A Forbidden Love (21 page)

There it was again, that wicked thought. She had to forget about Anthony. Guilt slashed through her for making a comparison between her betrothed and the viscount. Istvan didn’t deserve such treatment in her thoughts. He was a good man. He would make a good husband…so why couldn’t she see him as
her
husband?

“I have come to speak with my betrothed,” he said hesitantly, his eyes darting between Sabrina and the ground.

Gulseren nodded, smiling at her brother, and then winked at Sabrina before she skipped away. Sabrina wanted to reach out and stop her cousin from leaving, but she realized how foolish that would seem, and instead, turned her eyes to the water and her clothes.

Crouching beside his betrothed, Istvan cast her a wary smile. “More and more caravans are arriving by the day,” he said shyly. “My father says there will be up to two hundred gypsies gathered here in time for the wedding celebration.”

Sabrina gave him a half smile in return and continued with her laundry. Guilt kept her from saying anything. She had yet to be married, and already she had betrayed her husband in her heart. It was hard to look at Istvan without feeling her remorse increase tenfold.

But Istvan wanted her attention, and the gentle pressure of his fingers on her wrist forced her to surrender it.

His eyes were searching, even eager, as he waited to learn of her reaction to his pending gesture. “I have something for you.” He unfurled his palm to reveal a gold bracelet with a tiny horseshoe charm dangling from it.

“It’s beautiful, Istvan,” she said quietly, and allowed him to fasten the clasp around her wrist, her hand shaking the entire time.

She felt shame welling up in her breast. Everyone was thrilled about the approaching wedding. There would be much feasting and drinking and dancing in three days time. Hearts were merry—all those except for the bride’s. And she hated being the
only
miserable one.

With dismay, she realized she’d need far more luck than a golden horseshoe charm to make her future life with Istvan a pleasant one.

“I will leave you to finish your chores,” he said and walked away.

Sabrina looked after him, her heart in chaos. Misery gave way to anger. This was
her
wedding. Was she really going to spend it sulking? Was she going to pine away for some viscount she would never see again?

What a ridiculous thing to do.

With newfound resolve, she decided to partake in the festivities and enjoy herself. She was going to learn to love her husband as a wife should. She was going to be happy. Her encounter with Anthony would not cloud her future contentment. She was determined not to let it.

It was the crescendos that guided Anthony toward the gypsy campsite. He had heard the music before he saw the signs of smoke coming from the bonfires dotting the encampment.

He now crouched on the hilltop, masked by the darkness, gazing below at the bubbling festivities. He recognized the sounds of fiddles and tambourines, and there was laughter and singing voices. Clapping hands served as drums, beating in time to the lively music, as the dancers twirled in each other’s arms, their bright garments mixing in a brilliant display of whirling color.

It was a large camp, larger than he had imagined. There were so many wagons that he wondered how he was ever going to find Sabrina amid such commotion.

But his quandary was short lived. He spotted the long flowing locks of sable black hair, and then he heard the sparkling and spirited laughter. He had never heard her laugh before. Such an infectious sound that filled him with indescribable warmth.

She was happy…and he was going to shatter that happiness with his barged interruption. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to warn her of Gillingham’s intentions. He had to make sure she was safe. He owed her that much.

She was dancing in a young man’s arms, her movements fluid in her long, bright green skirt. Something sparkled from the hemline, something he wasn’t able to discern from a distance. He only saw the glittering adornments as she spun and spun by the fire’s light.

It was like a solid punch to his gut. Was this her wedding? Is that what all the dancing and feasting was about? Is that why she was dressed so colorfully? He had come too late…No, wait. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t come to interrupt her life, to stop her from getting wed. That she was married didn’t change his intention. He still had to warn her of the danger she was in.

But how? He couldn’t just amble down the hillside and join in the carousing. He knew how much gypsies distrusted outsiders. They might even mistake him for one of Sabrina’s former aggressors, and he hadn’t come this far to get his head cracked wide open.

He would have to flag down Sabrina’s attention. He only needed a few words alone with her, to caution her, and then he would be on his way.

His horse secured to a tree, Anthony made the slow and solitary descent. He steered clear of the cluster of dancers and roasting pits, where most of the gypsies were gathered. He lurked instead in the shadows of the brightly adorned wagons that circled the encampment.

Ducking behind each wagon, he made his way closer to Sabrina.

It took him a few minutes to pass by the wagons without detection. He stopped behind a bright red one, situated closest to where Sabrina was dancing. And now he need only capture her attention.

That was going to prove difficult, though, even from his more advantageous position. He couldn’t call to her, she would never hear him with all the boisterous music and laughter swarming around her. And if he was to shout, well, he’d garner a trifle more attention than he was really after. A hand signal seemed appropriate, but she would have to be looking directly at him to notice a few flickering fingers in the darkness.

He would have to wait, he supposed, until the ideal moment, when he was sure to gain her notice. And so that was what he did. He hunkered low, to remain unobtrusive, and watched her.

She was as beautiful as ever. Her cheeks were aglow from the exertion of the dance, her eyes bright and glistening like sapphires. When she moved close to the fire, her ebony locks were streaked with orange highlights, but when she moved away, and the moonlight broke through a pocket in the clouds, her hair seemed to glow the darkest shade of cobalt. She was like a chameleon changing her colors, and he was enraptured by her every movement and transformation.

He had missed her. He hadn’t realized how much until he saw her now. He’d certainly missed her more than he should. And for some inexplicable reason, he ached at the sight of her so content.

The loud barking behind his ear had Anthony whirling around and narrowing his eyes on a whelp of a mutt no larger than his boot.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, and then hissed for the irritating canine to be silent. But the mutt refused to halt his high-pitched assault, and Anthony grew worried that someone was eventually going to come along to see what all the commotion was about. Even with the mighty din going on all around him, a passing gypsy would soon hear the little whelp’s cries and come to investigate.

Having no other recourse, Anthony decided to try his hand at charming the incorrigible ball of fluff. He sunk down to his knees, his voice soft, his hand opened in a friendly manner.

“Come now, that’s a good whelp. Don’t cause a stir. I’m not here to hurt you, or anyone else for that matter.”

When he saw the flash of tiny white teeth, he realized he was going to have to be a bit more forceful with his charms, and reached out for the canine, intent on muffling his snout.

But the whelp scurried off in a panic before Anthony had a chance to tackle it, and he cursed under his breath as he watched the little mongrel dance about and bark hysterically at a young girl, who must have been his mistress.

The girl put her finger to her lips, ordering the mutt to be quiet, and then ignored the rest of his antics. Once the whelp realized he would get no more attention, he stoutly pranced back over to the bright red wagon and a thoroughly exasperated Anthony.

“Damnation, what do you want?” Anthony whispered sternly. “I have no bones for you. There is all the food.” And he pointed in the direction of the roasting pits for good measure.

But the whelp wasn’t interested in the roasting pits—or perhaps he was just interested in seeing
Anthony
roasting over the pits.

The viscount readied his hands, prepared to make another attempt at muffling the animated mutt, when he heard a voice calling—a male’s voice, and an older male by the sound of it. He was speaking in some foreign tongue, but his tone was openly scolding.

Anthony peeked past the wagon to see a big, burly gypsy approaching. “Bloody hell. Now look what you’ve done.” He pinned his flashing eyes on the triumphant whelp before he desperately searched the terrain for somewhere to hide. But the valley was deserted of trees or shrubs, at least any that were close enough for him to duck behind. So Anthony was left with only one option. And he dearly hoped no gypsy had been left uninvited to the wedding.

Without giving it another thought, he sprung open the back door of the wagon and jumped inside the darkness. He crashed into something, God only knew what it was, and then steadied his vigorous breathing, listening for any signs of movement.

The whelp continued his tirade, now barking at the closed wagon door, and Anthony irately wondered if the curse Sabrina had once put on him would work on a dog.

There were a few loud commands, again in a foreign tongue, and Anthony only hoped the gypsy didn’t think to look inside the wagon. If he did, Anthony would be left with no other recourse but to send a fist hurling into the man’s face, and then to drag both him and the little dog into the wagon. Anthony simply couldn’t allow anyone but Sabrina to see him. He could not devastate her life further by revealing to her caravan that he knew her. As mistrustful as her people were of
gajos,
they would invariably shun her for her association with him. And he couldn’t let that happen to her.

Anthony held his breath when he no longer heard the whelp’s cries. He waited to see if the door to the wagon would open. It was silent for a time, though he still heard some movement from the other side of the door. And then, moonlight peeked into the wagon.

He stifled a curse. He’d really hoped to avoid hurting one of Sabrina’s kinsmen, but he was left with no other choice.

The door drew back.

Anthony curled his fingers into a fist.

But the woman’s cry of alarm startled him, and then the door slammed shut in his face.

His heart was pounding. He listened to the swift and lively chatter at the other end of the wooden barrier, but he was unable to understand a word. It wasn’t long before the male voice withdrew and all was quiet again.

He curled his hand into a fist once more, not knowing what to expect, and then the wagon was flooded with pale moonlight, and Sabrina was standing before him, fury flashing in those spirited blue eyes of hers.

The relief that came over him was instant and all-consuming. He grabbed her and pulled her inside the wagon, and though she gasped in surprise at his sudden movements, she didn’t protest.

It wasn’t until the door was closed, and they were both huddled inside the pitch darkness, that she released her fury. “What the hell are you doing inside my wagon?”

The space inside was so cramped, she was virtually in his lap when she’d made the demand, though he hadn’t heard her, so overcome by the feelings of bliss and passion that welled up inside him. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her near. It was instinct, the need to hold her close to him. And before he realized what he was doing, he took her lips in his with a savage possession he didn’t know he was capable of.

She stiffened, then squirmed, then her arms went tight around his neck in a desperate hold, and Anthony thought he was going to die before he could have his fill of her. He had never missed nor wanted a woman as badly as Sabrina, and the desire to be with her overtook all his senses. He was consumed with the sweet taste of her, invigorated by her energy. The harder she clung to him, the hotter his blood became and the more fierce his kiss grew. He couldn’t get enough of her. It was as if he’d been starved, and it was only when a bountiful feast was presented before him that he realized just how hungry he had truly been.

His hands locked in her hair, his tongue thrusting with desperate strokes into the hot, moist cavern of her mouth. God, she felt so good. She tasted of wine and he was utterly intoxicated.

Sabrina suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked him back. She held his head at bay.

“Why are you here?” she demanded breathlessly.

In the darkness, he could see nothing of her. And yet it was such an intimate moment. He could hear her deep breathing; feel her heart thundering under her breast.

“I had to see you again.” His own voice was low and gruff. “I had to warn you. I didn’t mean to ruin your wedding.” And then he thought to ask and clarify, “Are you married?”

He heard her take in a breath, about to answer, but the sudden pain in his heart prompted him to silence her with another hard kiss. “No, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. I’ve come to warn you that you’re still in danger.”

She was holding his head back again, her warm, sultry breaths bathing his face. “Danger? From what?”