Claiming the Forbidden Bride (18 page)

As he had studied her face, his eyes examined her body. She wondered if the darkness of her skin, so different from the fairness of the women he'd known, would repulse him.

And then, as his gaze returned to her face, he whispered, ‘You are so beautiful.'

Before her brain could formulate a reply to that unexpected compliment, he bent his head. With his tongue and lips, he followed the course her thumbs had traced over his body. He took time to thoroughly examine her
navel before his mouth moved lower, stopping her breath with anticipation.

Her fingers involuntarily locked into his hair. Even she was unsure if that was done in protest. If so, it had no effect on what Rhys was doing.

With his lips and his tongue, he repeated all he had taught her before. Advance and withdrawal. Pleasure so intense it verged on the edge of pain.

Again and again he brought her to the edge of release, only to leave her shivering there until her body unwillingly retreated from what it now so desperately sought. A fulfilment she had never experienced before.

Then at last, when it seemed as if the master had misjudged the limits of the instrument he so skilfully played, his mouth returned to hers. As it did, he began to push into her body.

She felt him hesitate when he encountered the barrier she'd given him no reason to expect. He raised his head, looking down into her eyes.

She smiled at him, granting him permission to take what was already his. When he did, the pain was sharp, far more intense than she'd thought it would be, but his kiss eased both her fear and uncertainty.

There was neither in his movements. With as much assurance as he'd displayed from the beginning, he carried her past both, bringing her with him to their final destination.

When the tremors began inside her body she clung to him, riding out the storm that washed over her in waves of pleasure that were so much more intense than the pain that had preceded them. Until at last they lay together, spent and sated. Still joined in every way that mattered, body and soul.

After what seemed an eternity, he raised his head again.
Opening pleasure-drugged eyes, she found him once more looking down on her.

‘Tell me again about those dozen men.'

Still captive of the web he'd woven over her senses, for a moment she couldn't think what he meant. And then she remembered the lie she'd told.

Wordlessly she shook her head before she pushed upward, straining toward his lips to stop the questions. He evaded her by leaning back, taking them out of reach.

‘I haven't asked you about the women in your past,' she protested.

When she lay down again on his coat, her submission was rewarded by the slow movement of his thumb against the tip of her breast. Back and forth it teased across nerve endings that had first been aroused by this same relentless movement of his tongue.

‘I can't remember any,' he said, smiling into her eyes.

‘Liar.' Despite the harshness of the word she'd used, her lips curved into an answering smile.

‘Not at the moment.' He lowered his head to drop a kiss on her nose.

‘Were there many?' There must have been, given the skill which could make her body sing so readily to the tune he'd set for it.

‘None who were important.'

‘No unrequited first love?'

‘But of course. She was a kitchen girl who saved me the cream. I was five.'

‘And since then? When you weren't five.'

‘A girl about to embark on her first Season. I was madly in love with her, and I believed my affections were returned. Perhaps they were. Until her father discovered I was not only a younger son, but a younger son
with no prospects. My heart was broken. A few dark-eyed senoritas I met in Iberia managed to put the pieces back together, but it had been irreparably damaged. Or so I thought.'

His mouth lowered again, so that the last was whispered against her ear. His tongue explored its contours, trailing moisture.

‘Until now.' His words were a breath that stirred against the dampness.

‘And now?'

‘I met the
drabarni
.' He raised his head to see her face. ‘I'm simply another in the long line of people she has healed.'

‘I didn't know soldiers could wax poetic.'

She had discovered that she loved looking at him. The slant of the afternoon sun turned the chestnut hair as golden as the beech leaves. His eyes, clear and filled with light, were almost translucent.

‘And I didn't know Gypsy girls—' His eyes changed, darkening suddenly as the sentence he'd begun trailed.

‘What is it?'

He shook his head, but the spell they'd been under had shattered. A cloud moved across the face of the sun, obscuring it.

‘It's late. You should go back before your grandmother sends someone to look for you.'

And found them together.

Into the idyllic fantasy of the last few hours, reality intruded. His words evoked a sense that what they had shared was something to be ashamed of.

Responding to his urgency, she sat up, searching for her blouse among the garments scattered around them. Rhys located it before she could.

He held it out to her, and she took it, pressing its cool
dampness against her breasts. For the first time she felt that she should hide their nakedness.

They had not talked about what would happen next. Perhaps nothing. After all, Rhys had made no promises. And she had expected none.

He had been in the process of pulling on his shirt. When his head emerged through the opening, he must have realized she hadn't even begun to dress.

‘What's wrong?'

She shook her head and with trembling fingers began to put on her own clothing. It all seemed to be happening so quickly, as if he were in a hurry to be gone.

A thought made more bitter by the remembrance of his unhurried lovemaking.

When she looked up from straightening her crumpled blouse, Rhys was holding out her skirt. After she had taken it, he offered his hand to help her up. Ignoring the gesture, she awkwardly got to her feet, turning her back on him to finish dressing.

When her garments had finally been arranged in some semblance of order, she couldn't stop the shivers that occasionally racked her body. They were not caused by the cold, but by the enormity of what she had done.

Despite what had happened between them, Rhys seemed intent on returning her to the encampment as quickly as possible. Would he then be on his way back to his home and family? Would there be another goodbye? This one—finally—the last.

‘Ready?' His voice held none of the uncertainty she was dealing with.

Nor could she explain why she felt as she did. She had made the decision to give herself to this man. He'd taken nothing from her that she had not willingly given.

She nodded without meeting his eyes and then, head down, walked past him toward the opening in the trees. As she stepped through it, her heart stopped.

A small form hurtled toward her across the meadow. When she arrived, Angel buried her face against her mother's shirt. Nadya had automatically put her hand on the child's head, but her eyes were riveted by the man who followed the little girl.

Her brother's face had broken into a smile when he'd spotted her. One that quickly disappeared when Rhys stepped out of the trees behind her.

I
t was clear from the anger darkening Stephano's features that he knew exactly what had happened between them. Nadya's dishevelled clothing and disordered hair would have been enough to condemn her without the guilt her face must surely reveal.

‘I warned you.'

Nadya thought those words, ground out between clenched teeth as Stephano rushed forward, were directed at her. Then her half-brother pushed her aside in order to reach Rhys.

Employing skills learned as a street urchin in London, Stephano hooked his booted foot behind Rhys's knee, so that the ex-soldier's leg buckled. As he stumbled forward, her half-brother's perfectly timed upper cut sent him crashing back into the tree behind him.

‘Stop it.' Dragging her daughter with her, Nadya grabbed Stephano's arm, trying to prevent him from finishing what he'd begun.

Her vehemence startled him enough to slow his attack. As she held him, his furious eyes searched her face.

At whatever he saw there, his lips tightened. ‘You beg for his life? You know the law.'

‘I have the right to choose.'

‘Not if I forbid you that choice.'

‘The wrong was mine, Stephano, not his.'

‘And you'll pay. But so will he,
jel'enedra
. So will he. It is our way.'

‘
Our
way? What do you know of
our
way? My father loved our mother. And he didn't ask who she had loved before. It didn't matter to him.'

‘What has that to do with this?'

‘Our way isn't always black or white. Sometimes it's finding forgiveness in your heart for those who've sinned.'

‘My father loved my mother. What was her sin in that?'

‘Then what is my sin in this?'

His eyes widened, but he had no answer. After a moment he jerked his arm from her grip, almost stumbling over Angel as he did. The child was watching them, her eyes moving from one to the other.

‘Take her back to camp,' Stephano ordered.

‘So you can kill him without destroying what she feels for you?'

‘You want your daughter to watch the
gaujo
die?'

‘Why should he die, Stephano? He did nothing I didn't ask him to do.'

‘He made you his whore.'

‘As your father made your mother his?'

‘You have no right to speak of my father.'

Her laugh mocked his denial, but she knew she was treading a dangerous path. As the leader of their
kumpania
, Stephano had the right to exile her for what she'd done. And there would be few among the Rom who would oppose any punishment Stephano decreed for the
gaujo
, and none brave enough to do so openly.

‘This isn't about your father,' Rhys said. ‘Or your mother. Or whatever else is between the two of you.'

In their fury at one another, they had almost forgotten him. He stood there defiantly, the mark of Stephano's fist on his chin.

‘You're right.' Stephano began to move toward the Englishman again. ‘It's about you making my sister your whore.'

Almost faster than the eye could follow, Rhys's right fist caught the Rom under the chin, rocking him back. The shock on Stephano's face quickly gave way to rage. He rushed forward again, only to be met by Nadya, who stepped between them.

‘Rhys didn't make me anything I didn't want to be. If you must blame someone, blame me.'

‘Oh, I do. Believe me.'

‘Let him go, Stephano. Let this go. If you don't, you'll make trouble for our people. You're the one who told me about his connections.'

Stephano's laugh was bitter. ‘When he leaves you to bear his bastard alone, Nadya, will you give that child to Lord Keddinton to rear?'

‘Why? Did the
gadje
do so well with your upbringing that you feel I should?'

With the back of his hand, her half-brother struck her. It was the first time in her life Stephano had hit her, and the violence of it shocked them both, so that for a moment they simply looked at each other.

Angel reacted first. She flew at her beloved uncle, small fists flailing at his legs. Her high-pitched keening as she hit him over and over again was the sound of grief rather than rage.

Distraught, Nadya rushed to pick up daughter. She tried
to reassure her, but the little girl resisted all her efforts at comfort. The terrible noise she made continued unabated.

Stephano endured it as long as he could. When he removed the child from Nadya's arms, Angel twisted and turned in his hold, but he was strong enough to control her.

‘Take your whore with you when you leave,' he said to Rhys. And then to Nadya, ‘Angel isn't going to end up in some foundling home when the
gadje
tire of her.'

As stunned by Stephano's pronouncement as she'd been by the blow to her face, Nadya tried to wrench her daughter away from him. Ignoring her protests, he carried the struggling child across the meadow toward the Rom encampment.

Nadya had to run to keep pace with his long, angry stride. Nothing she said slowed his advance. Finally, he pushed her away with his left arm, easily maintaining his hold on the now-hysterical child as he did.

He had shoved her hard enough that, off balance, she stumbled and fell. On hands and knees, she turned to look beseechingly at Rhys, who followed them.

He bent to help her to her feet. ‘We'll get her back.'

‘You don't know him.'

‘Will he hurt her?'

‘Of course not. How could you think that? He loves her. More than his own life. That's why he's taken her. He's terrified he's going to lose the only person who's ever loved him totally and without qualification.'

Rhys didn't argue with her assessment. He put his arm around her instead, offering Nadya the comfort her daughter had been denied.

 

As they entered the Gypsy camp, Rhys had no idea what lay ahead. All he knew was that he was responsible for what had just happened. Nadya had warned him that
any relationship between them would damage her standing in the tribe. Knowing that, he'd been unable to leave her alone.

Today had been the final betrayal of all that he felt for her. And of his own concept of honour.

Even while accepting the blame, he couldn't believe Nadya's brother would be vengeful enough to separate her from her daughter. The cruelties Stephano had endured as a child had scarred him, but it was hard to fathom that a man who professed to love his sister could do what he had threatened.

And if he did…

There was no way he was going to allow that arrogant bastard to take Angel. Being separated from Nadya would destroy her fragile sense of security. And it would kill Nadya.

As Stephano carried the struggling child through camp, the Rom who'd been working outside stopped what they were doing to watch. Hearing the terrible noise Angel still made, people also emerged from the bender tents, the women with sewing in hand or infants balanced on their hips.

Their
Rom Baro
strode to the central campfire. It was obviously a pre-arranged signal, for the members of the tribe began moving toward that location. One of the women reached out in an attempt to take the girl from his arms, but he refused to give her up.

When most of the Rom had gathered around him, Stephano began to speak, raising his voice to be heard over the child's hysteria. ‘The
gaujo
my sister sheltered has abused her hospitality.'

As her brother spoke, Nadya straightened away from Rhys's support to stand beside him, her head held high. She'd made no attempt to smooth the disorder of her
curls, and her lips were still reddened from his kisses. To Rhys she had never been more beautiful, more regal or more distant.

Whatever the outcome of this, she was the one who stood to lose the most—not only her place in the tribe, but also her daughter. Rhys vowed that he wouldn't let that happen. Not if he had to fight every man here to prevent it.

‘He has defiled my sister by making her his whore,' Stephano went on. ‘As the head of her family I claim what is my right according to our laws.'

The low murmur his words provoked from the assembly contained an element of shock. Rhys couldn't be sure if that was because of the term by which the Gypsy had referred to Nadya or by his last assertion.

He glanced at the woman beside him, seeking guidance about what was taking place, but her attention was locked on Stephano. She didn't seem afraid, which reassured Rhys that whatever right her half-brother had just claimed, it apparently didn't involve a physical punishment of some kind for her.

‘Are we not to hear from your sister, Stephano?' Magda said from the steps of her caravan, a position of command that was enhanced by both her age and rank among the Rom.

It took a few seconds for Rhys to realize why the silence that had fallen after the old woman's question seemed so complete. Angel had stopped crying and was looking over Stephano's shoulder at her great-grandmother.

‘My sister has no authority to speak here.'

‘Of course she does. Ask Cora about the authority of the
drabarni
.' With Magda's words, one of the women, heavily pregnant, put a protective hand over the bulge of her belly. ‘Or Sunar, whose arm Nadya set last month. Or Andrash,
who she tended after the raid. It is for them to say what place Nadya has in our
kumpania
.'

‘No longer. The
drabarni
is unclean.' Stephano's face was cold even as the murmur of shock or concern followed his words.

‘Your own mother took a
gadje
lover and bore him a son,' Magda said. ‘When she had done that, she returned to us and married a good man who loved her despite her disgrace.'

‘If there is such a man here, someone who wishes to marry this
gaujo's
whore, then I will give my sister to him. Is that what you want from me,
chivani
?' Stephano asked.

‘Do you not care what I want, Stephano?' Nadya voice held no hint of embarrassment or apology for what she'd done. ‘Should I not have some say in my future?'

‘You chose it when you became the Englishman's whore.'

‘I chose to give my body to a man. As my mother did before me. And her mother before her. As every woman here has done.'

‘And by our laws you are free to go with that man,' Stephano said. ‘If he still wants you.'

‘What if I choose not to go with him?'

Was that what Nadya wanted? To stay here rather than be with him? Was her standing among her own people more important to her than the future they might have together?

If so, that, too, was her prerogative, Rhys acknowledged regretfully. One he had no right to oppose. Although she had given herself to him, she had promised him nothing.

‘Then I declare you outcast,' Stephano decreed flatly.

The murmur began again, but the tenor of it was different. This time there was a distinct feel of protest and disagreement in the sound.

‘That's a decision for the
kriss
to make,' Nadya protested.

‘This is your
kriss
. I am its judge.'

‘And you judge me because I gave my body to a man? Or because that man was not Rom?'

‘You know the law.'

‘Who here brings charges against me?' Nadya held her hands out, palms up, as if in supplication to her people.

‘I do.' Stephano's words drew another disapproving response from the crowd, but he continued to speak over it. ‘You have dishonoured your family and the
kumpania
.'

‘As our mother did. Did her family bring her to trial?' As she asked that question, Nadya seemed to appeal to her grandmother who, after her initial comments, had watched without taking part in the proceedings.

‘As head of the
kumpania
, Stephano has the right to censure your behaviour,' Magda said.

Nadya's body stiffened, reacting to what must seem another betrayal, but her chin lifted. ‘Does he also have the right to take my daughter from me,
chivani
?'

‘Angeline isn't your daughter,' Stephano said before the old woman could answer. ‘She's chattel. Something you purchased. As property, she falls under the jurisdiction of this court. To be disposed of when her owner is exiled.'

Another blow. Another almost invisible reaction from the slight, proud figure standing beside him. One more than he could bear.

‘You aren't taking Angel away from her,' Rhys said into the heavy silence. No matter Nadya's instructions that he should hold his tongue, he was tired of her brother's assumption that he could do whatever he wanted.

‘Who will stop me,
gaujo
? Will it be you?' Stephano's well-shaped lips curved into a smile, but his eyes were as hard as the obsidian they resembled.

‘If no one else will.'

‘And how do you propose to do that?'

‘By taking Angel from you.'

The Rom's smile widened so that the whiteness of his teeth gleamed like those of a wolf closing in for the kill.

‘You think you will do that in front of my people?' It was more taunt than question.

‘I don't believe your people agree with what you're doing.'

‘It doesn't matter whether they agree with it. They have sworn an oath of allegiance to me.'

‘What value is an oath given to a blackguard and a scoundrel?'

‘Isn't that the definition of the Rom among your kind?' The wolfish grin widened, and the crowd's response, although muted, was once more in Stephano's favour.

Nadya had been right. This wasn't a society he had any chance of understanding. Or influencing. A place where English law had no jurisdiction and garnered no respect.

‘Rhys doesn't speak for me,' Nadya interrupted, ‘but you know Angel isn't chattel, Stephano. You're using some arcane law to punish me for what happened between the
gaujo
and me.'