A Breath of Scandal (3 page)

Rondo made another grab at her but Pietro stopped him. “Let her go,” the older man said. “No one can stop Lara when her mind is made up. Haven’t you learned that yet?”

Lara opened the door and stepped inside the wagon. Her gaze darted to the bed, where Ramona was bent over the inert body of the man she’d found on the beach.

“Hand me that bottle of disinfectant,” Ramona said crisply. “If you’ve come to help, make yourself useful.”

Lara found the disinfectant on the nightstand and handed it to Ramona. “How is he?”

“Still alive.”

Lara’s gaze was drawn to the bed, to the man lying atop the covers. He was naked but for a cloth covering his loins. Lara couldn’t look away. This man was no peasant, nor was he a common sailor. He wasn’t Scottish, either. He hadn’t the Gaelic look about him. Beneath his beard his handsome face was patrician, and his long, lean body was too elegant to come from peasant stock. He appeared to be a man who kept his body in top shape.

His chest was broad, his biceps prominently defined. Lara had no idea what lay beneath the cloth covering his loins, but it had to be as impressive as the rest of him. Yet it was his face to which her gaze kept returning. His lips intrigued her. They were full and sensual, inviting all kinds of wicked thoughts. His lashes were indecently long for a man; his eyebrows were as dark as his hair and elegantly curved. His square chin was entirely masculine. Lara tried to envision the color of his eyes but soon gave up.

“What are you doing?” Lara asked, returning her gaze to Ramona.

“I’m squeezing out the infection. There’s little more I can do. The bullet in his back was difficult, and dangerously close to his lungs. Hand me the needle and thread. I’m going to sew him up. Then we wait, and rely on a higher influence to make the decision of life or death.”

“I’ll sit with him, Grandmother,” Lara said, pulling a chair close to the bed.

Ramona finished stitching the wounded man and settled a blanket over him. She searched Lara’s face, then nodded acquiescence. “I will return soon.”

“Grandmother,” Lara implored, “tell Grandfather that we mustn’t leave for the fair at Lockerbie until your patient can travel. The roads are rough. Jostling him about in the wagon could kill him.”

“I will discuss it with Pietro,” Ramona said as she let herself out the door.

Lara sat beside the wounded
gadjo
, waiting for him to open his eyes. Questions about him burned her tongue. There was so much she wanted to know. His name. Where he came from. Who wanted him dead. A small voice within her whispered that there was more to this man than met the eye. She knew Ramona sensed it too, for she seemed to know things no one else knew. Ramona could read a person’s palm and predict his destiny, unlike some Gypsies, who merely pretended to have the gift her grandmother possessed.

Lara wasn’t aware of the passage of time until Ramona returned to the wagon a few hours later. “How is he?”

“Nothing has changed.”

Ramona felt his forehead. “The fever will begin soon. I sent Rondo to fetch cold water from the sea. Go eat with the others, I will sit here with him.”

Lara didn’t want to leave, but obeyed her grandmother with marked reluctance.

Lara paused at the door. “Did you speak to Grandfather about remaining here a few days longer?”

“Aye. He agreed to delay our leaving a day or two, until the
gadjo
either dies or shows signs of improvement.”

Lara’s voice held a note of anxiety. “You won’t let him die, will you, Grandmother?”

“ ’Tis in God’s hands,” Ramona replied, staring intently into the
gadjo
’s face. “Go now. Perhaps you can hurry Rondo along with the cold water.”

Ramona continued to stare at the
gadjo
long after Lara left. Why was Lara so taken with the
gadjo?
She sensed his troubled spirit and felt evil surrounding him. She knew not whether the evil emanated from him or from others who wished him harm. Nor did she know how it would affect Lara. She only knew that destiny was at work.

Ramona shifted her gaze to the
gadjo
’s hand. It lay limply upon the blanket, open and vulnerable. Disregarding every tingling nerve ending that warned her not to tempt fate, she cradled his palm in her hands. One sensitive finger traced the lines, pausing as she explored the soft pad of his thumb and deep indentations scoring his palm. Suddenly she let out a cry and dropped the hand as if it had scalded her.

Closing her eyes, she muttered an incantation. Her probing into his destiny had revealed a tormented man courted by danger. Powerful forces were at work. Ramona knew intuitively that the
gadjo
’s enemies were a threat to her beloved granddaughter. And there was little she could do to prevent it.

Somewhere in the murky depths of his brain Julian perceived another presence, but sensed no danger. He was aware of unbearable pain, of heat, then he drifted back to the sublime state where he heard and felt nothing.

“Rondo’s here with the water, Grandmother,” Lara said, holding the door open for Rondo.

“Set it on the floor, then both of you leave,” Ramona ordered.

“Let me help,” Lara pleaded.

“No,” Rondo argued. “You don’t belong in here. I will send one of the married women to help if Ramona needs someone.”

“I need no one,” Ramona replied. “Go, both of you.”

Lara withdrew. Rondo followed. “You are attracted to the
gadjo
,” Rondo charged.

“He is sorely in need of my help.” With a toss of her curly hair, she walked away to join a group of her friends.

The Rom were sitting around a central campfire eating supper and exchanging gossip when Ramona joined them.

“Does the
gadjo
live?” Pietro asked.

“He lives. He is a stubborn one. He refuses to give up his spirit.”

“Eat, Grandmother,” Lara urged. “I will sit with him while you rest.”

“He is feverish, Lara, and the worst is yet to come. Call me if you need me.”

Lara hurried into her wagon and pulled the chair closer to the bed. Despite the golden glow of candlelight, the
gadjo
’s face was pale, and purple shadows dusted the fragile skin beneath his eyes. From time to time he moaned and shivered. Lara pulled the blanket up around his neck and crooned softly to him in the Romany tongue.

She fell asleep with her head resting on the side of the bed, her hand clutching his as if to let him know he wasn’t alone.

Lara awoke to the sound of excited voices and daylight shining through the curtained window. She jerked upright just as the door burst inward.

“There’s a ship in the cove,” Rondo informed her. “They launched a jolly boat and ’tis’ heading to the beach.”

Warning bells went off in Lara’s head. “What does Pietro say?”

“He is worried. So is Ramona. We should have left yesterday.”

Lara glanced at the wounded
gadjo
, then turned back to Rondo. “I must speak with my grandparents.”

The
gadjo
shifted restlessly and groaned.

“Has he awakened?”

“No, he’s been doing that all night.”

They left the wagon. The entire camp appeared in a state of agitation. A group of Rom had gathered around her grandparents, and she hurried over to join them.

“Does the ship in the cove mean trouble for us, Grandfather?”

“I know not, little one. We must wait and see and be prepared to defend ourselves should they prove unfriendly to the Romany. How fares the
gadjo
?”

“The same. He is barely conscious and feverish. Do you think the men from the ship are the same ones who tried to kill him? What if they’re searching for him?”

Ramona’s dark eyes turned inward. “We will survive,” she said cryptically.

“Please don’t give him up,” Lara implored.

Ramona never got to answer that question. A dozen armed men burst into the camp.

“We mean ye no harm,” a burly sailor growled. “We’re looking for a man who may have washed up on shore near here. Have ye seen him?”

Much to Lara’s relief, Pietro said, “We have seen no one.”

“Are ye sure? ’Tis important. ’Tis important that we know whether he is dead or alive.”

“Look elsewhere,
gadjo
,” Ramona suggested. “There is no stranger among us.”

“Don’t believe them, Crockett,” a sailor behind him said. He stepped forward, brandishing his pistol in a threatening manner. “Ye can’t trust a heathen Gypsy.” He waved his pistol in Pietro’s face. “I say we beat the old one until we get the truth from him.”

“There’s another way,” Crockett said, glancing at the wagons scattered about the camp. “We’ll search every wagon, every nook and cranny. Spread out, men.”

Panic seized Lara. These men were the enemy. If she didn’t think of something fast, they would find and kill the wounded
gadjo
.

The sailors set off toward the wagons while Crockett held his pistol on the Rom. Lara’s heart sank when she spied a sailor heading toward her wagon. Without thinking, she broke away from the group, raced to her wagon, and planted herself before the door.

“Move aside, wench,” the sailor warned.

Lara held her ground. “You can’t go inside.”

The sailor grasped her about the waist and swung her out of the way. “Be good and I’ll let ye pleasure me for a silver coin when we’re finished here.”

“Don’t touch me!” Lara blasted.

“Why not? Everyone knows Gypsy wenches are whores.”

“What’s the problem?” Crockett asked when he noticed the ruckus taking place outside Lara’s wagon.

“The bitch won’t let me inside,” the sailor growled.

Crockett strode over to join them. “Oh, she won’t? We’ll see about that.”

He shoved Lara aside and pushed open the door. Pietro and Ramona rushed to their granddaughter’s defense. The Rom followed in their wake.

Crockett glowered at Lara and her grandparents. “Well, well, what do we have here? Who are ye trying to protect?”

Lara uttered the first words that came into her head. “ ’Tis Drago, my husband. He’s ill.” A murmur of surprise rose up from the Rom gathered outside the wagon.

“Ill, ye say. Are ye sure he’s yer husband?”

“Aye, the man inside is my husband.”

A whisper of warning reached Lara’s ears, but it was too late now to back down.

Crockett opened the door and ducked inside the wagon. “Mayhap I’ll have a look.”

Lara glanced toward the motionless form on the bed and breathed a sigh of relief. The
gadjo
’s face was partially obscured by the blanket. But her relief was short-lived when she realized that Crockett would know the moment he saw the
gadjo
’s white skin that he was no Gypsy. She sent a silent plea to Ramona.

“Ye say the man is yer husband?” Crockett asked again.

“Aye, Drago, my husband,” Lara repeated for the third time.

Ramona moved up beside her to lend support and Lara grasped her hand.

“Awaken him,” Crockett ordered.

“He’s too ill. I don’t know if he’ll awaken.”

Crockett pointed his pistol at the still figure beneath the blanket.

“Don’t shoot!” Lara cried, rushing to the bed. “I’ll awaken him.”

Crockett advanced a step toward the bed. Ramona placed a restraining hand on his arm. “No! Drago has smallpox. Approach him at your own risk.”

Color leeched from Crockett’s face. “Smallpox? Why should I believe ye?”

“Go look for yourself.”

Crockett hesitated, his fear palpable. He stepped back and glared at Lara.

“Awaken him, wench. I wish to question him.”

Lara clamped down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling as she gently shook the
gadjo
. When he failed to respond, she shook harder. He moaned and opened his eyes.

Julian gazed up into a pair of mesmerizing dark eyes. He had no idea where he was, or why he hurt so badly. He only knew that he must be in heaven. The face that went with the eyes was that of an angel. An angel like no other, one with fiery depths and spirit. A wanton angel with curly black hair and snapping black eyes. He liked that.

“Drago, can you hear me?”

Her voice held a smoky quality that pulled him from the depths of his misery.

“Drago. Answer me. ’Tis Lara.”

Drago? Who in the hell was Drago? He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to play along with the woman. Did she say her name was Lara?

“Aye,” he said groggily. Was that his voice? He hardly recognized it.

“Must I continue?” he heard Lara ask someone who must have been standing nearby.

“He’s awake. I’ll ask the questions now.”

“Drago!” Crockett called out. “Can ye hear me?”

“Aye.”

“The wench here says yer her husband. Is that true?”

Julian would have laughed aloud had he the strength. Husband, that was rich. Since he never intended to marry, he could be no woman’s husband. But Lara was looking at him so intently, he felt compelled to please her.

“Aye, I am Lara’s husband.”

His words were slurred but understandable, carrying beyond the open door to those standing outside. A collective gasp rose up from the crowd and didn’t subside until Ramona’s stern look hushed them.

“Do ye have smallpox, Drago?” Crockett probed relentlessly.

Smallpox. It was a possibility. He certainly felt sick enough to have smallpox. He was clinging to consciousness by a slim thread and would agree to almost anything at this point. Besides, for all he knew he
did
have smallpox.

“Aye.”

That one word was enough to clear the small wagon of Crockett’s threatening presence. He joined his men in their flight to escape the dreaded illness.

“You know what you’ve done, don’t you, Lara?” Ramona asked gently.

“Aye, Grandmother, I know. It couldn’t be helped. ’Twas the only way to save him. Thank you for not interfering.”

“ ’Tis not an easy course you’ve set for yourself, little one. Fate has taken a hand in your future, and there is little you can do now to stop it. You are married to a stranger you know nothing about. You proclaimed him your husband three times before witnesses and the
gadjo
acknowledged it as the truth. You know the ways of our people. You are now wed to the
gadjo
. May God protect you.”