A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

“What is happening?” Ariella gasped.

  “This is no game, St Xavier,” Tollman spat. “One of the Gypsy boys stole Pitt’s roan and he got caught red-handed, selling it to Pitt’s neighbor!”

  Ariella was about to point out that horse thieves were not hanged when Emilian said, “Is there proof? Or have you cleverly laid the blame on some innocent Rom?”

  This was going to explode into something terrible! Why did these two men hate each other?

  “There are no innocent Gypsies.”

  Ariella began to protest, but Emilian glared furiously at her and she decided not to speak. “Whom do you accuse?” Emilian demanded.

  “Djordi.”

  Ariella covered her mouth, her alarm increasing. Djordi was the young man who had first espied her intruding upon the Romany camp. He was sixteen, if that. “We do not hang thieves in this day and age,” she managed. “I will send for my father. He will straighten out this entire affair.”

  Ignoring her, Emilian strode from the house. Tollman made a sound and followed. Ariella did so, as well. “Emilian! I am coming with you! Mr. Tollman, please, let us wait on my father. You know how just he is.”

  Emilian leaped onto a gray stallion. Tollman was climbing into a gig. “Miss de Warenne, do not bother your pretty head with such matters.” He reached for the whip. “A hanging is no place for ladies.”

  “Dare you break the law?” Ariella cried, aghast.

  “An example must be set. No more Gypsies will dare to come here and swindle us,” Tollman said firmly. “Gadup!”

  Ariella did not watch as the gig careened down the drive, for Emilian rode his gray right up to her, causing her to jump frantically out of the way. He sawed on the gray’s reins and it reared. “You stay at Rose Hill,” he shot. Then he spurred the horse forward, and it charged away, kicking up dirt and gravel.

  Ariella looked at Margery, shocked by the unfolding events. Margery said, ashen, “It will take five minutes to ready the coach.”

  ARIELLA CLUNG to the safety straps as their carriage careened toward the village square, the four horses in a mad gallop. She and Margery were thrown back and forth across the cab’s interior with every rut hole and sharp turn. A crowd had gathered in the square. Women and children were present, and she heard shouts and catcalls. Then she glimpsed Stevan and some other Romany men, too. In disbelief she saw that they had been herded into one tight group. Two of the villagers had rifles and would not let them pass.

  In the center of the square was a huge elm tree. A noose already hung from its branches, drifting in a breeze, and beneath it was a horseless wagon. Djordi stood on the flatbed, his hands tied behind his back. The noose dangled just behind his shoulders. His face was belligerent, but he was pale with fear.

  And now, Ariella saw Jaelle near Stevan, her face tight and white, too.

  “Oh, dear God,” Margery whispered. “We must stop this.”

  Ariella jumped from the coach before it came to a full stop. Lifting her skirts, she ran frantically toward the crowd. Now she saw Emilian standing by the wagon, facing Tollman and Mayor Oswald. Not far from the mayor, Robert St Xavier stood, arms folded, with two other gentlemen his own age. His peers were smirking.

  She shoved brusquely through the men, women and children, ignoring their mutters of annoyance and surprised gasps. A few of them, realizing whom she was, instantly stepped out of her way.

  “St Xavier, there must be justice,” Oswald was saying, his cheeks crimson, as she rushed up. But he seemed uncertain.

  “You will not hang him,” Emilian returned, his eyes blazing. He saw her and his stare turned incredulous, but his focus moved back to the mayor. He said to Oswald, “Hanging is unlawful in this case. There will be no more incidents—you have my word. We are leaving in the morning.”

  Oswald wrung his hands and looked at Tollman for help.

  “The word of a half blood?” Tollman mocked. “That is no word at all!”

  Emilian snarled at him. “Do you listen to an innkeeper, or the viscount of Woodland?”

  “The whole town wants justice,” Tollman snapped. “The whole town wants the damned Gypsies gone!”

  “Mayor Oswald!” Ariella cried breathlessly. “You must not let hot tempers dictate here!” She glanced at Robert pleadingly, waiting for him to come forward to help resolve the crisis.

  But Robert simply stood near the mayor, his expression somber. He looked away from her.

  Emilian whirled toward her. “I told you to stay at Rose Hill.”

  She ignored him. “We have sent word to my father in town. He’ll be back by nightfall, I am sure. Please, let us put this matter in his hands.”

  Before the mayor could respond, Emilian seized her. “Do not interfere.”

  “I will not stand idly by and watch a terrible miscarriage of justice.”

  He jerked her toward Margery. “Lady de Warenne, neither one of you should be present. You both need to return to your carriage and go home.”

  Margery came forward, as white as a sheet. “Ariella is right. Captain de Warenne can adjudicate this matter—or my father, the Earl of Adare.”

  But her mention of the powerful earl did not ease matters. Tollman said, “He hangs.”

  Oswald wrung his hands. “Hanging is unlawful, Jack,” he began.

  Tollman was furious. “You can’t let him go,” he shouted. “More of the scum will come and steal our horses and cows! They’ll seduce our sisters and daughters! They will sell us rotten wheels!”

  The crowd muttered in agreement with him.

  “Then what will we do?” Oswald was sweating and pale. “We are all lawful Englishmen here.”

  The surgeon stepped forth from the crowd. “Give him a good whipping and send him back to the north. Let him know that if he comes back, it is on pain of death.” Stone had hardly finished when the crowd began supporting his plan with avid cheers.

  “Whipping a young man is barbaric!” Ariella cried, stunned. “Surely we can wait a few more hours to resolve this!”

  Tollman spoke to the mayor but never took his burning gaze from Emilian. “He stole the horse and he is guilty. There has to be justice. I can go along with flogging and banishment.”

  Emilian stared at Tollman with hatred, and Tollman stared back as hatefully.

  “Why can’t we wait until my father returns?” she cried loudly.

  Oswald looked at her, clearly uncertain.

  “She’s a Gypsy lover,” James Stone said. “Her father would probably think as we do. Everyone’s agreed—the Gypsy will be whipped and sent away.”

  Ariella trembled. “My father would never approve of a flogging,” she said. “He would follow the law.”

  Margery took her hand tightly. Stone, Tollman and Oswald now put their heads together and began a hushed and hurried discussion. The mayor listened, not speaking.

  Emilian spoke to her, silver eyes like ice. “Get into the carriage and go home, now. I do not want you to see what will happen next.”

  His words frightened her more. “I am not leaving you or Djordi.” Nothing and no one could make her run away now. “They will not go through with this,” she added desperately, but she wasn’t sure Tollman and his allies could be stopped. Why didn’t Robert come forward and say or do something? Instead, he was watching her and Emilian with a speculation she instantly disliked.

  “Can’t you make her leave?” he demanded of Margery. “I want her gone!”

  Margery was trembling, too. “We wish to support you, sir.”

  He turned away. “Robert, escort the ladies from the square.”

  Robert finally dropped his folded arms and came away from where he stood, behind the mayor and Tollman. “My cousin is correct. This is an improper venue for ladies.”

  She stared at him, wondering if he was a bungling fool. “Will you help your cousin, sir? Will you stand up beside him as family should?”

  “Emil seems to have a plan,” he said with a shrug.

  He didn’t care what Emi
lian wanted, and he didn’t wish to take Emilian’s side, she realized.

  Robert held out his arm. “Why don’t we take some tea at the inn?”

  Ariella turned her back on him. “I am not leaving,” she told Emilian.

  His look promised some future retribution. “Release Djordi,” he said to Oswald and Tollman. He shrugged off his hunting coat and tossed it to the ground. He began unbuttoning the waistcoat. “I will be responsible for his punishment.” He flung the waistcoat off. “I will take the flogging for him.”

  Horror made Ariella mute.

  He could not think to do this!

  Tollman smiled slowly, with real relish, while Oswald seemed stunned. “My lord, sir!”

  Tollman laughed. “He’s one of them. He’s proved it since they came to town. He’s a half-blood Gypsy, and to hell with his title.”

  Pale, Oswald said, “Tollman, the viscount has managed our affairs for years.”

  “It doesn’t really matter who we whip, as long as the point is made,” Tollman said savagely.

  Aware that a terribly personal vendetta of some sort was being played out, Ariella turned to look at Robert, but clearly he was not planning an intervention. She gave up and rushed forward as Emilian threw his shirt into the ground. “Is he the mayor, or are you?” she cried to Oswald. “You cannot do this! He is the viscount St Xavier, a good citizen of this village, this country!”

  “Release the boy,” Tollman called to his men as if she hadn’t spoken. He turned to her. “Miss de Warenne, it is your right to stay and watch the whipping. But I suggest you leave. Female hysterics will not help anyone.”

  “You cannot do this,” Ariella said desperately, as two big men jumped up onto the wagon and untied Djordi’s wrists. He leaped nimbly down, but his face was set. He strode to Emilian and a flurry of Roma followed. Emilian clasped his shoulder and spoke firmly and reassuringly. Ariella had not one doubt the boy wished to take the whipping and that Emilian would not allow it.

  Then she saw everyone listening to Emilian speaking in the language of the Romany. Their stares were fascinated, even mesmerized. Tollman seemed satisfied and so did Robert. Her despair became complete. She went to him. “Don’t do this,” she begged in a soft whisper.

  “You would have a boy flogged?”

  “No,” she managed. “I would have no one flogged.”

  His bare chest rippled as he breathed harshly. “Go home.” He hesitated, his face tight. “Please.”

  She would never leave him, she thought, staring back. Tears had begun. She swatted at them.

  A strong arm went around her. It was Djordi. “Come away,” he said to her.

  Emilian had turned. He walked over to the wagon. A big man followed, a carriage whip in hand. Emilian braced against the wagon’s sides, head down, shoulders and back braced, biceps bulging.

  Ariella pushed at Djordi. “Stop this, stop this now!” she cried, but Djordi wrapped her in his arms and she could not move. Then he started to drag her away, so she could not watch.

  Tollman spoke to one of the younger men he was standing with, and the lad ran off. “Start it,” he called.

  The whip cracked, leaving a red mark on Emilian’s back. He stood braced against the wagon as if made of stone. He hadn’t even jerked.

  The whip cracked again. She flinched, her heart exploding, but Emilian remained unmoving. It struck him a third time and she trembled, clinging to Djordi, overcome with panic, enraged at being helpless now. Emilian still did not make a sound. Dazed, she managed to control her tears. It would soon be over. Emilian would withstand the lashing.

  Tollman stepped forward, a cat-o’-nine-tails in hand, his expression ruthless.

  Realizing what he intended, Ariella screamed, struggling to get free of Djordi.

  He cracked the dangerous whip. The crowd roared in approval as the barbed tail snaked across Emilian’s back, savagely opening his flesh and leaving a trail of blood.

  “Stop!” she screamed wildly, but Tollman struck Emilian viciously again. He flinched, almost going down to his knees. The crowd jeered. He fought to remain upright and clung to the wagon, panting audibly now.

  Tollman flayed him mercilessly.

  Ariella screamed, Djordi holding her so she could not interfere.

  Emilian went down on his knees.

  The crowd cheered.

  Tollman wanted to kill him. As Tollman whipped Emilian another time, he finally fell facefirst to the ground. Ariella bit Djordi’s hand and she was released. She ran toward Tollman, only to be seized by someone from behind. She was flung away, back into the crowd.

  Margery screamed for her.

  She went down. Briefly, panic blinded her, but she heard the whip cracking. Tollman would kill him if he was not stopped. She felt many hands on her, and she clawed at them, desperate to get up, to save Emilian. But they were steadying her, lifting her, not thwarting her, as the brutal whip cracked again. She surged to her feet, pushed past them, now running to the coach. Her coachman stood by the horses, his face a mask of horror.

  “The gun, Jackson, the gun Father keeps beneath the seat!” she screamed.

  He whirled, leaping onto his box. As he came off it, she took the gun. “Is it loaded?”

  “Yes, Miss de Warenne,” he began. She was already behind the excited mob. She fired into the air and the crowd parted like the Red Sea. Ariella ran through it and saw Tollman, whip in hand, and Emilian, who lay prone and bloody, facedown in the grass. She pointed the gun at Tollman’s chest. “Enough,” she warned. Dear God, she was ready to kill him for what he had done.

  Tollman turned to her. His stare widened. “Don’t shoot.”

  Her vision blurred and the gun danced uncontrollably in her hands. “Is he alive?” she managed. If Emilian was dead, she was going to commit murder. She was going to gun this bastard down.

  “Put the gun down,” Emilian said hoarsely, sitting up.

  Stevan, Djordi and several other Romany men reached him, kneeling by him, supporting him as he sat. Jaelle appeared, crying and crouching beside him, taking his hand.

  Tears gathering, Ariella stared at Tollman. Emilian was alive. But look at what they had done to him. She hated them—she hated Tollman.

  Tollman stared back, his eyes filling with fear.

  “Ariella, don’t do it,” Margery whispered, having come to stand directly behind her.

  She blinked furiously at the tears. The gun wouldn’t stay still. She looked at Emilian, into his gray eyes. Pain was etched into every line of his face. Although the wounds were on his back, blood was dripping down his chest, the cat having snaked over his left shoulder.

  “Don’t,” he gasped.

  Ariella felt her mind come to life. He was right. She could not murder anyone in cold blood. She lowered the gun.

  Tollman strode past her, but as he did so, he hissed at her. It was a threat, but she couldn’t distinguish his words. She dropped the gun and ran to Emilian.

  Stevan held him up. He looked at her briefly, but his face was so weary and filled with pain, she could not decipher anything else. Then his eyes closed and he slumped backward, fainting in his uncle’s arms.

  She knelt, taking his hands. The horror vanished. There was only resolve.

  Suddenly Robert stood over them. “I’ll take him back to Woodland.”

  She looked up, enraged. “Get away from him!”

  He stiffened and then, with a shrug, he walked away.

  She fought for composure, looked up at Emilian’s uncle. “Stevan, please carry him to my carriage.”

  Stevan looked at her in surprise. “We will take him now.”

  She stared back. “No. I will take care of him at Rose Hill.”

  ARIELLA STOOD BREATHLESSLY in the front hall as Stevan and another man helped Emilian inside. Jaelle stood beside her, trembling and trying not to cry. Ariella put her arm around her. Emilian was conscious and trying to walk, but he was in such pain that Ariella knew he wasn’t aware of where he was or what
was happening. He was still bleeding, and leaving a trail on the parquet floors. “Can you get him up the stairs and to the first bedroom on the right?” she asked, surprised at how calm she sounded.

  She was so afraid for his life.

  Neither man answered. As they started for the staircase, Ariella saw Emilian’s eyes close, but she felt him fighting to stay conscious. Jaelle ran up the stairs behind them.

  Light footsteps sounded. Ariella turned as her stepmother rushed into the hall just in time to see the Romany men half-carrying Emilian up the stairs. Amanda’s eyes widened, going from his mangled back to the bloody floors. “What happened?”

  “St Xavier chose to take a flogging for a Romany boy,” Ariella said, facing her stepmother grimly. “He has been flogged to within an inch of his life. I am taking care of him here.”

  Her stepmother stared. It was not a request and they both knew it. Nothing had ever been this important to Ariella.

  Amanda nodded. “I’ll send word to your father to fetch Dr. Finney and Rob Marriot, who is a fine surgeon.”

  “Thank you,” Ariella said, relieved. The family doctor and the surgeon resided in London. “Can you send me a maid with soap, water, rags and whiskey?”

  “Of course.”

  Ariella ran up the stairs to the closest bedroom, normally used by Alexi. Emilian lay on his stomach, breathing hard, his eyes screwed shut, his face damp with sweat. His back was raw. Ariella could not believe what had been done to him. Had Tollman deliberately tried to murder him?

  Stevan said quietly, “His wounds need to be cleaned.”

  “I know. I will do it.” She could not coddle herself now. She shoved her ill feelings aside.

  “Do you know how to take care of man who has been whipped?” Stevan asked.

  “You can tell me how.” He was not going to interfere and neither would he take Emilian away.

  He looked at her. “I will bring a potion for him to drink. It will help with the pain and the swelling. I will bring poultices for the wounds.”

  Ariella nodded, going to the bed and pulling up a chair. “We have sent for a surgeon and a doctor from town.”

  “They won’t come.”

  Ariella gave him a dark look. That kind of thinking would get them nowhere. She knew her family doctor, at least, would come to Rose Hill. She pushed Emilian’s long hair away from his face and froze. A white brand was on his right ear, and there was no mistaking the letter T. “What is that?” she gasped.