her chest as she felt the firm hand squeezing her shoulder. Shutting her eyes, Sahara bit her lip and fell to her knees. How had he known she was trying to slip under the tent? Sahara only wanted to get some fresh air. Exhausted from the excitement earlier, she had nestled under a blanket, shutting her eyes to the throbbing in her head, and slept all afternoon, right until dusk. When she finally awoke, Sahara began to pace the length of the tent. After several hours of this, she became cramped and restless. Sahara had finally decided that a minute outside was safe enough. Certainly Nicolae would never know. But as she crawled under the canvas, the heavy hand on her shoulder proved her wrong. He would kill her for sure. “Nicolae, I...”
“Ssh!” Sahara opened her eyes quickly, staring up at the man standing over her. In the dim light from the fires, Sahara recognized the man as Emilian. He held a long, slender finger to his lips, telling her to keep silent, afraid that she might draw attention to them. Behind the camp and in the darkness, trees loomed like laughing skeletons as they reached their bony arms out. There was a gentle breeze carrying the breath of spring. An owl hooted in the distance and leaves rustled, causing Sahara to jump and whirl around, ready to face any demon that crept out of the shadows. Emilian eased her fright with a gentle hand as he caressed her arm. “You are thinking of escape, yes?”
She wanted to tell him that nothing could be further from the truth. She had no where to go and no way to get there. But the words wouldn’t form on her lips. Instead, she looked at him. In the soft glow from the moonlight, she could barely make out his features. While they weren't as prominent as Nicolae's, she could tell he was equally as handsome. But what had Nicolae said about him? That he was no longer part of the kumpania? It dawned on her that, just as she knew nothing about Nicolae, she knew even less about his brother. “Why are you shunned by your people?”
Emilian's eyes hardened for a moment then, just as quickly, his anger disappeared. “The gypsy ways are strange to you, yes?” When she didn't reply, he answered her slowly. “To my people, I am a ghost. They look through me, see nothing, and move around me.
“Why?”
He avoided her question. “You hate the gypsies, yes?” He paused, waiting for her answer. None came. In response to her silence, Emilian gave a slight laugh. “I cannot imagine why you should stay. But, S'hara, you must not escape. You must not leave. Think hard about your feelings, S'hara. Their way of life feels right, yes? Perhaps what is strange is not so strange after all.”
For a moment, she wanted to lash out that the gypsy way of life would never feel right. But it would have been a lie. As strange as the gypsies were and as frightening as the experience was, Sahara had, indeed, felt as though she belonged with the gypsies. More so than she had with her father. “Everything is too strange for me to think about my feelings,” she lied. Then, she asked, “You weren't at the feast last night.” She noticed the tension in his face.
Slowly, he answered. “No, I was not at the slava.”
“Why not?”
Emilian stared down at her, his eyes sad and lonely. “I had no business at the slava. And you have no business thinking about escape, S’hara. It is dangerous and you don’t belong out there.”
“I don’t belong here, either!”
In the shadows from the night, she could see a smile cross his face. “Ah, S’hara. Perhaps you actually do.”
“Emilian...”
He turned his back to her. “We go back before Nicolae looks for you, S’hara.”
The thought of Nicolae going into the tent sent a chill down her spine. Swallowing her fears, Sahara allowed Emilian to lift the back of the tent for Sahara. She started to crawl under and, just briefly, thought that she heard him take one step away from the tent but his departure was otherwise silent. Sighing, Sahara took several cautious steps toward the center of the tent and reached for the lantern. The matches fell out from the bottom of the lantern's stand. She bent down, feeling the ground for them. After she had lit the lantern, she hung it back up.
Her eyes darted around the tent as she recounted her meeting with Emilian from the previous evening. He hadn't been at the slava but when she had sat on the wagon steps to eat her papin, he had appeared. Had he been watching her? She hadn't noticed him before. Not at her father's tavern that fateful night. Yet, Nicolae had been there. Her mind flickered back to Nicolae. That burning sensation returned as she remembered him tenderly taking care of her wound earlier that day. Leaning against the post, Sahara felt light headed as she realized she actually desired Nicolae. He was like no other man she had ever met. The way that the people respected him, the way that he took charge, and the gentleness with which he treated her…at least when others were not around. He was mysterious yet authoritative. She felt safe in his presence. Perhaps, she thought, that is why he excites me. She flushed at the thought, embarrassed that she had actually considered Nicolae as a suitable mate. Yet, she wondered at Emilian’s words. It was true that the previous night as the slava, everything had felt right. Even Nicolae's kiss earlier that afternoon had felt right, too. “You silly fool,” she said aloud.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she heard someone approaching the tent. She watched the flap curiously as she recognized Nicolae's voice outside, talking with someone in a low voice. As quietly as she could, Sahara moved toward the flap. Leaning forward, she listened but heard nothing. Silence. Puzzled, she stood upright. She stared back at the flap, positive she had heard someone moving outside. Moving even closer, Sahara reached out to move the flap aside and look for herself. But, as she did so, someone else pulled the flap back from the other side and Nicolae entered, bumping into Sahara and spilling hot fasui down the front of her dress. “S'hara! What in O Del's name were you doing?”
Tears stung her eyes, the burning on her skin searing and painful. Nicolae dropped the bowl and grabbed her, practically ripping the dress off her body. “Stay still,” he commanded. Within seconds, the dress lay at her feet in a pile. Nicolae dropped to one knee, examining her skin. It was red and warm. “It will blister, my curious bori.” He stood up and moved to the flap. Pushing it aside, he called out, “Duda! Bring me a cold cloth at once!” Nicolae returned his attention to the sobbing Sahara. She stood before him in her undergarments, tears falling down her cheeks. Unsure whether her tears were from pain or embarrassment, Nicolae looked around for something she could cover herself with. He found a blanket and picked it up, opening it as he said, “Come here, S'hara.”
Sahara raised her eyes to meet Nicolae's, a mixture of shame and fear in her expression. She had never been so vulnerable, so naked, in front of a man. She backed away, her words barely a whisper. “No.”
A dark shadow seemed to cover him and his voice was deep when he commanded, “Come!” This time, Sahara moved over to Nicolae's side, allowing him to cover her with the blanket so that she could hide her shame. “Much better.” Duda peeked her head into the flap. When she saw Sahara standing next to Nicolae, wrapped only in a blanket, she began to mutter under her breath about this brazen, feisty girl. Ignoring Duda's comments, Nicolae instructed her to apply the cold cloth to Sahara's skin. He watched protectively as Duda gently rubbed a muddy mixture of herbs on the already blistery skin before putting the c
old cloth on top of it. “And see if you can do something about getting her some decent clothing for the morn.” Duda nodded, picking up Sahara's torn dress before she disappeared.
Sahara watched as Duda left the tent. Miraculously, the burning in her side was already subsiding. “Now I have nothing to wear tonight!” Her tears vanished as she realized Nicolae now held her captive in his tent. “How am I supposed to go to my wagon?”
Nicolae stared at her for a minute. Her long black hair hung over her shoulders, covering her down to her waist. The thick white streak over her right ear looked gold in the glow of the lantern. She swayed once as she faced him, her small hands resting on her hips. “This is your home now, S'hara.”
“But I thought this was yours!”
“It is, bori.”
Frightened, half from fear and half from her own drunken desire for the man in front of her, she started for the flap. Nicolae took two bounds, grabbing her arm and jerking her away from the slit in the canvas. His hands on her exposed skin sent a shiver through her. No one had ever touched her. It was warm and strong, yet it frightened her. “Let me go! I won't have you!”
“You have no choice, bori.”
Sahara struggled but Nicolae held onto both of her arms. Tired and feeling weak, she glared at him. “Stop calling me that, whatever it means!”
“Bori, S'hara, means wife.”
Her limbs froze. Images flooded through her mind. The way he treated her, the way people avoided her, the way they had responded to the dance the previous evening. The ceremony, the rituals, and the women. She remembered the women taking her away from the men, covering her head, laughing in joy, then pushing her back toward him. And, suddenly, she understood. Softly, she repeated him. “Wife?” She stared up at him. “That can't be.”
“The ceremony,” he said softly, reaching for her. “It was performed last night, S'hara.” He pulled her toward him, his last sentence barely a whisper as he lowered his mouth onto hers passionately. Once again, Sahara fought him. She tried to turn her face away but he pulled her closer, forcing her to tilt her head toward his. His tongue pried her mouth open. Slowly, Sahara stopped fighting back and stood there, passive to his advance. Her mind reeled and she was battling a dozen emotions. He had lied to her and now, by gypsy law, she was married to him.
Nicolae noticed the fight had vanished. He looked into her eyes, his hold still tight around her. He traced her chin and throat, his fingers lingering just momentarily until he removed the blanket and tugged gently at her undergarments. “Yes, you are my wife, S’hara. And tonight, we will make love.” He spoke with words that were low and soft. “You will make love to me tonight and enjoy it as much as I, my bori. My beautiful, beautiful bori…” Again, his voice trailed off and he covered his mouth with hers again, walking backward and guiding her there with his body.
She didn’t resist, too aware of the conflicting emotions that flooded through her body and mind. Wife, she repeated. Wife. The word seemed so foreign, as foreign as the gypsy language. Only a few days ago, her life was so staid and set, focused on her father’s saloon. Today, she was married to the future leader of the gypsy clan, destined for a life of travel and adventure. There was a level of excitement building in her, especially when she lifted her eyes and saw Nicolae still staring deeply in to her face. His eyes glowed, sparkling with life…sparkling with love. She wondered why he had chosen her. Why was he so determined to have her? It was as though they had known each other for years, their spirits entwined long before they had met. She just didn’t understand but, as he pulled her closer and lowered her to the bed, she didn’t want to understand at all. She just wanted to enjoy this feeling of passion, something she had never felt before.
“Nicolae,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m scared.”
He kneeled down before her, his one hand on her bare leg, the other pressing her shoulder back into the pillows. His dark eyes burned intensely as he hovered over her. “You have nothing to fear from me, S’hara,” he murmured as his lips touched her neck, biting gently at her virgin skin. No man had ever touched her before. Her spine tingled and she placed her hands on his shoulders. The cloth under her fingers frustrated her. She wanted to touch his skin, feel the muscles that had excited her from the moment he had stormed into the tent the previous day.
Slowly, he lowered his weight onto her, his hands entwined in her long, silky hair. He let it fall from his fingers, like cascading water in the dark of night. Breathing heavily, he raised his lips from hers as he stared into her eyes. His words came soft and gentle. “I have waited so long, S'hara. You cannot understand.” He pulled his shirt over his head, staring down into her face. His bare, tanned chest radiated gold in the lantern light. Without realizing her own actions, Sahara reached out lazily and traced a line down the middle of his chest. When her finger came to the top of his trousers, she hooked her finger over the material, biting her lip as she looked up at him. His eyes were glazed over and the muscles in his cheeks twitched. “You are so...” His voice trailed off.
“Hmm?”
Nicolae gathered her into his arms, tugging impatiently at her undergarments. “...so beautiful.” His hands rubbed her soft skin, caressing her waist. Almost without Sahara realizing, Nicolae carefully freed the rest of her body of clothing. Stark naked, Sahara stared at Nicolae, her eyes worried. She felt ashamed of her nakedness, ashamed of her feelings. But, he merely smiled and gently pushed her back into the pillows again, his mouth covering hers once more. This time, she kissed him back with the passion he drew out of her. Stretching her legs out, Sahara clung to him, lightheaded enough to throw away her modesty. Eagerly, she ran her own hands down his chest, feeling his warm skin and taunt muscles. Her fingertips burned at the touch of him and her heart pounded in her chest. She could smell his wild, musky smell and it aroused her. She had never felt so free and so clearheaded. She had never known such emotion. It was intense, painfully intense yet glorious at the same time. She found her mouth kissing his neck as he quickly shed the remainder of his own clothing, both kneeling before each other.
His one hand explored her body, strong and warm on her skin. His passion grew as his mouth trailed down the front of her neck. As he tasted the sweetness of her shoulder, an incredible surge of warmth flooded through his groin. Fighting the urge to answer his eager moan, Sahara turned her head into the pillow, biting firmly on her lip. Rising above her, he pressed her legs apart. He leaned on his hands, resting by her head. Her own arms wrapped around his neck as he lowered his weight onto her. Fighting his own desire to rid himself of the wonderful build up, Nicolae carefully pushed into her. He moved his hips as he pushed forward, breaking through the barrier. Suddenly sobering, Sahara clawed at his neck, her eyes wild and terrified as she cried out. “Stop! Oh please, Nicolae! You're killing me!”
He tried to soothe her but his words came out in heavy breaths. He breathed into her ear, pulling her close as he struggled to break her. Sahara tensed up, closing around him as she fought back. He felt tears wet his shoulder. Ignoring them, Nicolae gave her a final push with all the strength he had left. Sahara dug her nails into his back, about to scream but Nicolae covered her mouth with his, kissing her fiercely as he moved freely now. He moved with a relief he had never known before. Resting his cheek against hers, he breathed heavily, moaning as he finally released his passion into her.
Staring at the top of the tent, he caught his breath before looking at his wife. Her skin glowed in the lantern light. Slowly, Nicolae reached out and touched her cheek. “S'hara?” When she did not answer, he leaned on his one elbow and stared into her tear stricken face. Wiping away her tears, Nicolae stroked her hair. “It couldn't have hurt so , no?”
She diverted her eyes away from his. Why can't he leave me alone now that he got what he wanted, she wondered bitterly. Her insides felt twisted and swollen, burning from pain, not the passion she had always expected. “I...I just want to sleep.”
Nicolae waited for several lo
ng minutes before he got up and walked to the post, turning the lantern's flame down. He cast a glance at Sahara, naked and sweaty as she lay upon the pillows, a tear ready to fall from her eye. Sighing again, this time from frustration, Nicolae turned the lantern off all the way and walked back to the mattress. Crawling under the quilt, Nicolae lifted an end of it over Sahara's body before he settled down to sleep.
The man’s wife was ill. She slept all day and night, sweating despite the cool air. The fever had taken her just a few days before and everything had come to a standstill.
The girl stayed away, not wanting her infant to catch anything…not wanting to get involved. She spent her days keeping to herself and caring for her baby. She watched the activity, women tending to the sick, the children lingering nearby. She saw the two boys, the man’s children, ignored in the chaos of antiquated medical care for a woman already too far gone to save. There was an emotion on their faces…fear, perhaps. Once, the younger one looked toward her, their eyes meeting for just a moment. But she quickly looked away, refusing to find any emotion for these people. They were not HER people and she was not part of their family.
It didn’t surprise her when the loud wails of death overcame the group. Her heart was closed, isolated from the sorrow. The man approached his two sons but said nothing. Instead, he placed a shaking hand on their shoulders, his eyes looking toward the horizon and not their faces. The older boy clenched his teeth, anger flashing across his face. The younger boy took a deep breath, his chest heaving while he fought back tears. The man walked away and disappeared from the crowd, leaving the noise of the wailing women to tend to the dead.