Gypsy Jewel (13 page)

Damien swore softly under his breath, wishing he had brought his pistol along. He crashed loudly through the brush, hoping to scare away any predators or other men who might be lurking in the gray shadows. The Georgian wilds were beautiful, but they were also dangerous. He felt a surge of adrenalin as he invaded the dark, brooding forest which had grown undisturbed for a thousand years.

Finally he heard the splashing of cold water over rocks. Knowing that bathing was only permitted the farthest upstream, and the areas closer to camp reserved for washing clothes and dishes, he climbed up an incline to the north.

Somewhere in the shadows, owls were already hooting, muffled slightly by the thick overgrowth. Here and there Damien heard other small night creatures scurrying, alarmed by his intrusion. He considered calling out for April, but he knew that she would not answer him. Cursing her for making him worry, and himself for being a fool, he continued his trek onward along the rough banks of the mountain stream.

After nearly a half-hour, during which the sun died in a final burst of orange-red fire, Damien noticed that the noisy rapids had fallen away behind him. Suddenly he broke free of the woods to find himself in a knee-deep grass meadow under a star-studded sky. He had stumbled across a lush little glen hidden in the bosom of
El Bruz
itself.

The twisting and turning of the wild stream continued up the side of the mountain, and here in a vee protected from wind and rain lay a tiny paradise. From a snow-flecked ridge, a thin veil of water misted down to form a deep sapphire pool, eventually leading to a narrow outlet to the sea.

And it was here that Damien also found his young wife. He watched in spellbound silence at the figure of ivory and gold smoothly lapping across the pond. April paused once to scoop glittering water in her hands, and let it trickle down her face beneath the moonlit sky.

For several minutes more Damien watched her swim, as she flipped on her back and let the silver rays of night turn her proud breasts into glistening peaks of rose quartz. Her slim legs playfully churned in the water, propelling her along as she hummed softly to herself.

When April finally came to shore and walked from the water like Venus from her bath, Damien had to grit his teeth at the sight of her wet hair plastered like liquid gold to her nude form.

Not wanting to startle or embarrass her, Damien did not reveal himself until April had dried in the cool night air and slipped back into her clothes. Then, quietly, he walked into the glen and feigned surprise at finding her there.

“I thought you were a wood nymph at first,” he greeted her softly.

“Have you been here long?” In the moonlight April’s green eyes were large and bright, a matched set of emeralds. He saw consternation in her face that he had found her at all.

“No, I just followed the stream up here. I was worried about you. Tzigane said you had left a long time ago, and it’s dangerous in the woods at night. But I can see why you came here. I’ve never seen anything like this place.”

Both of them fell silent, drinking in the beauty of the secret little paradise. For a moment it was as if they were the only humans in existence, a frightening and yet heady thought.

“We camped here once before several years ago, and I found it then,” April said softly, as if not to disturb the peaceful scene. “Nobody else knows about it.”

“I’m sorry if I spoiled it for you,” Damien replied. He studied April’s lovely face by moonlight, wanting to reach out and trace her softly glowing cheeks and the full lower lip she worried between her white teeth.

“You have every right to resent me and the decision I made,” he said, and she looked up at him in faint surprise. “But please try to understand, I had little choice. Many of your people thought you should be punished, some suggested banishment. It would have been foolish of me to let you off without any punishment at all, for Nicky would have revenged himself in the end.”

“Yes, I know. I won’t deny cutting Nicabar with my knife. But it was in self-defense, and I will not apologize for it.” Her chin lifted, and Damien smiled to recall the proud gypsy child he had rescued all those years ago.

“Then you see my problem. If I let you go free, someone might hurt you or your mother. This way, I satisfy everyone to some degree.”

“Except me,” April said pointedly. “But then, my wishes don’t count.”

“Of course they do. I don’t want to be unfair to you.”

“Is that why you insisted on marriage? To be fair to me?”

Damien had to admit he had never been so completely cornered by a woman before. Even the court coquettes, so adept at their little mind games, could not equal April’s straightforward challenge.

“I asked the king for your hand for several reasons. Yes, I needed a wife, and you needed a protector —”

“Perhaps you also need something else from me?” April interrupted, startling him with her insight. “Since you are not truly Rom.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted. He changed the subject deftly to avoid going into detail about that. “But believe it or not, April, I do find you attractive. And I want you in the way a man wants a woman.”

There. He had said it. Expecting to see fear or revulsion on her face, he was surprised when she looked at him frankly with her jeweled eyes and said, “Well, you have me now. By Romany law you can do with me as you please.”

“And you won’t fight me?”

Damien saw her swallow hard, but she shook her head. He suspected she was frightened, but no threat would make his little lioness tremble. Slowly, he raised a hand to touch her cheek. April stiffened, but did not bolt. Gently, he ran his fingers down the curve of her jaw to her throat, where a pulse fluttered rapidly under the smooth skin.

“What if I choose to take you now?” he huskily asked, and saw an answering quiver run through her taut body.

Lips parted, April gazed up into Damien’s aquamarine eyes. His touch sent strange thrills through her, like bolts of flame, and she did nothing but look at him in helpless wonder. She suddenly noticed his clean hair and clothes. He was making an effort for her, she knew, but she still wasn’t sure she wanted to accept it.

What kind of woman was she to respond to a
gajo
‘s touch? And worse yet, what wife wanted her husband to follow through on any threat? But April had a powerful urge to melt into his arms and surrender to the warmth and comfort he offered her now. Only her pride prevented her from caving in, and with a supreme effort she swallowed and replied, “You are my husband, and I will obey. But you will get no pleasure from me.”

Damien chuckled. “You vowed that much before, April. But surely you know a man can get pleasure from a woman even if she does not desire it? I think you are more innocent than you pretend.”

Her moonlit cheeks flushed pink. “I know what happens between a man and wife.”

“The basics, perhaps. But what of the pleasure … the love?”

“Love?” she exclaimed scornfully. “You cannot expect me to believe that you, a
gajo
, care about such a useless emotion. Do your people not mock the Romany for their romantic songs? And your mother, did she teach you love is important in the
gaje
world?”

Damien hesitated, surprised. He had not thought about Marcelle for several months. It was as if being away from the glittering, brittle world of the European courts, he easily put aside everything that went with that life.

“Yes,” he said at last, deciding on a half-truth, “but it was before she died.” That should satisfy any further curiosity over his past, he hoped. Actually, Marcelle did have a romantic streak. But then, she was French, and given to passion. His father, Edward, had scoffed at anything but marriages of convenience.

Sympathy flooded April’s eyes. She asked quietly, “Did she die when you were young? Were you raised alone by your father?”

Damien silently cursed himself, realizing one lie bred another in quick succession. “Yes,” he answered shortly. “But now he, too, is gone.”

“I’m sorry.” She suddenly touched his hand in comfort, a surprising but admittedly pleasant show of gentle emotion. Her fear and distrust had momentarily vanished, and he saw a side of her he suspected few others had seen.

“I have been alone for years and am used to it now. I understand it has been much the same for you, since Tzigane is not your real mother.”

April’s hand quickly withdrew and her eyes darkened unexpectedly. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Of course.” Damien cleared his throat, uncertain how to proceed. Damn the girl, why did she have to be so appealing? Gazing up at him with those bright green eyes, she was everything he had dreamed of, and more. Here was no petite French butterfly or refined English lady, but a strong, self-sufficient young woman fully capable of reducing a man to smoldering ashes.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore the strong male instincts that urged him to make her his own. “I expect nothing from you, April. You need not fear that I will take unfair advantage of you. That is the real reason why I was anxious to get you alone, to reassure you about the future. As to our — er — arrangement, it would be helpful if you would cook a little, perhaps, and wash clothes once a week, or look after the horses. I’m not terribly talented in such areas.”

April would not admit to being disappointed in his suddenly practical air. She said stiffly, “That sounds fair enough. It will pay for my keep.”

Damien started to protest. She had misunderstood his intent.

“No.” April shook her head defiantly. “A gypsy wife earns her way in the world. I am no drudge to be lazing about. I will earn our living, and you may work or not as you please.”

Damien knew she was serious, or he might have laughed. He hardly believed he had only found such a woman among gypsies, for in France or England, any lady would be thought mad to aspire to be anything beyond decoration in a drawing room.

He found he liked the idea of partners, uncommon though it might be. “We shall both contribute equally, I think. I hope in time you will come to see that I’m a decent man.”

“Why do you want to be a gypsy, Damien?”

He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t put it into words. When you saw me before in Constantinople, I was an unhappy man — rich and bored and lacking challenge in my life. Perhaps you’ll think me mad, but I’ve always wanted to live as one with nature, with no limits but the sky. And,” he admitted, “when I saw you again, I knew my decision was the right one.”

How had he read her heart so easily? April drew in her breath, startled by Damien’s revelation. He was turning his back on his other world for her, as well as for himself. Did he also feel the same powerful urge to link his body with hers?

April didn’t know the answer to the question, but couldn’t quell the rapid beat of her heart or a soft moan when he suddenly leaned close and pressed his mouth down upon hers.

Thrilling, electric sensations pulsed through April at the innocent kiss. Damien did not try to thrust his tongue into her mouth or rudely grope her as Nicky had done. His lips were firm but gentle, subtly possessive and experienced. She knew in that moment what it was to be kissed by a man.

Nevertheless, when he finally lifted his head away, April said, “You must understand, I won’t sleep with you. You can’t make me do those things.”

Damien hid his amusement at her emphasis of “those things.” What horrors did she imagine? But he said gently, “Don’t worry about any of that right now. There will be plenty of days and nights ahead of us on the road where we can talk. Right now, we both must get some sleep. We need to think of getting an early start in the morning. I will walk you back to your mother’s wagon. Are you ready to head back to camp?”

She nodded and got to her feet beside him. Shyly, April asked, “Will you hold my hand?”

“It would be my pleasure, wife.” Damien’s blue eyes sparkled like the pond lapping softly behind them, and with a sudden gallantry that made April laugh, he offered her a strong, warm hand and led her back to camp.

G
OODBYES WERE SAID WITH
tears and laughter, and parting gifts were pressed upon Damien and April, some by those they thought their enemies. Though Belita did not show up, Nicky lurked on the edge of the crowd, his dark eyes watching them closely as he passed up his own gift, a blanket for their new horse.

April did not want to part from her mother. She clung to Tzigane and cried, unashamed of her emotion as the others watched somberly. When Damien finally touched her shoulder gently indicating that it was time to go, she broke free from her mother and fled into the trees one last time.

“Let her go,” Tzigane said, when Damien made a move to follow. “She just needs a little time alone. She has never been without me, and the change is hard for her.”

“Why did she go to the forest?” Damien asked, his eyes fixed on the slim silhouette that vanished into a thick crop of shadows under the canopy of leaves.

Tzigane nodded toward the trees. “I found her there as a baby. Somehow she senses it holds the key to the secret of her past.”