For Love of a Gypsy Lass (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Talaitha took his hand and they walked together, Harry leading the horse with his other hand, to the top of the hill and then down the other side and into the woods to the little stream.

She said, “I came here alone to weep about you. I carried one of the beautiful handkerchiefs you gave me.” She felt the heat rising in her cheeks, but in spite of the
Romani
reluctance to speak of such things, she was determined to tell him. “I soaked it with my tears.”

He put his arms about her. “I swear that I will do everything in my power to assure that I never cause you to weep again. I wish to bring you nothing but happiness.”

They stood quietly, holding one another. She found comfort in his embrace, and joy. She thought she could stay there forever, but after a minute he stepped back slightly and reached into his waistcoat.

“I carry the handkerchief you used to wipe your brow that first time I saw you. I keep it near my heart, a most treasured keepsake.” He pulled it out and brought it to his lips as he had before. This time, she felt her heart contract and then expand and her cheeks grow hot—this time not with embarrassment, but with the stirring of desire.

She lowered her eyes and stepped close, crossing the few inches he had left when he moved back. He wrapped his arms about her again, and she could feel his arousal against her belly. She had learned of such things from her sister, and she had learned also what might follow from this. She decided in that moment that she wanted to do the things of which her sister had intimated with this man.

Talaitha also decided she cared not if her people would shun her; she wanted only to be with him, to give him her all. She had known it from the first moment she saw him listen, obviously enchanted with her singing. She had fought against her yearning for him, and so had her grandmother and her clan. But she would fight no longer. This was what she wanted, and she would have it, come what may.

Shyly she slipped her arms about his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. She could feel the heat through his clothing.

“My darling,” he murmured. Yes, he was her
ves’tacha
, the one for whom she was destined.

“I want to do the hidden things women and men do together,” she said softly. “I want to do all those things with you.”

He said her name in a strangled voice. Then he brought his fingers to her chin and tilted her face upwards. She met his blue eyes boldly.

“I am not afraid,” she said—almost the truth. He leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers, kissing her gently, warmly, and, she thought, lovingly. All she wanted in the world at that moment was to be in his arms, to feel his body against her own, to have his lips on hers—and thus they stayed for some time.

As she put her arms about his neck and pulled him closer yet, she felt his tongue pushing past her lips and entering her mouth. She felt a stirring in the secret part of herself, as her sister had said happened to women when they desired a man. She pushed her own tongue against his and as their tongues tangled and played, he held her close and groaned.

He pulled away and kissed and licked first one ear and then the other, sending shivers up her spine. Then he clasped her tightly to himself again and pressed his lips against hers, harder, more demanding. And she, yielding to him, felt the fire lapping at her belly and spreading upwards to touch her heart. She hardly dared breathe for a minute, overwhelmed by the power of her own desire, wanting…wanting them to stay as they were, yet wanting more, but what exactly it was, she did not know.

When he paused, she hesitantly entered his mouth with her tongue, at which he ran his fingers through her hair as she had imagined he might. Then he seemed to be everywhere, now nipping and kissing her neck, now running his hands up and down her sides, stroking the sides of her breasts, now cupping her bottom. His
kori
—she did not know the English word—pushed hard against her.

“My love, my Talaitha—are you certain?” he asked. His voice was tender, but his eyes, when she looked up at him, were dark with desire. “Do you mind our first love-making to be on the Inn’s stinking saddle blanket? I have nothing with me upon which I might lay you. I will put my shirt over it. Or I can get my carriage and—”

“The blanket will be fine, I am not unused to the smell of horses. This will be my first love-making ever.”

“Really?” Harry sputtered and loosed his hold on her.

“Why do you look surprised—are you still mistaking me for something I am not?”

He shook his head. “You are so lovely, so desirable, I could not but think—”

“Everyone thinks we
Romanichal
are an indecent lot. But we are less so than you
Gadje
. But I forgive you.” She smiled up at him, meeting his smoldering gaze. “I will always remember the blanket with affection.”

Harry removed the saddle and took the small blanket and spread it beside the stream in the dappled shade of an oak tree. Kneeling, he straightened out the edges and proceeded to remove his boots and then his shirt, which he spread carefully on top of the blanket. Talaitha watched intently, loving the muscles that moved in his back and arms as he bent to this homely task.

Talaitha took off her boots and stepped onto the blanket. The
Gadjo
lord, still on his knees, put his arms about her waist and she ran her fingers through his hair—the color of honey, she thought.

Her cheeks became hot when he lifted her skirt slightly and ran his hands up and down her legs, slowly moving to her thighs, his lips following where his hands had been. As she held up her skirt for him, the fire that started in her most secret part flared and roared and she wished that he would—she blushed to even think of it—touch her there. Was she mad to wish it? Before she could think more about it, he put her thigh over his shoulder and began stroking, caressing the delicate folds and then—she cried out in surprise—the
Gadjo’s
lips were there, kissing, nuzzling, and—oh God!—his tongue slipped inside her.

When she thought she could no longer stand, that she might simply topple over, he released her thigh and they stood facing each other. He took her into his arms. He kissed her hard and pushed his tongue into her mouth, bringing her the taste of—oh God!—herself down there. For a moment she was shocked, horrified, but he murmured that he loved her, that he loved the taste of her, that he wanted to share his pleasure with her, and the fire in her roared to life yet again.

Suddenly desperate to have her own skin against his, Talaitha bent to her hem and, with the lord’s help, pulled the dress over her head, followed by her petticoats and her sister’s shift, while the bangles she wore jingled and tinkled against one another. He undid his breeches and his
kori
sprang free.

She ran her hands wonderingly over his broad chest, letting her fingers play in the curly blond hair that grew there. Then she ran her hand down lower to the dark triangle of curls from which his
kori
seemed to grow. He went very still. She noticed that he held his breath.

Should she touch it? It seemed such a strange thing, more unfamiliar even than the rest of his body. She dragged her fingers through the crisp dark curls. Should she? Yes, she decided, yes, she would.

Tentatively, she touched it with one finger. Then she let her palm sweep up and down and she heard him groan. He placed his hand over hers, making her hand curl around his
kori
,
and gently moved it up and down. She looked up at him and saw that his head was thrown back. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his exposed throat as she ran her hands up and down as he had shown her. Silk over iron. She could hear his breath loud and ragged, and she reveled in her power to do that to him, for him. She felt an unreasoning desire to take it—his
kori
—between her lips, but did not dare.

He gently pulled her hand away. His gaze locked with hers, and carefully he picked her up and laid her on his shirt.

For a brief moment she noticed the strong smell of the blanket but then quickly forgot it as the
Gadjo
lord bent between her thighs and licked her and ran his tongue inside her. She arched to him. Had she ever felt anything so sweet and hot? Suddenly she was in a whirlwind and heard her own voice crying out as that sweet, hot feeling completely overcame her.

He smiled as he loomed over her, settling himself between her parted thighs, placing her legs against his broad chest. She felt him there, against her most secret place, pushing against her as he murmured that she should tell him if he caused her any discomfort, that there was no hurry, that he loved her. He pushed harder she felt him slipping inside her—could something that big really fit within her? She cried out in surprise and then in pain.

“Oh, my darling,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes. Go ahead, I am not afraid,” she lied. There were a few more seconds of pain and then it was replaced with pleasure. Their gaze was steady on one another as he moved carefully, slowly going a little deeper inside her with each thrust. And, oh God, the fire was consuming her. As the feeling, the hot, sweet, almost painful feeling grew and strengthened, she squeezed her eyes shut and her world, her very being, seemed to explode.

Talaitha opened her eyes to find he was smiling at her.

“There, my love,” the lord said. “Let’s do that again.” He moved his hips again and once more the fire flared and grew. This time, she moved her hips to meet him. He groaned as they moved together, and faster and harder.

“
Ves’tacha
” she said, and then, “My darling,” as he had said to her, the English word strangely exciting on her lips. And then she felt the fire leap up and sweep through her again until it was almost more than she could bear. She heard herself screaming and he was shouting her name, and when she felt him release into her, she exploded again.

Afterward, they lay holding each another. She loved being in his arms. It felt as though she belonged there, and yet it all felt fresh and new.

After some time she remembered that she would be leaving the life that she loved and the people she had loved since childhood. She sat up and looked down at him.

“I shall willingly follow you to the ends of the earth, but my heart is breaking at the thought of leaving the people and life I love,” she said.

He reached up and stroked her hair. “I will give you everything to soothe that loss: jewels, servants, fine clothes, a carriage.”

She shook her head. “Those things could be no replacement for the people I love and for the life we lead on the road,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “I want to go with you with all my heart, but I cannot help wanting to remain with my people.”

He sat up beside her and held her. He said nothing, but she felt him tense.

After some time, he said, “I have an idea. May I tell you the Greek myth that explains the changing of the seasons?”

Puzzled, she tilted her head, then nodded.

“The ancient Greeks believed that Persephone was the daughter of the goddess of the harvest. One day, Hades, the god of the underworld—the place where the souls of the dead abide—saw Persephone and fell in love with her, then abducted her and made her his queen.”

“Her mother grieved, and as a result, all the vegetation on earth died and there was winter and drought everywhere. Finally, the king of the gods became so concerned about the sorry condition of the earth that he told Hades to return Persephone to her mother so things would grow again. However, she could not return to earth if she had eaten anything while she was in the underworld.”

“During her time in the underworld, Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds. So Hades agreed that for six months she could rejoin her mother on earth and that she would return to the underworld for six months of every year.”

“From then on, when she came up to the earth, her mother was happy and spring came, turning everything green and flourishing again. But six months later, at the end of summer, Persephone went back to Hades and his underworld, and the vegetation died again.”

“I hope I am a more pleasant companion than Hades and I can assure you that the sun comes up daily where I live. Would you do me the honor of marrying me and living with me in my homes for six months of the year, and, if your people are willing to allow me to live among them, take to the road and live with them for the other six months?”

Talaitha clapped her hands and laughed. “You would live with me in a
vardo
for half the year? You would travel with us wherever we might wander?”

Harry nodded. “And would you live with me in Beresford Hall or in my London house?”

“Yes, I would, though the ladies and gentlemen of the ton would despise me—and you for marrying me.”

“And your Gypsies would despise me—but I hope they will forgive you for marrying me.”

“They will get used to us and forget to despise us after a while.”

“And so it would be with the ton.”

She looked up at him. “Pray, sir, before we marry, what is your name?”

“My name is Harry.” They both burst out laughing at the absurdity of her not having known. And they laughed for sheer joy. They laughed until they hurt.