“And does it?”
A strange light appeared in the distant gaze of the gypsy woman. Without answering him, she murmured thoughtfully, “Perhaps the trees know the truth.”
When April returned, most of the camp had already gone off to pack for their own move. As winter approached again, the gypsies sought a warmer climate, and the tribe’s destiny was again Constantinople. To avoid the spillover of war, and a chance encounter with any soldiers, the king would lead his people in a roundabout course through Ankara, rather than directly along the coastline.
April climbed up onto the wagon seat beside her new husband. Somehow she managed to keep from blushing at the randy wishes thrown up at them as they rattled out of camp, leaving deep tracks in the dark earth behind them.
She only looked back once, to be sure that Tzigane was still there watching them. She wanted to fling herself down and run back to her mother one last time, nudged by a sudden dread of losing the only relative she ever had. Later, she would regret she did not. But there was no time now, not when the rest of the world and an exciting new life beckoned just beyond the next rise.
B
Y LATE AFTERNOON,
D
AMIEN
and April had gotten as far as the outskirts of a small mountain town nestled near the rugged ring of the Caucasus. Damien had driven steadily, not taking April up on her offer to spell him off, and their fresh horse was weary by the time he agreed they might take a break.
The trees surrounding them here were unfamiliar, twisted and half-dead and somehow frightening. April stayed close to the wagon without being told. She had been quiet during the journey, which concerned Damien deeply. He sensed that she was carrying a burden greater than the one he had forced upon her, and it bothered her more the farther they got from the Lowara.
“We’ll camp here tonight,” he suggested, watching her closely as he spoke. “The horse is tired and it would be foolish to try to travel in unfamiliar territory by night. I’ll go look for fresh water.”
April nodded, not really listening. Her gaze was fixed to the south, where the tribe had gone. “I will free the horse to graze.”
He nodded and strode off with a tin pail in each hand, whistling a deliberately cheerful tune. He knew April was still afraid of him, if only a little, and he was determined to put her at ease and earn her trust. It was crucial for them to appear a loving couple when they arrived in Moscow, and somehow he needed to persuade April to adopt a sweeter attitude.
Sweetness was the last thing on April’s mind, however, as she set the mare free and then restlessly combed the immediate area for firewood and a handful of edible nuts and berries. She was hungry and unwilling to wait for dinner. As she devoured the wild currants, she thought about the abrupt turn her life had taken.
She had lost Prince Adar, though she had gained a husband, and now she also had the awesome responsibility of safeguarding a priceless jewel that somehow held the key to her turbulent past. Tzigane had finally convinced her to take the gem. It was still in the green velvet pouch her gypsy mother kept it in, but it was safely tucked away in the wagon where April did not have to look at it.
There was, however, no way to force it from her mind. Like Damien, the diamond teased at her with its secrets. It held the key to her past, but how did she begin to unravel a seventeen year-old mystery?
April was startled from her thoughts when the mare, who was greedily grazing the grass, suddenly raised her head and whickered softly, urgently, in the direction of the forest.
April rose from the boulder she was sitting on, her eyes searching the thick grove of trees. She heard nothing. But only one thing would likely distract a hungry horse, and that was another horse.
“Adar?” she whispered, half in hope and half in fear, and she suddenly heard the distinctive rapid beat of horse hooves coming through the forest. April knew she was not mistaken when she saw a familiar flash of black and then the stallion, catching her scent, bolted wildly in her direction.
Upon the Barb’s back a rider cursed and fought the reins unsuccessfully, breaking free of the cover with tree limbs whipping at his scarred, twisted face.
“Nicky.” April stepped back, not from fear of the plunging horse, but from uncertainty. Her first thought was that something had happened to her mother or someone else in the gypsy band, and Nicky had come to fetch her. Then the ugly leer of his lips told her otherwise. In his free hand, Belita’s bastard gripped the steel-blue barrel of a gun.
“Where’s your
gajo
man, eh?” His taunt carried across the clearing as Nicky dug his heels viciously into Prince Adar’s sides and spun the frantic horse in tightly controlled circles.
It was obvious he had ridden at a breakneck pace, for the stallion’s hide and muzzle were flecked with white foam and he rasped for air. The cruel bit Nicky had put on Adar caused April to clench her fists in pure rage, for the animal was obviously agonized every time Nicky yanked on the reins.
“They all said he couldn’t be ridden, except by you,” Nicabar jeered. April saw he wore wicked spurs, too, with which he had worn off strips of skin from the horse’s ribs. “But I can tame anything, including you.”
April knew Nicky had come after them with some twisted idea of revenge. He confirmed this with a soft, evil laugh that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
“Think of it, April. You could be with me. Together we would be the perfect pair. You earn gold with your dancing, while I deal in horseflesh, fine as this beast here.”
“I want nothing to do with you,” April hissed, and when Nicky purposefully yanked the reins and the stallion squealed in pain, she cried, “Don’t hurt him! Isn’t it enough that I gave him up and left the tribe? You are rid of me now.”
His eyes glittered feverishly down at her. “No. It is not enough. And your weak-kneed
gajo
was wrong to think a Rom will sacrifice revenge for worldly goods. I will not be satisfied until you have paid your debt in full, witch, and I’m here to collect on it now. You can either come quietly, or I’ll cut Adar’s neck right now and you can watch him die.”
April gasped in outrage and disbelief. “Nicky! You cannot. Horses are protected by Rom law.”
“Damn the laws,” he snarled. “Are you coming with me or not?”
“She’s not,” a deep voice suddenly announced behind them.
Nicky answered Damien with a mocking laugh. “Well. If it isn’t the high and mighty
rei
. I forgot to ask you before,
gajo
, if your brand of justice is learned or just bought. And don’t get any ideas; this gun is loaded and there’s a bullet in here with your name on it.”
Nicky leveled the barrel at Damien and April cried out, “Nicky! No. I’ll go with you —”
“The hell you will,” Damien snapped. “Just so this animal can rape and kill you? Well, he’ll have to come through me first … if he’s man enough.”
Nicky’s eyes blazed at that. “Keep your mouth shut,
gajo
.”
“Oh, come off it, boy.” The older man was suddenly the cool and austere Earl of Devonshire, giving advice to a hotheaded young swain. “If you fancy my wife, there’s an easier way, and one with more honor, too. Though I suppose you wouldn’t know much about honor, being a gypsy.”
April almost choked, sure that Nicky would blast the gun and she would see Damien crumple to the earth before her eyes. But she underestimated male ego, for Nicky actually took the insult and growled, “Fine words coming from a filthy
gajo
.” He spat to emphasize his disgust. “
Rei
or not, you know nothing of my people.”
“I know that you are a disgrace to them,” Damien retorted. He set down the brimming buckets and folded his arms as if to look down on Nicabar, though the younger man was still atop the stallion. “If you truly want justice, you should go about this in a more civilized manner. A brutal killing may give you brief satisfaction, but why not think of the long-term benefits. A contest of honor would give you more to brag about to your friends, and might earn you the respect of the king. And as for April — why rape, when you can persuade? You’re a handsome lad. She’s young, and young girls are easily impressed.”
April whipped her head around to stare outraged at Damien, but he kept his steady gaze fixed on the crazed gypsy with the gun.
Nicky appeared to be considering it. Damien nudged him by asking her aloud, “You’d go along with the winner fair and square, wouldn’t you? Put the past behind and bury your grievances against this boy. He’s more of an age for you anyway.”
“You’re mad —”April began, but Damien cut her off with a sharp hand movement underneath his folded arms.
Swallowing hard, unable to believe he asked it of her, she looked up at the gloating Nicabar and nodded.
The
gitano
‘s eyes sparkled dangerously, loving the power he held over them both.
Nicky couldn’t wait to best this
gajo
, to cut his throat, then make love to April beside her husband’s bloody corpse. His nerves raw with excitement at the thought, he demanded, “What do you suggest?”
Damien thought a moment. “Well, if we intend to be gentlemen about it, a duel would be in order. However, seeing as how you’re a gypsy and I’m certainly no gentleman, I think a knife fight would be more appropriate.”
“No!” April cried.
Both men ignored her. With a slow, wicked smile, Nicky thought it over. “One hand tied behind your back,” he added with obvious relish.
Damien didn’t flinch. “Fine. We’ll each tie back our weaker hands —”
Nicky shook his head, still grinning. “Not mine. Just yours.”
“But the rules …”
“Devil take the rules,
gajo
. I’ve got the gun.”
Damien shrugged and nodded. The boy had a valid, if irrational point. And besides, haphazardly handling the gun as he was, Nicky was more dangerous right now than he would be with a knife.
Pleased with himself, Nicky steered the black stallion over to their wagon. Then, keeping his weapon aimed at April, he carefully dismounted and tied the horse. Stepping around to face the pair, he presented them with the muzzle of the gun.
“I’m ready.” He smiled diabolically. “I’ve been ready to take care of both of you for a long time.”
W
HILE HE DIVESTED HIMSELF
of his vest and rolled up his shirt sleeves, Damien listened to April plead with him in a surprisingly worried voice. She seemed sincerely afraid for him.
“You mustn’t do this. You don’t know what Nicky will do. He is skilled with a knife.” Her words carried across the clearing to the savagely grinning young man, who enjoyed hearing April exhort his skills to her husband.
Damien frowned. “Would you prefer I surrender you to him? Or do you think I am so unskilled that I will put on a poor show and shame you?”
Color flooded April’s face. “I-I don’t want to see you hurt,” she admitted haltingly.
“Well, this way we have a fighting chance.” Damien spoke more quietly now so Nicky couldn’t overhear. “As long as he has that gun, we are both in danger.”
She shuddered, knowing Damien was right. It appeared Nicky had inherited his mother’s bad blood, and would kill or maim without provocation. April already knew how he treated horses, and in Nicky’s eyes, there was no difference between people and animals.
“Come on, hurry up!” Nicky shouted impatiently at Damien. “You’re so hot to show me your
romani
rei
tricks; what’s holding you up?”
“I’m trying to comfort my wife,” Damien said. “As you can see, she’s about ready to swoon from all the excitement.”
Damien suddenly grabbed April by the shoulders and drew her firmly against his chest. When her green eyes glittered dangerously, he flashed her a dimpled grin and inquired, “What, no good-luck kiss? I thought that was traditional among the Romany.”
As she opened her mouth to protest, his lips descended on hers with unerring skill. Jolted to the core, April clung to Damien’s broad shoulders and absorbed the impact of his deep, unexpected kiss.
Aware of Nicky watching, and sensing the gypsy youth’s smoldering fury, Damien prolonged the kiss with pleasure. In his arms April was rigid and unyielding for the first minute, but when he transferred his gentle kisses to her vulnerable neck, she gasped softly in surrender.
“While we’re fighting,” he murmured near her ear, “get Adar and ride away. Go back to your people. I won’t risk you if I lose the fight.”
She started to shake her head, but he thrust a strong hand into the thick gold mane of her hair and held her still.
“No arguments,” Damien insisted. “Do as I say.”
Then, just as abruptly he released her, leaving April to stagger back against the wagon for support.
Her mouth tender and throbbing from the kiss, she stared after Damien as he walked out into the grassy clearing to meet Nicky halfway. Her blood was pounding hot and fast after the unexpected thrill of his touch. Damien was handsome, yes, but more than that, she sensed he was the part of her she had been forced to live without until now. Nicky had only revolted her with his crude gropings, but Damien’s skilled assault rendered her breathless and bemused.
Suddenly, realizing that her husband of only a few days might die, April cried after him, “Damien. Be careful!”
D
AMIEN PAUSED, DRINKING IN
the frantic tone of her voice. It was the first time April had uttered his name with something besides resentment. Feeling a surge of hope, he stepped forward to face Nicky.
Before the men discussed the few rules, April was at Damien’s side again, her green eyes imploring him.
“Here,” she said to Damien, taking his right hand and thrusting the hilt of the ornate dagger Tzigane had given her into his palm. “Use this one.”
She saw Nicky’s eyes narrow and his neck veins bulge as he recognized the weapon. But by Romany law, it was Damien’s choice. He glanced down in surprise at the ivory-handled dagger, recognizing its workmanship as Spanish. It had the clean hone of Damascus steel. He was amazed that April had come into possession of such a fine piece, much less that she let him use it now — but she continued to surprise him. With a preoccupied nod, he accepted her offer.