Gypsy Jewel (15 page)

After that, matters progressed swiftly and terribly. Nicky saw to the knotted rawhide that restrained Damien’s left hand behind his back, tying it so tightly that the bonds cut into Damien’s wrist. Then, using the other man’s handicap to his own advantage, Nicky tried to grab April and give her a brutal kiss in front of her husband.

But she had been ready for something like that. With scarcely a flick of her skirts, April lashed out with a bare foot in a snap-kick that caught Nicky below the knee.

Cursing, Nicky hopped around and screamed obscenities for a full minute, waving the gun wildly about. To kill April now would be to deprive himself of the pleasure of raping her later, he decided, so he held himself in check and contented himself with calling her every vile name he knew.

“Seems to me that your energy might be put to better use,” Damien interrupted when a break in the cursing came.

“Yes! Killing you,” Nicky bawled back, his dark eyes flaming with hatred. “Let’s get on with it.”

Then, to ensure that April couldn’t interfere, Nicky dismantled his gun and set it aside. Drawing out his own six-inch blade, sharpened to a razor-thin point that gleamed wickedly in the late afternoon sun, the horse trader dropped to the fighting crouch he had learned as a child.

April watched Damien assume a likewise pose. He was the taller of the two, but Nicky was strong and wiry and laced with muscle from working outdoors. Nicky’s thighs were exceptionally strong, as he had ridden bareback from youth. The
gitano
emitted a low, mocking laugh as he circled his opponent. He intended to cut Damien to ribbons and enjoy every minute of it.

Damien gazed steadily at the boy. He didn’t underestimate the younger man, but quickly sought for weaknesses in his opponent. Used to sizing up men for battle, Damien saw at once that the boy was unevenly gaited and possibly had one leg shorter than the other. This had the effect of throwing Nicky off balance a little, and might work to Damien’s advantage, but the gypsy also had a longer knife and the benefit of two hands to his single one.

Knowing the real odds were in Nicky’s favor, Damien had no choice but to make the best of it. Grimly patient, he waited for the boy to rush him first.

He didn’t have long to wait. Nicky tried to distract him with a fancy flourish of his knife, then suddenly dodged and came at Damien’s left, trying to capitalize on his rival’s bound hand. Fully prepared, Damien pivoted smoothly and countered the attempt. Nicky hurled past, his knife slashing perilously close, but not touching.

Heart in her throat, April froze, completely forgetting Damien’s order to flee. She cried out when Nicky tried to sneak up behind her husband to bury the gleaming dagger in his back.

Hearing April’s shout, Damien hurled himself aside and rolled just in time to cause Nicky to stumble in mid-thrust. When the gypsy hit the grass with a hard thud, Damien saw his chance. He dove back for the boy, intending to end the deadly fight as soon as possible. But he had forgotten his own handicap. Wildly trying to free his tied hand, Damien hesitated a fraction too long. Nicky was soon back on his feet, his hoarse braying laugh carrying across the meadow.

“Nice try,
gajo
,” Nicky called out mockingly. “Maybe next time you won’t be so foolish as to agree to a knife fight. But then again, there will be no next time for you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Damien muttered, sparing a moment to fling a furious glance at April, nodding his head sharply toward Adar.

To his dismay, she only stared stubbornly back, refusing to take the hint. He understood then that she was here for the duration of the battle, for better or worse, just like a real wife would be. Infuriated by her obstinacy, Damien was also a trifle amazed. It would have been so easy for her to leap up on her horse and ride away, leaving him to his fate alone. He had a fleeting suspicion that perhaps he meant more to her than he dared hope.

Both men tired as the minutes dragged on. All the running, jumping, and dodging wore on their nerves and their muscles. Nicky was drenched with sweat, his dark eyes wild and desperate as he continuously circled his rival like a rabid wolf. Damien’s blue gaze was still steady and calculating, but he felt the telltale protest of every muscle, and knew his strength was beginning to give out.

I’m no longer a young lad, Damien thought wryly, but concentrated on hiding that fact from his opponent. It mattered not that he had seen battles before this young whelp had been born; precious little good that did him now. Nicky was out to spill his blood, and it was patently obvious Damien couldn’t talk his way out of this one.

Marshaling a final burst of adrenalin, he finally slammed into the younger man shoulder-first in a move that threw Nicky completely off-guard. Stumbling backward, the boy slipped in the slick grass and landed heavily on his back. He slashed wildly with his knife in defense, shredding the sleeve of Damien’s shirt and leaving thin red slices on his enemy’s exposed arm.

As he simultaneously ducked and attacked, Damien shoved a sharp knee into Nicky’s chest, pinning the horse trader down. He leaned back just far enough to avoid getting a knife in the face, but Nicky quickly made mincemeat out of his right arm. Soon Damien’s old war wound was reopened and gushing blood.

April cried out, not knowing to whom the blood belonged. All she saw was Damien’s white shirt quickly turning red. Both men’s arms were a blur, weaving and clashing their gleaming knives together. Suddenly Nicky’s weapon sailed away as Damien dashed it from his hand. Resorting to fists, the gypsy tried to punch his attacker. But it was here where Damien truly showed his skill. Trench warfare had been an everyday occurrence in Crimea, and he had learned how to dispatch an enemy quickly and effectively.

Bringing the square handle of the dagger firmly down, Damien knocked Nicky senseless in a single blow. The thrashing, cursing youth was suddenly rock-still beneath him. Panting harshly, Damien got up. He started to take a step, then wavered and almost fell.

April ran to catch him. Grabbing Damien around the waist, heedless of the fresh blood staining her own blouse, she helped him to the wagon. There he collapsed, breathing heavily and looking slightly dazed.

“Your arm,” April exclaimed, seeing the terrible gash and pulled stitches. The puckered skin was angry and raw, laid back nearly to the bone. It had just begun to heal before Nicky had taken his knife to it. Fighting her own queasy stomach, April hurried to tear sheets from the bed in the wagon to tightly bind the cuts.

All the time she kept casting worried glances at Nicky’s inert form, afraid the gypsy would wake up, and like a dark nightmare, come at them again. Sensing her concern, Damien finally managed a weak laugh. “I think we’re safe for now. But just to be sure, why don’t you untie my hand and use the rope to bind his instead?”

When Damien presented his back for her to free him, April’s trembling fingers found the knot so tight she would have to cut it, and the binding had almost sawed through his flesh.

She would make Nicky regret hurting her husband this way. Fetching the dagger from where Damien had dropped it, she freed him, and then took the cord over to where Nicky lay.

It gave her savage satisfaction to roll the gypsy youth on his side and yank his wrists behind his back. Using every ounce of strength she possessed, April looped the rawhide twice and tied it in a double-knot. Then, for good measure, she gave Nicky a swift kick in the behind.

Watching her in action, Damien chuckled softly. He had never imagined such a woman existed. Every inch of April quivered with indignation as she exacted her vengeance. In the rosy glow of twilight she was like a wildcat poised over her prey, her tawny mane matched by flashing green eyes. When she came back to his side, briskly dusting off her hands for a job well-done, he congratulated her on her courage.

“But I should beat you, wife, for refusing to leave after I ordered you to,” he teased her.

“Then you are a bigger fool than I thought.” April placed her hands on her hips and regarded him sternly. “Do you see now how easily you could have been killed?”

Damien smiled, blue eyes so intent on her they suddenly took her breath away. “And do you realize how very green your eyes are, like the sea foam that rides the waves onto shore?”

Her lower lip trembled slightly. “What has that to do with anything?”

Damien gave her an penetrating look. “Right now, everything. It probably explains why I suddenly want to make love to you.”

Blushing, April whirled away. But not before she felt a sharp stab of anticipation shoot to her very core.

H
AVING AN UNINVITED GUEST
didn’t change Damien’s intentions to spend the night in the clearing. When Nicky finally came to groaning consciousness, he found himself securely tied and bound to a sturdy tree trunk. In order to keep peace and quiet, Damien generously provided a gag as well.

To April’s surprise, Damien gave her ample time to dress down and slip beneath the sheets of the bed, then blew out the candle and joined her. In the faint light she could just make out her husband’s bare-chested figure as he got into the far side of the large bed. He moved stiffly, obviously suffering from the wound in his arm.

Softly she asked, “Are you all right?”

Damien made an affirmative noise. “Just a little sore.” After a moment of silence, he asked her, “Do you regret coming with me?”

April didn’t answer immediately. She knew she had no choice, but so far, Damien hadn’t been anything like she’d expected. “I think we can help each other,” she replied, not willing to commit herself more than that.

Hearing the caution in her voice, Damien could fully understand the reason for it. April knew nothing about him, and what little he had told her was mostly lies. He had probably saved her life today, but then she had been an invaluable coach in the knife fight. April owed him nothing — not even loyalty. The thought disheartened him.

They would be spending weeks if not months in each other’s company. Moscow was still a good distance away, and other than bandits and soldiers, they were not likely to encounter anyone else with whom to spend some time. He realized as he listened to the girl breathing softly across the wagon from him that he suddenly did not want to be alone tonight. But he could not, and would not, hurt or betray her more than necessary.

At that same moment April was biting her lower lip in indecision. She was worried about Damien’s injury, and also wondered if Nicky could escape. Sleep was too elusive, and she squirmed about trying to get comfortable for the next hour. When finally she heard Damien’s soft snores, she rolled up on her elbow and looked across at him.

In the dim light her husband’s features were dark and almost indistinguishable, but she could just make out the closed lashes over his cheeks. His broad chest rose and fell smoothly with each breath, and the sheet had somehow worked its way down to the narrow strip of black hair at his waist.

Unabashedly taking this golden opportunity to study him closer, April slipped out of bed and crept over to Damien’s side. His black hair was mussed and his mouth half-open like a little boy’s. Wonderingly she extended a single finger to touch the silky waves that framed his clean-shaven face.

When April tentatively reached out to see if the whorls of black chest hair were just as soft, a hand suddenly shot out from beneath the covers and grabbed her wrist. She yelped softly as Damien’s blue eyes suddenly opened on her.

“April? What are you doing?” he rasped, slowly recognizing the face above his. “I thought you were an intruder.”

She winced, and Damien realized he still had her wrist in a cruel grip. Letting her go, he sat up in the bed and demanded, “Is something wrong? Did you hear something outside?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep. I just had to see i-if …” she trailed off, a hot flush flooding her face.

“What? You had to see if what —?” he prompted her. Belatedly Damien recalled the sensations of someone gently stroking his head and chest while he slept.

“If your hair was as soft as it looked.” Choking on the words, April turned her face away so he could not see her shamed expression.

“But not just the hair on my head, hmm?” Damien laughed softly and didn’t sound upset. “Well, it’s your right, I admit. After all, we’re man and wife now.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, ashamed.

Suddenly he understood that his laughter had wounded her. April wasn’t half as worldly as she pretended to be. Taking back her hand in his own, he stroked it and said, “I’m flattered that you were curious enough to want to find out. You don’t know much about men, do you?”

April shook her head. Her golden hair glistened under a veil of moonlight. Restraining his own desire to stroke her silken mane, Damien cleared his throat and tried to decide how a man of experience relayed the facts of life to an innocent like April.

“But you said you knew about — ah — men and women? Being together?” He mentally kicked himself for stuttering like an old maid, but she didn’t seem inclined to laugh, thank God.