For the Love of a Gypsy (13 page)

“You want me, so you have me.” He kept his voice low, placating, as he slowly walked toward her.

“Aye, I have you, love. Not like Abigail, she couldn’t handle a man such as you.”

Her manic gaze darted between him and the direction of the village.

He held up his hand and spoke in a soft tone. “Abigail was your friend.”

“Ha,” she snorted. “She loved another and her father was poisoning you.”

Declan furrowed his brow. Sadie had supported his wife while she lived. What had changed her mind? What?
Poisoned
? “Calm down and we’ll talk.”

“No,” she said with an eerie, high pitch to her voice. She waved the gun toward him. “Don’t move, Declan.”

He had to defuse the situation. “Sadie, what did Abigail do to you?”

Her face lit up, and the waving gun stopped. “Why she stole you from me. Can’t you see? We are made for each other.”

The woman was daft. “I married Abigail in London. I didn’t meet you until we arrived at Riverton.”

As if sensing its name spoken, the west wall of the estate groaned and crumbled. The shattering clamor of broken glass mixed with the collapse of wood beneath the flames echoed across the yard.

Sadie didn’t so much as blink. “Nay. Weren’t ye always mine, now? She tried to take you away.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. He had to move her toward the village and hopefully toward the magistrate. “You speak madness.”

The manic gleam appeared once again in her eyes. “The villagers are coming. Quick, we must go.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Aye, ‘twas the truth of it. Anger and frustration snapped through him. “Only if you tell me everything.”

She sighed and attempted to sweep her skirt clean of soot and ashes. “He planned to kill you.”

Ettenborough? Declan scoffed. “Not possible.”

Sadie laughed, a hollow, ear-piercing howl. “The elixir for your megrims was poison.”

He was speechless. Nay. Even Ettenborough couldn’t have been so mercenary.

“I see you don’t believe me, you fool. But his blasted servant gave him the mixture. When you had megrims, he gave you more and more,” her agitated voice skittered up his spine. “You see, don’t you? The megrims were when the poison was wearing off. You were an addict.”

Declan raked his fingers through his hair while trying to keep an eye on the crazed Sadie and the approaching villagers.

“Don’t you believe me, my love?”

“Aye,” he answered under his breath, still trying to absorb all that had happened. Could circumstances be any stranger?

Sadie cackled. “Ettenborough was trying to kill you and
his daughter
ended up dead.” She shuffled a little jig with glee.

Declan took the opportunity and lunged at Sadie. She toppled to the ground. The gun landed several feet away from them.

“Nay,” Sadie bellowed. “You’re mine. Didn’t I make sure she was out of the way?”

He grasped her shoulders and shook her. “You killed Abigail?”

She nodded and reached up and caressed his cheek. “We can wed. And we can have beautiful children.”

Thunderous hoof beats echoed across the clearing, matching the rising chaos in his mind. Villagers now crowded behind them, their curiosity forcing them to close in, nearly sealing off any air. Declan tried to catch his breath, not sure of what to say as grief washed over him anew.

“Let her go,” Trenmore Grey ordered as he pushed through the crowd.

“Nay,” he said with a rasping voice. This woman had killed his wife. He was truly innocent.

“We heard what she said,” one of the villagers yelled. “You can let her go.”

He rose, emotions swimming in his mind and forming tears in his eyes. His wife had been murdered all for the obsession of one woman.

The waste devastated him.

He stumbled away from her. Trenmore leaned down and assisted Sadie to her feet. “That’s it, my love. Just lean on me.” His gentle tones soothed the crazed woman, who now resembled a child more than a murderer.

The magistrate, Martin Connelly, rode up on a huge gelding. “Grey, what the devil is going on?” The man dismounted from his horse and straightened his suit coat. He swaggered closer, a scowl on his face. “Is that you, Forrester?”

Declan nodded yet remained silent.

“Won’t I be needing to talk with you?”

Again he nodded.

“’Twas Lady Bannon,” someone in the crowd yelled. “She killed Lady Abigail.”

Connelly cocked a bushy brow and looked pointedly at Trenmore Grey. “Is that the truth of it?”

Sadie leaned her head on Grey’s shoulder and began to weep. “Aye, ‘tis the truth,” he replied.

The magistrate nodded to the men standing behind him. “To the gaol with her.”

Grey held up his hand. “I’ll take her if ye don’t mind.”

Connelly hesitated, then acquiesced with a shrugged of his broad shoulders.

The crowd followed Trenmore and a cowed Sadie as they slowly walked toward the village. Inquiring whispers reached Declan as he watched with a mix of anger and pity.

All he could think of was finding Martine. He turned and looked in the direction of the camp. Were they still there? Or had they moved once again in preparation for the marriage ceremony?

He was torn. Should he go to her now that he had been proven innocent of killing his wife? Or should he ferret out the truth of his incarceration first?

Glancing quickly at the villagers still making their way to the gaol, he turned back to the woods—to Martine.

He was going after her.

Chapter 16

He grabbed Kindred, threw on a bridle, and leapt onto his bare back.

They raced toward the clan’s camp. Declan heart swelled with eagerness to find her. Find the love of his life.

A steady rain began. A slight tug on the reins and his steed slowed to a walk. He lifted his head toward the sky and allowed the water to wash over him. Aye, he felt alive.

“Declan.”

He opened his eyes and couldn’t believe the sight before him.

There she stood—his love—his angel.

Within a moment he’d slipped from Kindred’s back and was running toward her. All he could think was to have her in his arms.

“Martine,” he said as he kissed all over her face.

She laughed and pulled him closer. He lifted her and swirled her around. Happiness filled him so much he almost didn’t recognize the emotion. Aye, he’d been content in the past, but never filled with . . . joy.

He cupped her face with his hands and soaked in the sight of her. He’d missed her beyond measure. And God she was lovely.

“I like this better,” he said as he shifted his fingers through her auburn tresses.

She tipped up her chin at him. “Me too.”

He captured her lips in a long, searing kiss. The rain washed over them as each grappled to get closer, tighter against each other. Her mouth opened to accept him as he circled his tongue around hers. He splayed his hand against her back, supporting her, loving the feel of her beneath his touch. Their bodies melded into one. Her every curve was cradled against him, incensing him with desire.

Martine caressed the back of his neck, warming his skin—ah, he loved her touch, soft as a feather, then more insistent.

He raked his gaze over her. She wore red from head to toe.

Her wedding attire.

His heart nearly stopped. “Please tell me you didn’t wed Magor.”

“Nay, I did not.”

Never had he been so relieved. “Come with me.”

She glanced at the woods beyond the narrow stream as she bit her lip. He could sense her wavering and pressed on. “We can leave Ireland. No one will look for us.”

Anguish creased her beautiful face. “My family.”

He rested his forehead against hers. “We can create our own.”

“I am Rom.”

“You are English,” he said fiercely.

“Anya,” she whispered as tears shimmered anew in her eyes.

Aye, he’d miss her as well, but he knew deep down she’d support their union. “She wishes us well, I’m certain.”

Martine nodded as she sniffled. “She does wish us well.”

His heart pounded as his blood sang through his veins. “You’ll stay with me?”

She nodded as a smile filled her face. “I am sorry I deceived you. I couldn’t hurt the clan that saved my life.”

He kissed her brow. “Rafe shared the story. I understand.” He squeezed her against him, just to prove she was real. “What did Magor say?”

She shuddered. “I’m not certain. I left before the ceremony.” She pulled back and looked up at him. “I’m surprised we can’t hear my brother screaming from here.”

“Aye. I’m sure he’s angry with you and me.”

“No matter. Linka’s daughter will replace me. ‘Tisn’t as if it was a love match. Just a joining of clans.” The bitterness in her words caused him to frown.

“I have deceived you as well.” His gut clenched as he thought about what he had to share. His life had been filled with hatred and turmoil. He’d hate for any of that to affect the woman he loved.

She looked up at him. Her eyes wide and lovely, filled with compassion and love. “You are innocent. I know it in my heart.”

He pulled back. “How long have you known?” Sweat coated his back as he thought of her knowing he was accused of murdering his wife.

“Rafe told me yesterday and I knew you were innocent. I told him as much.”

He cradled her cheek with his hand. “My love, I
am
innocent. Sadie Bannon is on her way to the gaol as we speak.” He kissed her, drawing her in deep.

As he kissed along her silky jaw she said, “Ask me again.”

“What?” he murmured against her neck, gaining a shiver as she gripped onto his shoulders.

“To be your wife,” she whispered as he tilted her face up so he could look directly into her eyes.

He grinned. “I want you to be mine. But I have to ensure we will be safe. There are matters I must settle in London. When I do, will you marry me?”

“Aye, Declan Forrester, I’ll be yours.” But a troubled furrow formed between her brows.

He tipped up her chin. “What is it my love?”

“I have left my clan to be with you. But what are we to do now? I’m no longer accepted by the Rom, and the people of your village will not accept me.”

He thought for a moment. They both searched for things that may be impossible to find. Innocence and acceptance. “My love, you will be accepted. I promise you. You will be Lady Forrester.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward and he chuckled. Still the doubt in her mind showed through her eyes as they darkened with uncertainty. What he wouldn’t do to ease her fears.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and together they walked back to Riverton. There he’d prepare for their departure to London. If they made haste, they’d be fast on Finn’s heels.

“I need to find out why I was imprisoned, Martine.” God, he hoped this wouldn’t change her mind. “Without knowing who worked against me, we’ll never be safe, and I wouldn’t do that to you or our children.”

She grasped his hand. “Declan, I will stand by you. I will help you.”

What had he done to deserve such devotion? He swung her into an embrace. “I love you. When I thought I’d never see you again, it nearly killed me.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, making them glisten like precious brilliant stones. “Aye, and I love you.”

She narrowed her gaze and pointed to the north. “What is that?” Martine asked.

“Riverton,” he said with little emotion. While his life in Ireland had saved him from a terrible fate, now he would be tied to something owned by Ettenborough.

Her eyes widened as she gasped. “Your estate? You’ve lost everything.”

“Nay,” he said as he shook his head. “All I need is here in my arms.”

They stayed in the barn, refusing the comfort and speculation of the villagers. The night air meshed with ash and loam as it curled around them with the moistness known to Ireland. Martine snuggled next to him, her shallow breaths telling him she was asleep.

He’d have to talk of his imprisonment—of that he was certain. And if she forgave him, forgave his numerous sins, then he’d be a happy man. Declan had no doubt the priest in London would wed them once he learned all of his past.

Would she have him, he worried? Could she forsake the fact that he’d been imprisoned and truly was a murderer?

He pulled his arm out from beneath her and laid her sleeping form back onto the blanket. The cushion of straw helped ease the harshness of the ground, but his body still betrayed him with stiffness. Declan stretched as he walked out of the barn and into the night. His back ached as it had since prison. Another souvenir he had to remind himself of his hell on earth.

He continued toward the house, now a pile of ashes and charred boards. Nothing was left of his life at Riverton. ’Twas as he wished it, yet he’d never thought it would be so unbelievably final.

And Abigail. How had she felt when Sadie had drawn the knife across her throat? Knowing the woman she claimed as friend had turned into a foe. His stomach clenched as he thought of his wife. He kicked a smoking board as he drew his fingers through his hair. Damn, he still didn’t have the answers, only a few explanations, but still gaping holes remained. It nagged him so, the fear of the unknown. And maybe the fact he might not want to know the past and how it affected him now and in the future.

Declan turned toward the direction of the village. Candlelight flickered in some windows, while others remained as dark as the night. He rubbed the back of his neck, wanting to ride to the magistrate and demand he give him all the answers he sought.

“Declan?”

Martine wrapped her arms around him from behind. He caressed her hands clasped about his waist. Her head rested against his back and the very essence of her, rose and lavender, immediately calmed him.

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I missed you, ‘tis all.”

He pulled her around to face him and tipped her chin up. The moon haloed her face with an amber glow, etching her beauty so lovingly, it took his breath away. “I have something to tell you.”

She tensed. How could she not? So much had already happened and now he was going to add to the turmoil. Declan butted his forehead against Martine’s and sighed. He waited a moment, reveling in her presence and how he loved her.

“You know I was in prison.”

She pulled back and looked deeply into his eyes. “Aye.” Confusion filled her gaze, yet she remained silent.

He inhaled, then spoke. “I was in Newgate in London. I spent five years in hell until Abigail’s father wagered for my release.”

Tension shifted through her body. “Why?” she said with a raspy voice.

He shrugged, sorrow filling him as the pain of his time in prison resonated. “I don’t know.”

Her brow rose in question. “How can that be?”

He clasped her hand and they began to walk toward the barn. “It has to do with my father, Ettenborough, and a man named Broderick. I have been searching for the truth for years.”

She clung tighter to him. “Oh, Declan, how you have suffered.”

The concern, not pity, flowed through her words. Och, he hated to upset her further, but he must tell her everything. “Martine,” he began, “I am not proud of my behavior, to be sure. But life in prison—”

She placed her finger over his lips, silencing him. “You don’t need to tell me more.”

He shook his head. “Nay. I must tell you everything. I want you to be certain you want to marry me.”

A smile filled her face and humor glimmered in her brown eyes, lightening them to cognac. “I don’t scare that easily, Lord Forrester.”

He scoffed and hugged her tighter. “Just Declan.”

“Och, the shame of it all. And me wanting to be a lady all these years.”

Her laughter was contagious and he found himself chuckling along with her. Declan swooped her into his arms and captured her lips with a deep kiss. She infused him with goodness and he greedily took it from her.

A sobering thought stopped him. She was a lady. ‘Twas the truth of it. Would she want to seek her inheritance? Become ensconced in the
ton
. God save him if she did.

“Martine, your family—do you want to see them?”

Shadows darkened her gaze. “Nay,” she said barely above a whisper. “They are not my family.”

“But your inheritance—”

She gave an angry shake of her head. “Nay, I have no interest in the money.”

God, she was a unique woman. “I love you.”

She grinned, an expression that chased away the shadows, hurt and pain. “Aye, and I love you.”

A horse neighed, startling them from their embrace.

“It seems as if the big mon has found a way to distract himself.”

Nate swung down from his horse and patted Declan on his back. Lange and Pierce did the same. Matthew stayed astride, his gregarious smile visible even in the darkness.

“We’ve been waiting for the dust to clear, so to speak,” Pierce said as he hugged Declan. “Oh, sorry, m’lord.” He swept Declan’s shirt free of wrinkles as he was wont to do when he worked in the house. “Grand. All set now.”

Declan chuckled and patted his valet. “Not to worry, Pierce.”

He bobbed his head as the other men stared at Martine.

They were huge, all except the one he called Pierce. Rough and a bit ragged, she witnessed camaraderie among them that made Declan seem less the solitary man. She liked the warmth, the softening of his stance.

She watched silently as the men inspected her. Wariness, some primal predatory reaction, she supposed. Declan was their leader after all and here she was distracting him.

“This is Martine,” Declan finally said. The men tipped their heads toward her. Only one reached out to take her hand.

She wondered if Declan had purposely left out her surname. Petrulengo was Rom. Was he acting as if she wasn’t Rom? Did he think if he didn’t mention it, others would accept her?

Not that the men would run into many a lass called Martine.

“I’m Nate,” the man with a reddish mop of hair said. She could discern he was from Scotland; his brogue was thick, yet friendly.

She accepted his hand, trying not to be intimidated by the brawn of the man.

Declan stepped closer and eased an arm around her shoulder. “Where is Finn?”

“He sent us back in case ye decided to follow him.”

He shook his head. “The bastard took off before the sun rose.”

“Don’t be vexed,” Nate said. “He did what was best. Broderick wouldna speak if ye were there as well.”

Declan grunted. Martine stifled laughter at the disgruntled look on his face. He looked toward her, and her heart turned as his ire melted into a charming grin. “Men,” he said, “I’ll speak with you in the morn. As you can see, the house is gone. Make yourselves comfortable in the barn or in the village at the pub.”

“Aye, the pub will suit us.” Nate mounted his horse and saluted Declan before leading the animal and the men toward the village.

She was sad to see them go. She wanted to learn as much about Declan as possible and it appeared as if these men were a huge chunk of his life. One he hadn’t shared with her. Pah. Men weren’t chatters like women. They didn’t gossip around the dinner pot or mending circle. He’d tell her, of that she was certain.