Her skin turned to ice; the whole room became frigid. “You don’t like me,” she said flatly. What a cruel jest! For the first time in her life, Tonia allowed herself to love a man only to learn that he did not love her.
Sandor bent down and retrieved the wood he had dropped. “I am a Gypsy.”
Tonia frowned. “So you have told me on several occasions during our brief acquaintance.”
He hunkered on the balls of his feet before the fire. “You are a lady from a noble family.” While he spoke, he added several split logs to the feeble flames. “I am too rough for you, too…foreign.”
A tiny curl of hope rose within her. Perhaps she had been a bit hasty in her judgment. “Am I too foreign for you?”
“You have hit the nut and core of it,” he whispered.
Sandor didn’t have to look at Tonia to know that his words had hurt her. How could he possibly explain the Rom’s concept of marime to her? How could he tell this angel that his people believed she was defiled and that now he was defiled for kissing her? Worse than that, in the eyes of his family, Sandor was almost beyond redemption because he had enjoyed kissing Tonia. In fact, he desperately wanted to kiss her again this minute. He wanted to lay her down on his grandmother’s sheepskin and make long passionate love to Lady Gastonia Cavendish, a gadji.
Grabbing his shoulder, Tonia swung him around to face her. Her sudden action upset his balance and he sat down hard on the cold floor.
Anger painted bright red spots on her cheeks. “Are you saying that I am not good enough for you? Pray explain this wonder to me, Gypsy, for my brains must have become addled by your…that is…recently.” She seated herself on the stool, folded her arms over her enticing breasts and glared at him. Her indignation made her even more beautiful in his eyes.
Sandor crossed his legs while he pondered his answer. “Tell me true, my fine lady, would your father approve of me? Would he have minded me kissing your lips if he had spied us just now?”
Pursing her lips, she stared down to her lap. “Nay, he would not, but then…” She looked at him. “Methinks he would not approve of any man I kissed except for one of his own choice. My father has three daughters and he has always been very protective of us. My sister Gillian’s husband had to practically wade through fire before my father allowed her to marry him.”
Sandor whistled through his teeth. “There are two more as beautiful as you?” Lord Cavendish must have an army of guards stationed around his manor.
Tonia turned pink again, though not from displeasure. “My twin sisters are eighteen months younger than I. We share the same coloring and general looks. All three of us are too tall for current fashion.”
He smiled at her modest description. “You are not too tall for me,” he murmured, hoping to make her smile in return.
Instead, she frowned. “Not too tall, only not good enough.”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth. Tonia did not distract easily. “I did not say that—exactly.”
She lifted one of her lovely dark brows. “Then what do you mean—exactly? Tell me true.”
Sandor threw up his hands in the air as if he implored the angels for help. “Jaj! You are worse than a shire reeve with your questions. Very well, but I warn you, you will not like my answers.”
Tonia cocked her head and waited.
He sighed. He would skirt the problem of marime if he could. “If my uncle had seen us kissing, he too would not have approved.”
Tonia considered this for a moment. “Then your uncle would have shown good sense. A noblewoman stains her family’s honor if she is seen kissing a man in public.”
He shook his head. “’Tis not that, Tonia. Uncle Gheorghe would not approve of you because you are a gadji. A Rom man should kiss only Rom women.” He twiddled his thumbs while he waited for her next ticklish question.
She was silent for a very long time. The renewed fire snapped and crackled in the grate. “Methinks I understand,” she finally said, then she sighed.
“We are from very different worlds,” he added, relieved that he didn’t have to explain things in any more detail.
“We are together now.”
He gazed at her, trying to conceal the longing that consumed his heart. “But for how long, sukar luludi? The snow will stop, but time does not. Have you so soon forgotten why I came here?”
A small rueful smile touched her lips, lips that were still swollen with his kisses. “Nay, but I hoped that you had.”
He returned her smile with a broad one of his own. “As to the problem of your execution, methinks I have hit upon a plan that will save both our necks.”
She sat up straighter on her stool. “Hoy day! It has taken you this long to tell me? Out with it!”
He chuckled. “Your pardon, my lady, but methought you did not mind my kisses. In fact, ’twas you, not I, that began it before I even got both feet in the door. You gave me no chance to speak a word.”
Tonia colored very prettily.
With another chuckle, Sandor rose, wiped his hands on his sleeves, then went to the table. “Nor did you give me the opportunity to show you what I have brought.” He untied the sack. “Are you hungry?” He lifted out one of the rabbit pies.
She lunged for it. “Sweet Jesu!”
He laughed as he gave it to her. Then he poured two cups of water from the jug. “Let us eat first. Serious matters sit better on a satisfied stomach.”
With her mouth full of the cold pastry, Tonia merely nodded. They ate in silence, enjoying the simple repast, the cheer of the fire and each other’s company. Sandor savored the reprieve. All too soon, he must tell her his plan—and about the pig’s heart that lay wrapped in his saddlebag. He watched as she licked the pie’s brown gravy from her hands. Her little pink tongue curling around her long, slim fingers stirred hot desire in his loins.
He had fallen in love with Tonia. From the first moment of their meeting, he had been lost to her. Her sweet kisses only served to taunt him. How could she possibly love him in return? His was a fool’s dream, like Prosto of his grandmother’s cards. Aye, Sandor was exactly that man—except both his feet hung over the abyss. He had lost his heart to a lady of noble birth—and a gadji. Sandor was sure that she would leave him without a backward glance the minute he turned her loose. Wasn’t that the real reason why he had locked her in her cell when he journeyed to Harewold?
After they had shared a wedge of the cheese, Sandor cleared his throat. “The hour grows later, sukar, and we must speak of many things. As soon as the snow stops, we will quit this place.”
Tonia stared at him; her eyes shone a deep blue. “Leave Hawksnest? Both of us?” she whispered.
He could have wept for her distrust of him. “Aye, did I not tell you to believe in me?”
“You did,” she acknowledged. “But I feel as if I have lived these past few weeks poised on the edge of a sharp knife. Do you promise me freedom?”
Sandor swallowed. Once, when he was a child, he had caught a particularly tuneful lark. Day after day, he had delighted to hear its song, but a week later, he noticed that the little bird sang less and less. Old Towla told him to release the creature. She said that if the lark truly loved him, it would stay of its own free will. Opening that cage door was the hardest thing Sandor had ever done in his young life. The bird had soared to the skies while he watched its joy with an ache in his heart. But his grandmother had been right, as always. The lark returned every day to eat Sandor’s breadcrumbs and to sing for him. They remained friends until the bird had flown south for the winter.
Tonia was like the beautiful lark. She longed for her freedom. Had she only kissed him and pretended to like him so that he would allow her to flee the King’s doleful sentence? Sandor gritted his teeth. He didn’t like to think of her as a scheming woman. And yet, he knew that he would have done the same thing himself if he had been the one standing in the shadow of death. The tarocchi cards had prophesied that he must take a risk. Was this it?
“Will you truly set me free?” she asked again, breaking his reverie.
Sandor could not look at her. Her yearning for escape broke his heart. Instead, he watched the flames leap in the blackened hearth. “What is free? Are we not all bound to something?” A strange question for a Gypsy to ask, he thought as the words tumbled out of his mouth.
Her eyes narrowed into slits. “Then you lied to me. I see it now. Your freedom is to kill me, isn’t it? Why have you kept me alive for so long? Did you mean to seduce me so you could take your pleasure of my body before you wrung the life out of me? What traitorous kisses you have! I almost believed you.”
Her words ripped him apart like a dozen daggers thrown by a vengeful former friend. He winced inwardly. “My tongue did not lie to you. Neither my words nor my kisses were meant to lead you astray. I swear this upon my soul.”
She twisted her lips. “Your Gypsy soul—and everyone knows how honest that is.” She slid off the stool to the cold floor and knelt before him. “Kill me now, Master of Death. I have grown weary of your game and cannot abide to spend another night in your perfidious company.”
She scooped up her hair in her hands and held it away from her slender white neck. “Do it now—quickly. I am as ready as I will ever be. I have run out of prayers.”
Sandor wanted to lift her into his arms and kiss away her fears and anger, but he did not dare to touch her. Instead, he pulled out the garrote from his pouch and flexed the braided leather cord before her wide eyes. He must be cruel before he could be kind. “So you want to die?”
Tonia gulped.
Sandor stood up before her; the firelight cast his dark shadow over her. He dangled the garrote between his fingers. “Do you really prefer death to me?”
Chapter Eleven
Tonia could not control the spasms of fear that shook her.
“Tell me what is truly in your heart, my lady,” Sandor said in a much softer tone.
Despite her fright, she looked up into his eyes that gazed upon her with sad tenderness, searching her face, probing deep within her soul. Tonia clasped her hands together. What was the point of showing a brave face at this juncture? Why lie to him or to herself? There was nothing left to lose now.
“I want to live, Sandor. With you,” she confessed. Tensing, she waited for him to laugh at her folly before he whipped the leather thong around her neck.
Instead, he knelt opposite her and cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “This is the truth of your heart?” he asked, his eyes wide with wonderment.
She blinked. “May I die if I lie,” she said, repeating his phrase though the words held a deeper meaning for her.
“You will not die, sukar luludi,” he assured her in his deep-timbre voice. “At least, not by my hands.” With that, Sandor tossed the garrote into the fire. The leather curled in the flames until there was nothing left but a long, black ash.
Tonia’s relief made her limbs weak as jellied eels. With a sob of joy, she fell into his arms. Her tears, dammed inside for so long, overflowed her eyes and ran down her cheeks. Sandor held her against his chest while she poured out the fears that she had locked in her heart ever since the arrest. Never had life seemed so sweet. She savored the salt taste of her tears. Sandor’s soothing words of nonsense sang like poetry. Her dank cell was now a nest feathered with swans’ down. The fire’s crackle spoke of liberation.
While she wept, Sandor’s hands rubbed tender circles over the taut muscles of her shoulders. He kissed the tips of her ears and whispered endearments in her hair. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Tonia locked her fingers together and held him tight as if she would never be parted from him. Tonight, no shadows would cloud her heart. The world was filled with brightness and good cheer. Her soul danced an exuberant galliard.
“My best beloved,” he murmured.
“And you are mine,” she replied. A knot of happiness swelled in her throat.
Sandor lowered them both onto the sheepskin before the fire. Tonia sighed as she snuggled against him. In the fire’s light, she studied Sandor’s lean, dark-skinned face and she liked what she found there. It seemed as if she had been waiting all her life for this special man, this special moment.
Sandor lay on his side facing her and propped himself up on his elbow. His eyes softened as he gazed at her with a heart-stopping tenderness that made Tonia feel infinitely cherished. Her pulse leaped with excitement. With the tip of his finger, he traced the outline of her lips. A pleasure that she had never before experienced rippled through her.
He smiled, then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it with almost a holy reverence. “Av, pawdel dur chumbas,” he sang softly in his rich voice. “Av kitane mansa?”
Tonia swallowed. “The words sound beautiful, but what do they mean?”
He took a tendril of her hair and curled it around his finger, all the while smiling at her. “’Tis an old love song. It says ‘Come over the far hills. Will you come with me?’ The singer is asking his love to run away with him. Would you come to the far hills with me, Tonia?”
Her heartbeat skittered. She took his hand in hers. “Methinks we are already in the far hills.”
He slipped his arm under her and drew her closer to him. “I long to be your lover, sweet flower. Do you understand what I ask of you?”
Her breath stopped for a moment. Her blood burned within her veins. The echo of his invitation sang in her brain. Sandor struck her as a man who did not offer his love lightly as most men did. Tonia knew that if she accepted him, there would be no turning back for her.
A giggle born of her nervousness escaped her. “Aye, you wish to disobey the King’s most direct order.” When he looked perplexed, she continued in a whisper. “You wish to shed the blood of my maidenhead.”
He caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckle. “I have already disobeyed His Majesty’s first order. You still live.” He lowered his head to her. “I would do more, much more, than take the gift of your virginity. I wish to love you now—and forever. Will you have me? I promise I will be gentle,” he added. He sealed his vow with a kiss.
Tonia’s blood throbbed for Sandor’s touch, for his kisses, for joining him in the most intimate way she knew of, though had never experienced. Her mouth went suddenly dry. “Be my love,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke the cleft in his chin, “and my teacher.” She dispatched the vision of her shocked family to the smallest corner of her mind.
Sandor and Tonia looked into each other’s eyes and their gazes locked in a moment of silent understanding. They breathed as one. Then his lips feather-touched hers with a tantalizing persuasion that she was unable to resist. Shivers of pure delight raced through her. She moistened her lips then offered them to him.
Once more Sandor claimed her, this time as a hunter claimed his prize at the end of a good chase. His mouth imprinted his passion on her skin. She burned where he touched her and yearned for more of his fire. When the tip of his tongue touched her lips, she opened to receive him. He took his time exploring the recesses of her mouth. Passion exploded within her.
Sandor raised his mouth from hers, then smiled into her eyes. He lowered his head again. The caress of his lips on her neck set her aflame. “Oh, Sandor,” she breathed as she gripped his shoulders.
He pulled them both upright so that they sat facing each other. He lifted the slim chain that supported her cross over her head. Laying the necklace on the table behind him, he said, “Methinks the Lord God would be more comfortable there for the time being.”
“Aye,” Tonia replied, not taking her gaze from his face.
With infinite care he untied the knot that held together the top of her bodice. She trembled, but she did not pull away. No man had ever dared to cross this line of propriety. Sandor pulled the silken laces through the first pair of eyelets while he hummed his Gypsy love song. When he loosened the second pair, he brushed against her breast, modestly covered by her chemise. Her skin tingled. He continued to undress her slowly and with
great ceremony, as if she were a golden vessel to be offered upon an altar.
Once her bodice was gone, Sandor slid her shift from her shoulders. Tonia clasped her hands together in her lap, resisting the natural urge to cover herself. She held her breath as the cloth fell away, exposing her breasts to him. He touched her tentatively, almost shyly, murmuring his love for her in his strange yet melodic language.
Closing her eyes, Tonia threw back her head and gave herself up to the thrilling sensations of Sandor’s lovemaking. Though his fingers were icy, his palm was hot as the fire before them as he fondled the swell of her breasts. Splaying his other hand across her back for her support, he traced a path with his tongue across the soft skin that no man had ever touched.
Tonia gasped as her breasts rose to his intimate caress. The first tremor of arousal caught her. Then Sandor’s tongue teased one of her nipples into pebblelike hardness. Tonia clung to his shoulders. She felt as if she were floating in a pond perfumed with intoxicating flowers. His lips and tongue continued their sweet assault of her breasts and shoulders. The cool air kissing her wet skin only made the pleasure more exquisite. She moaned deep in her throat.
Whispering her name, Sandor eased her back down onto the fleece. The soft lambs’ wool cushioned her bare skin. She opened her eyes. Sandor had already doffed his jacket. He pulled apart the lacing of his shirt, revealing his muscular chest. The sight of his strong body glowing bronze in the firelight made her heartbeat skitter.
“Forgive my badge of shame,” he apologized, pointing to the wicked V-shaped scar on his chest.
“’Tis no matter,” she crooned, reaching up and touching the ragged mark.
Sandor sucked in his breath. “By your blessing, you have healed the scar on my soul,” he told her.
His words tore at her heart. Tonia wiped away a small tear that had formed in the corner of her eye. Sandor did not notice her silent weeping for him. Instead he fumbled with the thick knot that held her kirtle around her waist. His fingers, now warm, brushed against her flat stomach as he worked the stubborn lacing. Tonia admired the flex and roll of the corded muscles in his arms. She anticipated the moment when those arms would hold her close to him, with no cloth to separate their bodies.
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