Claiming the Forbidden Bride (9 page)

Her eyes fell to the child he held. The doll Magda had made her was clutched to her chest. Her other hand, its fingers holding the wooden cat, was around Rhys's neck.

Angel's gaze, however, was focused on her mother. Nadya smiled at her, reaching out to run her thumb down the child's cheek. There was no response. The blue eyes appeared to rest on her face, but they were unseeing.

They'd come so far, Nadya thought in despair. Too far to allow the little girl to sink back into that state of apathy in which she'd found her.

Reaching out, she pulled her daughter from Rhys's arms. He seemed surprised, but released the child as soon as he understood what she wanted.

‘Is she all right?' he whispered.

Wordlessly, Nadya nodded. She tucked Angel's head into the crook of her neck, laying her cheek against the child's. With her right hand, she stroked her hair comfortingly.

There was no response. The child's body was cold. Almost rigid. Just as it had been so long ago.

Had this night of terror destroyed the sense of security she and Magda had worked so hard to instil? Had all their efforts been for naught?

She denied the possibility, because she couldn't bear to believe it. As soon as they were somewhere warm and quiet, Angel would recover. All they needed was a place where fires didn't light the sky and screams didn't echo through a terrifying darkness.

‘Do you know where we are?' Rhys whispered.

‘Of course.'

She wasn't as confident as she sounded. But just as there was no reason to tell him about her concerns over Angel, there was no need to let him know that as they'd fled, she had obeyed his instructions. She'd run with one goal in mind. To outpace the men who followed and lose them in the vast forest.

Apparently, she'd succeeded. Eventually, she would be able to lead them to the place where the tribe would reassemble.

And when she had, she would once more begin the slow, painstaking process of recreating that blessed sense of safety for her daughter.

 

Rhys had been relieved when Nadya made the very sensible suggestion that they should devote the remaining hours of darkness to rest. Despite her confidence, he'd grown increasingly concerned that they might be travelling in circles. Or even worse, that the path they were on
might take them into contact with the men who'd pursued them. Besides, it was evident they'd both reached the limits of their endurance.

Nadya had insisted on carrying her daughter, refusing all offers of help. And although yesterday he'd thought himself well enough to travel, he had discovered tonight that his recovery had not progressed so far as to prepare him for fisticuffs as well as a run for his life.

The thick trunk of the tree they'd taken refuge under provided what had seemed an adequate backrest. Rhys's intent had been to sit upright and vigilant. With the ache in his shoulder, he'd had no doubt he would be able to stay awake.

He hadn't. Despite the pain, despite the discomfort of the cold, hard ground and the even harder wood against his spine, exhaustion had won out.

He awoke with a start, uncertain for a moment where he was. When he remembered, he turned his head to be sure the woman over whom he'd planned to stand guard was still safe.

His chin brushed her hair. That was because, he discovered, her head now lay against his shoulder, the dozing child cradled in her arms.

He drew a deep, unsteady breath at Nadya's closeness. Despite the days during which she had cared for him, this was a vastly different kind of intimacy.

Because
he
was different. No longer her patient. No longer an invalid.

He had acknowledged from the beginning that she was a desirable woman. And while society might wink at a sexual liaison with someone like Nadya, as it accepted the reality of soldiers who satisfied their needs with camp followers, it would brook no other association between them.

Besides, Nadya was someone to whom he owed his life. To him, that meant any carnal relationship between them was quite beyond the pale.

The feel of her body against his now evoked none of that moral high ground. He wanted her. He wanted to tilt her face up to his. To press his mouth against hers until her lips opened, welcoming his tongue.

He eased another breath, trying to ignore the growing clamour of his senses. As he did, he became aware of the lingering smell of smoke in her hair. And underlying it, the sweetly subtle, now-familiar scent that was uniquely hers.

Like everything about her, that, too was slightly alien. Not the flower-based perfumes favoured by the women of the Ton. Nor the sensuous musk preferred by the high-born Spanish ladies he'd encountered. Nadya's scent was elemental. The way air smelled after a rain. Clean and fresh and lovely.

As she was.

A loveliness that he admitted was vastly different from the image that word had once evoked of blue-eyed blondes, their pale arms and rounded bosoms encased in delicate pastels, a scrap of lace at their throats.

Now it suggested dusky arms, shapely from hard work. Hands that healed. Dark eyes that flashed as often with amusement as temper. Hair that smelled of sunlight.

So close now that he could touch it with his lips.

He must have moved. Drawn another breath. Something.

Nadya stirred, turning her face into his shirt. Through its thin fabric, he felt the warmth of her breath on his skin.

She was cold. Or that's what he told himself. He eased his arm behind her back, settling her more closely against his side. The movement changed the angle of her head, so that her face was now raised to his, her lips parted, exactly as he'd envisioned them awaiting his kiss.

Tempted beyond rational thought by their unintended invitation, he lowered his head to press his own against them and realized that he would wake her if he did. He brushed her forehead with his mouth instead, the motion as light as the breath that fluttered over his chin.

When he lifted his head, he hoped her eyes would open in response. Both she and the child slept on, however, unaware of what had just occurred.

Unaware that whatever their relationship had been before—whatever noble nonsense he had told himself in a fruitless attempt to place this woman off limits—it had all changed. Erased by the feel of her body against his. An experience that, like all the others from the days he'd spent in the Gypsy encampment, he would never be able to put out of his mind.

Nadya Argentari was not of his world. Nor he of hers. Together, they would be welcome in neither.

Despite what he felt, it would be better, safer, easier for them both if he did exactly what he had intended. He would leave in the morning. Once away…

Although he knew them for a lie, he repeated the words, trying to instil the concept more firmly into his rejecting brain. Once away, what he felt for her would fade. He would again find attractive the women who inhabited his world. Those inane simpering blondes, with their pale skin and soft useless hands.

Someday…

‘H
ere.'

Nadya had bent to examine what appeared to be a broken twig. On closer examination, Rhys could see a bit of thread had been wound around its stem, pulling it down at an angle.

She'd been searching since sunrise for
patrin
, the signs the Rom always left to mark their trail. Despite the bedlam of last night, Nadya had had no doubt she would find them.

‘What does that tell you?'

She glanced up, as if surprised by the question. Her eyes were still reddened from the smoke, the circles under them like old bruises. The dawn chill brushed colour along her cheekbones, emphasizing the slight hollows that seemed to have formed beneath them overnight.

‘That they went in this direction.' She pointed toward the sun, its first rays turning the leaves of the beech trees gold.

Rhys shook his head, unable to see how the twisted thread could possibly provide that information. Still, they were her people. She had told him they would mark the trail they'd taken, and evidence that they had was before his eyes.

‘We'll make better time if you let me carry Angel a while.' Rhys anticipated that Nadya would again refuse, as she had since she'd taken the child from his arms last night. In truth, he was paying a price this morning for his attempted heroics. He had slipped his left hand into the waist of his trousers in an attempt to relieve the steady ache of his shoulder.

‘I don't want to wake her.' Without another word, Nadya set off again.

Seemingly indefatigable, despite her burden, she walked steadily for the next two hours, stopping only to examine the signs that appeared with regularity. After she'd examined the last she'd found, she turned to him.

‘There's a stream just beyond that rise.'

Rhys had been wondering how much longer he could stay on his feet. Until she'd mentioned water, however, he hadn't been aware of his thirst.

‘Did they tell you that?' He lifted his chin to indicate the bit of thread.

She shook her head. ‘We camped here occasionally when I was a child.
Because
of the water.'

‘But you don't now?'

She shrugged. ‘It's too close to the village.'

The one from which last night's marauders had come? Rhys wondered before he realized it didn't matter. Ever the outcasts of society, the first to be suspected when things went wrong, the Rom might well have been attacked by the inhabitants of any of the small hamlets scattered around the vast forest.

‘I'm sorry about what happened.'

She looked surprised. ‘Why? It wasn't your fault.'

‘Because it shouldn't happen. Not here. Not now.'

She laughed at his naivety. ‘It's
always
happened. Here. Everywhere. People fear what they don't understand.'

‘You're more accepting than I could ever be.'

‘Because you've never
had
to accept it. We always have.'

‘What about your caravan? And your horses?'

‘The horses would have been taken into the woods last night as people fled. As for the rest, someone will return to the encampment to recover whatever's left. Everyone knows what's expected of them in this situation.'

‘What's expected of you?'

‘First, escape. Afterward to care for those who were injured. And the quicker we catch up to the rest, the quicker I'll be able to do that.'

‘Do you ever offer your services to the villagers?'

That would seem a dangerous practice, given what she'd said last night about the possible motives for the attack. What if someone she had treated died? Or if the illness worsened or spread?

‘I have, but…' She shrugged. ‘There are risks involved. Not unlike those in any of our dealings with the
gadje
. But if I feel I can help someone, it's difficult to refuse.'

‘Have you helped—or refused your help—lately?'

She shook her head, her laugh rueful. ‘Mostly they come for charms or potions or to have their fortunes told. None of those are my domain. And Magda is very skilful in handling those dissatisfied with the services she provides. After all these years, she should be.'

There were probably no answers for the questions last night's raid had created in his mind. Unless…

He hesitated because he knew how Nadya would respond. Still, this was something that had troubled him from the beginning of their acquaintance. Might it not also trouble the villagers?

‘What about Angel?'

‘Angel? I don't understand.' Despite her disclaimer, her tone was defensive.

‘I thought someone might have questioned how she came to be with you.'

‘Why would they? Angeline is my daughter.'

Rhys allowed his gaze to fall to the face of the sleeping child. The fair hair and pale skin contrasted with the rich colours of the shawl that covered her.

Still, it didn't take a great deal of perception to know he was treading in sensitive territory. ‘I don't mean to pry—'

‘Then don't. Angel isn't your concern. None of this is. Someone will have brought your bay out of camp. As soon as we find the rest, you can be on your way. Just as you'd planned. I'm sure your family is becoming anxious.'

That door had been firmly shut. And actually, Nadya was right. Unless he seriously believed she had stolen the child, who was obviously happy and well cared for, the fact that Angel was with the Rom was none of his affair.

‘I think we have time to find the water you spoke of before they send out a search party.' He smiled at her, trying to soften the taut lines of her face.

She didn't return his smile, but Nadya, too, seemed more than ready to end any discussion of Angel's origins. ‘It isn't far. Are you close to your godfather?' she asked as she turned to lead the way.

Rhys accepted the change of subject, thinking about his relationship to Keddinton. ‘He was a boyhood friend of my father's. I'm not sure anyone, including my father, believed he would climb to the heights he's achieved.'

‘Friends in high places. If only we had those…' She let the sentence trail as she began the climb up the rise.

As Rhys followed, he was forced to acknowledge the accuracy of her last statement. In a country dominated by
men of means and position—men like Lord Keddinton—Nadya and her people would always be on the outside looking in. Outsiders even among those on the fringes of society. Like their attackers last night.

And despite his gratitude to the woman who had saved his life, there was nothing he could do to change that.

 

Although she hadn't confided as much to Rhys, Nadya had had a very good idea where the
kumpania
would gather. Their nomadic existence was far more ordered than the
gadje
were aware, since they had visited and revisited the same areas for the last two hundred years.

People became accustomed to finding them in the same spots at certain times of the year. Establishing that routine was good for the tradesmen within their group, who enjoyed the patronage of many repeat customers.

And in spite of the bitterness of her tirade when she'd seen the torches winding their way through the woods last night, most of the time their relations with the people among whom they lived were, of a necessity, both cordial and productive. That wasn't to say events like the raid were unknown. Only that they had become increasingly rare.

She hadn't shared any of that with Rhys, who seemed determined to believe the cause of the attack had something to do with her. And in the back of her own mind were the words of the man who'd accosted her:
Here she is! I found her!

Perhaps some of the others had gleaned some information about what precipitated the raid. After Rhys left, she would ask around to see what the consensus was.

As they entered the new encampment, everyone was already hard at work. Whatever could be salvaged from the destruction would be repaired and again put to use. What had to be replaced would quickly be made, or purchased,
either in one of the nearby villages or from one of the itinerant tradesman.

As for the human toll, that was her job. She hoped no one had been seriously injured, of course, but she knew she would welcome the demands on her intellect that using her skills would make. She needed something to think about besides the troubling thoughts that had occupied her emotions the last few days.

‘Drabarni.'
A man repairing a broken axel straightened to speak to her, his eyes examining the Englishman beside her suspiciously. ‘Welcome back.'

‘Thank you, Paul.'

‘You found your baby, I see. We all looked for her after Nicolaus told us she was missing.'

‘She'd gone back to the
vardo
to get her doll. I should have known that's where she'd be.'

The Rom laughed, his ready good humour restored, despite the job that lay ahead. But then, as she had told Rhys, they were accustomed to bearing the brunt of others' anger.

‘Do you know where my grandmother is?'

‘Seeing to Andrash.' He pointed across the clearing, which under the experienced hands of the
kumpania
, was rapidly filling with tents and stacks of firewood and the smell of cooking. ‘That one will welcome your return, I think.' Then, nodding politely to them both, he bent again to his work.

Nadya turned to Rhys, once more aware of the gulf that separated her world from his. While she'd talked to Paul, his eyes had been surveying the emerging camp. She couldn't help but wonder what he thought about it all.

‘After I see what is wrong with Andrash, I'll send someone to find your horse.'

‘You have enough to do. I can scout around for him.'

She wasn't sure how to explain to him her concerns with that plan. ‘It might go better if you let me make inquiries.'

A raised brow expressed his puzzlement.

‘In situations as chaotic as last night, questions of ownership arise.'

‘Are you suggesting someone may lay claim to him?'

‘If they feel they rescued him when you didn't.'

‘An interesting view of property rights.'

‘Learned from the
gadje
, I believe.' Unkind, perhaps. And almost certainly untrue. In light of the viciousness of the attack that had been launched against her people last night, she didn't particularly care.

‘If that's the case, I should probably present my claim as soon as possible. If you'll excuse me.' Rhys bowed slightly before he turned and walked away.

Nadya fought the urge to apologize for her rudeness, but there was nothing to be gained by prolonging his stay. Rhys needed to return to his world. To get on with whatever he'd been doing before he'd encountered her daughter.

And saved her life. Despite the gulf she'd just acknowledged, Nadya would always be joined to this particular
gaujo
by that debt.

The problem was that gratitude was no longer the primary emotion she felt when she thought about him, and yet it was, no doubt, the only one he'd be willing to accept from the likes of her.

 

Surprisingly, Rhys seemed in no hurry to leave the encampment. Although she didn't have an opportunity to talk with him again, Nadya spotted him several times during the course of the day working with one or another of the people trying to put their lives back together. Paradoxically, in spite of the fact that he was a member of the
race who'd caused the destruction, they all seemed to welcome his help.

Magda had offered to watch over Angel while Nadya tended the wounded, but she had chosen instead to keep the child with her as she worked. Normally too active for that, today Angel seemed content to watch as her mother applied salves to burns and bound cuts.

As Nadya had suspected they might be, Andrash's injuries were among the most severe. Like most of those she'd tended during the long day, he, too, seemed in remarkably good spirits.

Only much later, her concentration was broken by a commotion at the centre of the camp, did she realize it was almost sundown. She glanced up from yet another patient to see Stephano's stallion protesting the attempt the men were making to unsaddle him.

The black's owner strode across the clearing to the table where she worked. Her half-brother hadn't yet changed into his Romany clothes. The tailoring of the dark blue jacket he wore above tight-fitting pantaloons and gleaming Hessians was far more stylish than the jacket she'd cut off Rhys.

Obviously someone had sent word to Stephano about last night's troubles. Judging by lathered flanks of his mount, he'd come as soon as he'd heard.

Nadya lifted her hand to push a strand of hair out of her eyes. Physically and emotionally drained, she didn't relish having to deal with her hot-tempered half-brother.

‘What happened?' Stephano demanded.

‘We were attacked.' As she answered, she turned her attention back to the splinter she'd been trying to remove from the hand of Anna's grandson. The waning light would make the job more difficult.

‘By whom?'

‘By someone who didn't like something we'd done. Perhaps our breathing offended them.' She didn't lift her eyes from what she was doing.

‘You'd had no trouble before?'

‘None I'm aware of,' she said truthfully.

She had at last managed to grasp the sliver of wood imbedded in the child's palm. Her half-brother had the courtesy to hold his questions until she'd successfully manoeuvered it out and sent the boy away with a smile in lieu of the sweet she would normally have offered for his braveness.

With his next inquiry, Stephano discredited the consideration she'd just ascribed to him. ‘But then you have been occupied with other, more pressing matters, haven't you?'

Exhaustion and despair at once more seeing her people under attack suddenly boiled over in an unexpected—and for her, uncharacteristic—fury. ‘No busier than you, Stephano. At least I was here.'