Claiming the Forbidden Bride (6 page)

‘Then isn't it convenient that in this case they do? Go peddle your fortunes to the villagers. We shall need their shillings come winter.'

‘Before it, if we keep feeding strangers.' One dark brow rose in challenge, but the old woman's grin widened.

And when Nadya turned to take the
gaujo's
breakfast to him, she, too, was smiling.

 

As she rounded the corner of her
vardo
, she discovered the Englishman dressed and sitting on its high seat. Flat on his back, he had sent her normally unflappable senses reeling. Upright, he proved to be even more of a threat to them.

Much the worse for its recent immersion as well as for the now-mended mutilation she'd performed on it, the lawn shirt was stretched across a pair of broad shoulders. She had removed his cravat when she undressed him. He hadn't bothered to replace it today, so that the strong brown column of his neck was visible at the open throat.

‘Out for the sun?' She shaded her eyes with her free hand to look up at it.

‘I thought it was past time I was up.'

‘Then you've discovered the answer to your question.'

‘My question?'

‘About when you'll be well enough to ride.'

His lips flattened, but he didn't respond to her teasing. She waited a moment, unsure what had just happened, and then held the bowl she carried up to him.

‘Do English lords eat porridge?'

‘I'm sure they do.' The green eyes again held a trace of amusement.

‘Do you?'

‘I have been known to partake of porridge. When I was lucky enough to have it at hand.'

‘Then…' She lifted the bowl a little higher.

He hesitated a moment before he reached down to take her offering. ‘I'll be more than happy to pay you for whatever you've expended on my care. If you'll provide me with—'

She wasn't sure what he saw in her face, but whatever it was stopped him in mid-sentence. ‘It's porridge,' she said. ‘We've plenty of it. And no matter what you've heard, we aren't accustomed to charging our guests for their food.'

‘I'm hardly a guest.'

According to his lights, he was right. He didn't remember what he'd done to earn her gratitude, and she had thus far, for her own selfish reasons, chosen not to tell him. But it was past time for the truth.

‘You are my guest. An honoured one. For as long as you wish to stay.'

‘That's very kind, but—'

‘You saved my daughter's life,' she interrupted. ‘At considerable risk to your own.'

‘Your daughter? Angel?'

‘She'd fallen into a stream, and you rescued her. I'm not sure when or how you struck your head, but it was in the course of that rescue.'

‘She told you that? I thought…'

‘The girl who was supposed to be watching her witnessed it all. You still don't remember?'

A furrow appeared between his brows as if he were trying to. Finally he shook his head.

‘None of it. I remember riding out that morning, revelling in the freedom of being in the saddle, and then…I remember being placed on a cart. At least I think I do. That may have been something else—' Again he hesitated.

‘Something else?'

It seemed the Englishman, too, had things he'd chosen not to reveal, but she couldn't imagine what. If he remembered the rescue, then in his situation, it would be to his advantage to lay claim to his heroic actions.

‘Another memory, perhaps. I remember thinking at the time that I was being carried from the field. And then…then I thought I must have dreamed it.'

‘The field? A battlefield? You were a soldier?'

‘Better or worse than being a lord?' The amusement was back.

‘From my perspective? I suppose that would depend on whether or not you were a wealthy soldier.'

‘Another disappointment, I'm afraid. All the wealthy soldiers
were
lords. It takes a great deal of money to buy a commission these days.' He spooned a bite of the porridge, blowing on it before he put it into his mouth.

‘Ah, well,' she comforted as she watched him, ‘I suppose you'll just have to share porridge with the rest of us then.'

‘And very good porridge it is, too. Thank you.' He lifted
the spoon in a small salute before he used it to secure another bite. ‘For this and everything else.'

‘I believe the weight of debt is still rather heavily in your favour, my lord. If porridge and a few decoctions can make payments on that balance, perhaps one day it may be paid in full.'

‘Consider it paid already. If what you say is true, then I'm glad I was at hand when your Angeline needed a rescuer.' He looked up from the bowl, the green eyes serious now. ‘And very glad you were at hand when I needed one.'

‘At no risk to myself.'

His gaze left hers to survey the compound. Despite the fact that the normal morning activities were ongoing, more than one pair of eyes had been focused on the two of them.

The Englishman smiled and nodded a greeting to those who seemed interested in their conversation. As he did, most had the grace to turn their attentions back to the daily tasks at hand.

Andrash, who had helped carry the Englishman back to camp, lifted a hand in response. The ex-soldier responded in kind before he looked down at her.

‘At no cost to yourself?'

She laughed. ‘If you're imagining that my position here is in jeopardy because I choose to take you in, you're mistaken.'

‘At least one person objected rather strongly to your kindness. And, although I have no way to verify his claim, he said he had the authority to enforce his displeasure.'

He meant Stephano, Nadya realized. Given their proximity to the caravan when her half-brother had issued his ultimatum, she shouldn't be surprised to find that her patient overheard them.

‘Is that why you're up? Because you felt…threatened?'

‘I'm up because I felt well enough to try.'

‘And well enough to succeed, it seems. Congratulations.'

‘You may hold your applause until I can do more than sit in the sun.'

‘Granted, your bay will prove more of a challenge.'

‘My brother's bay,' he corrected softly.

There was some issue there. A rivalry? Or simple envy of the firstborn's rights under English law?

‘Shall I ask Andrash to bring the gelding?' She turned her head, seeking the smith, who had apparently found occupation in another area of the camp while they'd been talking.

‘Maybe I'll check on him. Later, I think.' He held the half-empty bowl down to her.

Although she noted the slight tremor in his fingers, she didn't comment on it. ‘At your convenience, my lord. I assure you your brother's horse will be here and well tended when you are ready for him.'

‘If you insist on a title, then major will do.'

‘Aren't majors' commissions purchased?' she teased.

‘It happens mine was awarded. My previous ranks were purchased, however. By benefactors,' he added when she cocked her head as if to challenge his denial of wealth. ‘My brother and my godfather, actually.'

‘That reminds me.' She fished the paper and pencil stub out of her pocket, holding them up to him. As he took them, his fingers brushed hers. ‘So, Major…?'

‘Morgan. Rhys Morgan.'

‘How do you do, Major Morgan.' She lowered her head as she had seen the ladies in the village do.

‘Better than yesterday, thank you.'

‘And not so well as tomorrow. That I can promise you. Don't be impatient.'

He nodded, his eyes on hers.

After a moment, she deliberately broke the contact between them by looking down at the bowl he'd handed her. ‘We can do better than this for dinner.'

He shook his head. ‘You'd be surprised how grateful one can be for porridge.'

For some reason she believed him. Of course, as a soldier, he had undoubtedly known deprivation.

Now, however, he was back in England, where his kind wanted for nothing. Except, perhaps, the favours of a well-placed benefactor. Or of a Gypsy girl.

‘You didn't tell me your name.'

Surprised, her eyes came up, as she debated whether or not to tell him the truth. And then, deciding that it couldn't possibly matter if he knew, she did. ‘My name is Nadya Argentari.'

‘Your servant, Miss Argentari.' He repeated her earlier gesture, making rather more of it than she had.

‘Somehow I doubt that, my lord.'

‘Major,' he corrected again.

‘Major Morgan. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients who seem to
still
be in need of my skills this morning.'

‘But none, I assure you, who will be more grateful for them.'

‘No matter your denial, I see that you are indeed a milord.'

‘A simple soldier, ma'am, I assure you. And quite willingly at your service.'

He inclined his head slightly. Despite all her strictures to the contrary, Nadya found her senses once more stirred.

Like a schoolgirl taken with the first handsome gentleman she encounters.

Or at least the first she had encountered in a very long
time, Nadya admitted. And, she reiterated, this time strictly to herself, the sooner he is gone, the better it will be for everyone concerned.

Especially for me.

T
he following morning Nadya was surprised to discover her half-brother back in camp. As she crossed the centre of the compound, she saw one of the men taking Stephano's black stallion to the horse pens to be cared for. Sadly, the animal appeared to be in need of the attention.

Riding his mount to exhaustion was not something Stephano would normally have done, but the act was typical of his single-mindedness of late. Consumed with events in his past, he was, in her opinion, abdicating his current responsibilities.

Not that he was interested in her opinion.

If only his lack of interest might extend to her activities…

Taking a deep breath, she walked toward her grandmother's caravan. There was no sense in postponing the confrontation she knew would occur. She had deliberately disobeyed Stephano's orders, and he would demand an explanation. And she had none, other than the one he'd already rejected.

As she approached Magda's caravan, eyes on the ground, her half-brother jumped down from it and came
toward her. She saw that he had been in camp long enough to change out of his
gadje
attire and back into the traditional garb of their people.

The small gold earring he wore when in camp glinted in the sun. The colourful vest, long-sleeved shirt and loose trousers were exactly the same as those worn by the other men, but Stephano's good looks and air of confidence would make him stand out anywhere.

Even among the English Ton he professed to despise, she thought with a small sense of pride.

Today, nothing about his appearance suggested his mixed heritage. And when he was with the Rom, that was exactly the way Stephano wanted it.

When he reached her, there was no kiss of greeting, as there usually was between them. Apparently her half-brother had already discovered that the Englishman was still here.

The first words out of his mouth confirmed that impression. ‘I told you to get rid of him.'

‘And I told you he'll leave as soon as he's well enough.'

‘He's well enough now.'

Without slowing, Stephano strode past her and toward her caravan, so that Nadya was forced to run to catch up with him. She grabbed his arm, but he shook her off.

‘Listen to me.' This time she used both hands to grasp his wrist, holding tightly enough that he would have had to use force to free himself. She was relieved when he turned toward her instead.

Although his face was closed, Nadya tried once more to argue her case. ‘The man saved Angel's life. Surely that means
something
to you, if for no other reason than because it means so much to me.'

The hard black eyes softened almost imperceptibly. If
she had not known him so well, however, she might not have been able to tell her argument had had any impact. The stern lines of Stephano's face hadn't altered.

Which shouldn't be surprising, she conceded, considering he'd had a lifetime of practice in not revealing what he felt.

‘Magda says he's well enough to leave,' her brother said.

‘The next time you suffer an injury, shall I let Magda decide your treatment?'

His lips tightened, but he didn't dispute her point. She was the
drabarni
. Questions about healing were her domain, not that of their grandmother.

‘But he is conscious?' Stephano demanded.

‘Yes.'

‘So who is he?'

‘His name is Rhys Morgan. He's an ex-soldier, recently returned from Spain.' She couldn't see how revealing what his service had cost the Englishman could advance her cause. Stephano had grown so hard that he might instead take those wounds as a sign of weakness.

‘And?'

‘That's all I know. That and the fact he was travelling to his godfather's house when he rescued Angel.'

As she mentioned Rhys's godfather, she realized that her half-brother would be the ideal person to deliver his message. Not only would he be returning to London shortly, he also knew the ways of the
gadje
and, because of that, would be less likely to raise concerns within Rhys's family.

‘He asked me to find someone to deliver a note to him.' She removed the folded paper Rhys had given her from her pocket and held it out to him.

‘To his godfather? Did he mention a name?'

‘Keddinton, I believe.'

‘Keddinton? Are you sure?'

The name had meant nothing to Nadya, but clearly it did to her half-brother. He unfolded the paper to read what Rhys had written, the gesture revealing the silver bracelet her father had made for him.

‘Do you know him?'

Stephano laughed. ‘I don't travel in the elevated circles Lord Keddinton occupies. Not any more.' The bitterness of the last was apparent.

‘Then…?'

‘I know
of
him,' he clarified, closing Rhys's note. ‘So would you if you weren't so concerned with your “daughter” and your herbs.'

‘A concern for which you've had reason to be grateful in the past. And may again.' Stephano suffered debilitating headaches, which with her herbs she had been able to mitigate to some small extent. ‘Who is this Keddinton?'

‘Someone influential in the capital. More influential than the title he holds would indicate. Your
gaujo
has powerful connections,
jel'enedra
. Which makes me wonder why he's content to recuperate in a cramped
vardo
under the care of a Gypsy healer. I wonder if that could that have anything to do with you, my dear?'

That very English appellation jarred, especially coming so closely on the heels of his usual name for her. Almost from the moment her father had brought Stephano back to them, he had referred to her as
jel'enedra
. His little sister.

‘I imagine this is not so different from what he's accustomed to. I told you: he's a soldier.'

‘Whose godfather is one of the most powerful men in England.'

‘What can that possibly matter to you?' She was beginning to fear that her half-brother was considering how he might benefit from Rhys's connections.

‘I'm not sure it does,' Stephano said with a shrug. ‘It's simply something I find interesting. And potentially useful.'

‘How could that possibly—'

‘I said
potentially
useful,
jel'enedra
. Do you think it would come amiss if I inform Lord Keddinton of your kind services to his godson?' He held up the note for emphasis before he pushed it into the pocket of his vest. ‘Maybe he'll even see fit to reward you for them.'

‘I don't consider caring for the man who saved my daughter's life deserving of a reward.'

‘Then it's just as well you're content with your lot. Those who are never use the tools fate hands them to achieve a better one.

‘As you have done, I suppose.'

‘A lesson I learned early. And too well. But then I had sterner masters than you. You should be grateful for that.'

‘You didn't used to be this way, Stephano. Bitter and vindictive.'

‘Or perhaps you didn't know me so well as you thought.'

‘I know you've changed. Something or someone has changed you.'

Stephano laughed. ‘Ask Magda if you want to know why I've changed.'

‘Magda?'

‘Who sees and knows all. Have you ever asked what future she sees for you?'

‘You don't believe in her
drabbering
. No more than do I.'

‘I believe in destiny. Someone has tampered with mine.'

‘Did Magda tell you that?' Nadya's tone was derisive. Leave it to the old woman to try and stir up his ambitions.

‘Magda tells me things because I pay attention. Do you?'

‘To Magda's prophecies?' Nadya laughed. ‘Did you remember to cross her palm with silver, Stephano? Be
warned. If it wasn't enough, she may weave you a bad fortune. Maybe she'll even put a curse on you.'

‘Someone's already done that, my dear. Magda is simply trying to help me find a way to remove it.'

With that, her half-brother made a sweeping bow, as if they were in some London ballroom and the cotillion had just ended. Before Nadya could think of a suitable rejoinder, he had walked away.

As she watched, he joined a group of men smoking beside one of the tents. Their heartfelt welcome made her realize anew how adept Stephano was at playing the chameleon.

Someone's already done that, my dear. Magda is simply trying to help me find a way to remove it.

Clearly Stephano preferred to remain cryptic about his intentions. Nadya knew the old woman well enough to know that she would, no doubt, relish the telling of how the two of them were scheming to get back at the
gadje
who'd ruined Stephano's life.

Nadya glanced back at her
vardo
. It seemed that her half-brother might be content to leave Rhys alone until he had considered every possible way in which he might use the Englishman and his connections.

That meant that, for now at least, her patient was safe. And she would have a chance to find out what poison their grandmother had been feeding Stephano.

 

‘I thought you didn't have any use for the past. That's what you always tell me. “None of your old stories,
Mami
. What's done is done.”'

Her grandmother wasn't as forthcoming as Nadya had anticipated. Still, she had years of experience in dealing with the old woman. Making a mystery of things was part of Magda's stock in trade.

‘People change,' Nadya said. ‘Look at Stephano, for example.'

‘You think he's changed? Maybe you've simply become more aware of the difficulties your brother faces because of his birth.'

‘What difficulties? Stephano does exactly what he wants. He's successful both here and in the
gadje
world. He comes and goes between them as he pleases. If anyone is master of his fate, it's Stephano.'

‘And you envy him that.'

Nadya shrugged, but she couldn't deny her grandmother's perception. Nadya knew that she was very lucky not to live under some man's thumb. Neither a husband nor a father.

The influence Stephano exerted as head of their
kumpania
was the closest thing to control she was subject to. Given their blood ties, his rule over her had always been remarkably loose. Now, distracted with whatever was going on in the other world her half-brother inhabited, he had been even less concerned with her affairs.

If it hadn't been for Stephano's increasingly obvious unhappiness, she would have been content to leave matters as they were. But because she loved him, she wanted to know what was driving his self-destructive behaviour.

‘Why shouldn't I envy it?'

‘Your brother had suffered in ways you can't begin to imagine,
chavi
. As a child, Stephano was assured of everything a man could desire. Money, position, power. With his father's murder, all those promises disappeared. Whatever Stephano has now, he stole from the hands of fate. Nothing was given him.'

The English lord who was Stephano's father had been stabbed by a friend. After his death, his widow's family had
quickly seen to it that the half-breed bastard he'd foisted on her was sent away to a foundling home. It didn't bother them in the least that they were throwing a seven-year-old child out of the only home he'd ever known.

‘What more can he want than what he has now?'

‘Justice,' Magda said simply. ‘For his father. And for himself.'

‘When has the Rom ever had justice? Especially at the hands of the
gadje
.'

‘Ah, but that's the difference between the two of you. You don't expect the world to do right by you, so you'll do right by yourself. Stephano, on the other hand…' Magda's shrug was expressive.

‘Stephano expects the
gadje
to treat him fairly? He isn't that naïve.'

‘Not expects,
chavi
.
Demands.
There's a difference. Stephano believes justice is his birthright.'

‘Stephano is half Rom. That half, if nothing else, precludes justice at the hands of the
gadje
. As for his English half, the courts hanged the man responsible for his father's death. Isn't that justice enough?'

‘Your mother didn't think so.'

‘Because she was obsessed with the death of her lover.'

‘How would you feel if it were
your
father who'd been murdered,
chavi
? Or your lover?'

For an instant, the handsome features of the ex-soldier she'd cared for the past week were in her mind's eye. Nadya banished the memory with the practicality she had learned from both her grandmothers.

‘What can Stephano hope to accomplish after all these years? His father's dead. The nobleman who murdered him has been punished by the English courts. Under their laws, Stephano has no claim to his father's
title or estate. Instead of encouraging him in this insanity, you should make him realize that what's done can't be undone.'

That was a truth Nadya's mother Jaelle—Magda's beloved daughter—had never accepted. Overcome with grief at her lover's death and obsessed with seeking justice for her lost son, Jaelle had eventually hanged herself.

In doing so, she had left Nadya motherless and her Romany husband heartbroken. Thom Argentari had never recovered from the loss of his wife or from the sense of betrayal her suicide had engendered. Nadya would always believe that had played a role is his own too-early death.

Left in the care of her beloved grandmothers, Nadya had thrived, despite her grief. Perhaps if Stephano had been returned to the Rom after his father's death, he might not have been scarred to the extent Magda suggested he had been. As for what he was doing now…