Wild Fever (11 page)

“Aye, we’ve heard enough about this Ana,” Daman said as he turned his mount alongside Ronan’s. “Take me to this gypsy beauty so I can see her for myself.”

Ronan regarded his friend sternly. “You think to take her from me?”

Daman’s confident smile grew as his eyes twinkled in merriment. “Is she that beautiful?”

“Just you try,” Ronan dared Daman, only half jesting.

Morcant shoved his long sandy blond hair out of his eyes with his hand. “Be cautious, Ronan. You wrong a gypsy, and they’ll curse you. No’ so sure we should be meddling with such people.”

Ronan laughed and reined in his jittery mount. “Ah, but with such a willing body, how am I to refuse Ana? Come, my friends, and let us enjoy the bounty that awaits.”

He gave a short whistle and his horse surged forward in a run. Ronan didn’t wait for his three comrades, because he knew they would follow – no matter what.

It began a decade earlier when they chanced upon each other during a Highland games between their four clans. After that, they made sure to meet regularly until they were as inseparable as brothers. The four formed a friendship that grew tighter with each year that past.

Ronan looked over his shoulder to find all three racing each other trying to catch him. He spurred his stallion faster, the wind brushing his face and the ground a blur beneath his horse’s hoofs.

One by one, the three caught him. Ronan pulled up, easing his stallion into a canter until they rode their horses four abreast. A glance showed that even Stefan’s face had eased into lines that some could consider almost a smile.

Ronan grunted when he spotted two riders atop a hill. Even from the distance he recognized the plaid of his clan. It came as no surprise that his laird would have him watched. He was, after all, Ronan’s uncle.

He and his friends rode from one glen to another until Ronan finally slowed his horse to a walk. With his friends beside him, they stopped atop the next hill and looked down at the circle of gypsy wagons hidden in the wooded glen below.

“I’ve a bad feeling,” Daman said as he shifted uncomfortably atop his mount. “We shouldna be here.”

Morcant’s horse flung up his head, and he easily brought his mount under control with soft words. “I’ve a need to sink my rod betwixt willing thighs. If you doona wish to partake, Daman, then doona, but you willna be stopping me.”

“Nor me,” Ronan said. Normally he would have listened to Daman, but he had been to the gypsy came for four days straight and left without any difficulties.

Stefan was silent for several moments before he gave Ronan a nod of agreement.

Ronan was the first to ride down the hill to the camp. A young beauty with long black hair came running out to greet him in her brightly colored skirts. He pulled his horse to a halt and jumped off with a smile as Ana launched herself in his arms.

He caught her and brought his lips down to hers. Ah, but she had the most alluring lips that could bring him to the point of ecstasy.

“I’ve missed you,” she said in her thick Romanian accent.

“Is that so?” he asked with a wink. He turned her to the others who had ridden up behind him. “Ana, these are my friends, Daman, Morcant, and Stefan,” he said, pointing to each of them in turn.

Her smile was wide as she held out her arm. “Welcome to our camp.”

Morcant was the first to dismount. He dropped the reins to allow his horse to graze and walked between two wagons into the center of the camp.

It didn’t take Stefan long to follow. Ronan saw the indecision on Daman’s face. It was long moments until Daman slid from his horse and gathered the reins of all four mounts to tether them together.

“I’ll keep watch,” Daman said as he sat outside the camp near a tree.

Ronan wrapped an arm around Ana, briefly wondering why Daman was suddenly wary of the gypsies. Then Ana rubbed her bountiful breasts against him, and Ronan forgot everything but his aching cock.
 

He didn’t give any of his friends a second thought as Ana took him to her wagon. Ronan wasted no time in quickly undressing her. His body was starved, and the gypsy was an enthusiastic and willing accomplice.

~ ~ ~

Ronan yawned, his body fully sated after hours in Ana’s arms. Damn, but the little gypsy knew how to wring pleasure from him. He was lucky to have found her. He closed his eyes and was lulled by the haunting melody of the violins being played around the camp’s fire.
 

He was drifting off to sleep when Ana snuggled against him, one leg thrown over his. She was tenacious about lying against him.

“When will we marry?” she asked.

His sleepy mind was yanked from the fringes of sleep. “Hmm?” Surely he hadn’t heard her mention marriage. Theirs was just a mutual meeting of pleasure.
 

He’d made sure to give her multiple orgasms. Wasn’t that enough? Marriage – or any long-term commitment – had never been uttered. He knew that for a fact.
 

“Marriage, Ronan,” she said, rolling the R in his name.

Now he was wide awake, a vise around his chest. His heart thumped in his chest, his blood pounded in his ears. Marriage was a word he never wanted associated with him, much less mentioned. It was something he intended never to partake in.

Ever.
 

He pretended to be asleep, hoping Ana would drop the matter. It took great effort for him to remain where he was and not jump up and ride far, far away.
 

All he had to do was convince her marriage was a bad idea. Then he would wait until she slept and leave. Never to return.

Perhaps he should have listened to Daman and not visited Ana this night.

She nudged him with a slight laugh. “Wake up, Ronan. You’ve come to see me for five nights now. You’ve shared my bed. You’ve eaten the food I’ve cooked. It’s time to speak with my family about what you plan to do.”

Do? What he planned to do was get up and leave. Fast. How had he gotten into this mess? He thought he’d be safe from any mention of the word marriage by dallying with the gypsies. Apparently he’d been wrong.

“Ronan,” she said louder.

He cracked open an eye, feigning sleep. “Aye?”

“Will we leave in the morning to meet your family?”

“Nay, sweet Ana,” he said and closed his eyes with a fake yawn. He would let her down gently and then pleasure her again before he left because she had given him such enjoyment the last few days. Maybe a lie would be best. Yes, a lie. Something where he didn’t have to explain his family or his past – or his abhorrence to marriage.
 

“I’m promised to another.”

The bed moved as she flopped on her back before she sat up. Had he gotten out of the marriage business with that small lie? Ronan sure hoped so.
 

He heard her moving about the small wagon. A brief look showed she was gathering her clothes. He’d remain until she was out of the wagon, and then he would sneak out. At least that was his plan until she sank onto the edge of the narrow bed after she dressed and began to cry.

How he hated when women used tears. His mother and sister did it often enough, and he was immune to such machinations because of it. His desire for Ana waned to nothing before quickly turning to revulsion.
 

Once more a female had tried to use him.
 

She had succeeded in snaring him with her body, but not marriage. When that hadn’t worked, she resorted to tears as they all did.

“I love you, Ronan,” Ana murmured.

He squeezed his eyes shut. A part of him, a cruel, vicious part, wanted to tell her that there was no such thing as love. Love was a tool used by women to entrap men. His father had fallen into such a trap, as had his brother-in-law.

Ronan had tried to tell his brother-in-law, but the besotted fool had actually thought Ronan’s sister loved him. What she loved was the money her husband had.

A memory from when Ronan was just a lad filled his mind. He witnessed a fight between his parents where his father vowed his love and his mother laughed in his face. Then and there Ronan knew that love was just a word. There was no meaning, no emotion that poets wrote about or minstrels sang about.

He blew out a harsh breath and rose from the bed as he grabbed his kilt. “I think it’s time I left.”

“No marriage?” Ana asked, tears pouring heedlessly down her face.

Ronan gave a quick jerk of his head side to side and fastened his kilt. Ana cried even harder as she rushed from the wagon. He let out a deep breath and pulled on his boots. After his sword was belted into place he found his saffron shirt.

Just as he was reaching for it he heard an anguished scream, a soul-deep, fathomless cry that was drug from the depths of someone’s soul.
 

Ronan forgot about the shirt as he leapt from the wagon, his hand on the hilt of his sword ready to battle whatever had disrupted the camp.
 

He looked one way and then the other for the threat, but found only Daman standing outside the wagons staring past Ronan with a resigned expression on his face. Ronan turned and found the old woman, Ilinca, who was often with Ana looking down at something in the grass.

Ronan took a step toward her and instantly came to a halt when he spotted the bright pink and blue skirts of Ana. Even in the fading light of evening there was no mistaking the dark stain upon the grass as anything but blood.

“What the hell,” Morcant said as he exited a wagon still fastening his kilt.

The night of pleasure and laughter Ronan had envisioned with his friends seemed as far away as the stars in the sky. He wanted to go to Ana, but by the dagger sticking out of her stomach – and her hand still around it – the last place he needed to be was the gypsy camp.

They would blame her suicide on him. All because he refused to take her as his wife.

“Ronan,” Stefan called urgently as he stood amid a group of gypsies.

There would be no walking away. If Ronan wanted to leave with his life, he and his friends were going to have to fight their way through the group of gypsies who stood with various weapons.

Before he could pull out his sword, Ilinca let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at him. Ronan was frozen, unable to move or even speak.

Words tumbled from Ilinca’s mouth, her wrinkled face a mask of grief and fury. He might not comprehend the words, but he knew they could be nothing good. Especially since she was somehow holding him immobile.

Morcant, however, wasn’t in such a bind. He rushed to Ilinca with his sword raised, and in a heartbeat, the old woman had him frozen in his tracks as well.
 

A bellow of anger rose up in Ronan, but he couldn’t let it loose. He was able to shift his eyes. He tried desperately to silently tell Stefan and Daman to run, but he should’ve known his friends wouldn’t leave.

The ever-present rage exploded in Stefan, and he let out a battle cry worthy of his clan as he leapt over the fire toward Ilinca. But once more, the old gypsy used her magic to halt him.

Her gaze shifted, and Ronan found his own on Daman. Daman glanced at the ground and inhaled deeply. Then, with purposeful strides, crossed some unseen barrier into the camp.

Instantly, Ronan’s head exploded with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but there was no blocking it out. It went on for eternity.

As quick as it came, it was gone. When he opened his eyes there was nothing but blackness. There was no sound, no movement.

“This is for my Ana,” Ilinca’s disembodied voice in her thick Romanian accent sounded around him. “You killed her as surely as if you held the blade yourself. For that I curse you, Ronan Galt. Forever will you be locked in here until such time as you earn your freedom.”

Ronan turned one way and then the other. He ran until he couldn’t run any more, and then went another direction and ran for miles. And still it was always the same.

Blackness.

Where were Daman, Morcant, and Stefan? How was he supposed to earn his freedom? He hated the stillness, hated the silence. But more than anything he hated being alone.

Thank you for reading
Wild Fever
. I hope you enjoyed it! If you liked this book – or any of my other releases – please consider rating the book at the online retailer of your choice. Your ratings and reviews help other readers find new favorites, and of course there is no better or more appreciated support for an author than word of mouth recommendations from happy readers. Thanks again for your interest in my books!

Donna Grant

 
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