For the Love of a Gypsy (14 page)

After all the men had mounted their horses and left the estate, Declan led her into the barn. He adjusted the blanket that served as a makeshift bed and beckoned her to lie upon it. She fell into the straw that made the mattress and sunk into the heat of him. The sheer size of him against her made her feel safe. Martine blessed her luck and snuggled even closer. A possessive arm wrapped around her. Safe, lovingly, and perfect.

It was as if Declan had taken a key and, with the slightest twist, opened her heart and mind. He gave her the courage, or at least made her aware she was brave enough, to leave the Rom. ’Twas perhaps the hardest decision she’d ever made. And she still missed her grandmother with a fierceness that overshadowed her current happiness.

Declan kissed her brow and whispered goodnight. She sighed, content to be in his arms, and fell asleep to the rhythm of his breathing as if it paced her heart.

Chapter 17

In the distance a cock crowed. Martine rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groaned as she sat up. She quickly inspected the barn and Declan was nowhere to be found. She rose and swept her skirt free of straw.

The acrid scent of ashes still lathed the air, oppressively so. Martine frowned as she searched the yard for Declan. Had he already gone to meet with his men? Surely he’d tell her. Her heart began to race as she ran behind the ruin of the house, then to the side garden. No horses, no men, no Declan.

She ran back to the stables, panicked and out of breath. Tears clogged the back of her throat as she gazed over the horizon. The empty landscape hastened her fear.

Had his past returned? Had they taken him from her?

Had he left her? Did he realize she’d never be accepted? No matter she wasn’t of Rom blood, she’d lived with them, adopted their traditions, embraced their way of life. He must have determined she’d be too much trouble.

Dear God, what was she to do now?

“What news did you bring?” Declan paced the small room on the second floor of the pub. Nate, Lange, Matthew, and Pierce all gathered at the table breaking their fast and telling of their travels.

Nate shrugged. “Randolph didn’t reveal much, the bastard. All he said was tae make sure ye dinna follow him. He was going to break Broderick and force him to tell all.”

Declan raked his fingers through his hair. “There has to be more to it, man.” Frustration had him refusing the coffee that Lange offered.

“We must go to London.”

Nate nodded. “Aye, ‘tis his plan, ye big
amandon
. He knew ye wouldna be able to stay here.”

“And what of your lady?” Matthew asked. “Will she be going with us?”

Declan pinned the young man with a glare. “And why wouldn’t she be? She’s to be my wife.”

Nate put his hand on Matthew’s arm. “Och, now, Declan. The lad meant no harm. ‘Tis just concern for her safety.”

Matthew nodded his head. “Aye, that’s it.”

He looked out the window, toward Riverton, and thought of all he’d lost in his life and how, at this moment, it didn’t matter. He had Martine. She didn’t care he’d been to prison. Nay, she loved him regardless, and that was the gift she’d given him.

“I’ll return later.”

The men made some disparaging remarks, in good humor of course. He rode Kindred back to Riverton as if his life depended on it.

“Martine!” he called as he entered the yard at a fast canter. He leapt off his horse’s back and just released the reins. Kindred snorted as he began to eat the ample grass before him.

He ran into the barn. Weeping drew him to the stall they’d slept in the night before. Martine sat, knees drawn toward her chest.

“Martine,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “What happened?”

She looked to him, her eyes widened like those of a startled doe. “
Declan
.” She clutched his hand. “I thought they’d taken you, and then I thought you’d left me.”

“Nay, my love,” he said as he kissed her. “I was meeting with my men. I left a note.”

Her eyes widened as he reached by the blanket and retrieved the note.

She shook her head and a crooked grin pulled at her mouth. “I kept thinking,” she said between tears, “that I’d have to go back and marry Magor.”

“Never,” he growled. No man but him would ever have her. He tipped up her chin. “Tell me. What made you come to Riverton?”

She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. She inhaled and quickly tipped her head to the side. “My grandmother brought my wedding dress to my wagon.”

She stopped and looked at him. Her pleading gaze almost stopped him from probing further. Curiosity and the basic need to know won out as he questioned her once again. “I need to know you came to me of your own accord.”

“Pah, it would be no other way.” A hint of laughter eased some of his worry. “‘Tis red,” she said as she fingered the material of her skirt.

“Isn’t that the custom?” Declan attempted to hold in his chuckle but failed.

Martine playfully slapped at him. “’Tis tradition if you’re still a maiden. All brides long to wear red.” She wiped the corner of her eye free of tears. “Anya asked me if I could wear it or had I lost the right.”

Declan sobered. Anya, who had once championed him, had forced Martine’s hand in the matter of her honor.

She waved at him as if reading his thoughts. “She knew before I could tell her. I’ve no doubt of that. And I couldn’t lie to her.”

He gripped her shoulders. “Look at me,” he demanded. “We have nothing to be ashamed of. We
love
each other. And we’ll be married.” He prayed soon because it would mean he’d discovered why he was sent to prison.

She caressed his face with her hands. “I couldn’t stay and wed Magor. I know I’ve left my brother in a horrid position. I’ll never see my grandmother again, even if I wanted to. It wouldn’t be allowed.”

He hated the sadness overshadowing her features. “I understand your sacrifice.” How he wanted to challenge Rafe for the position he’d forced on Martine. ‘Twas his actions and decisions forcing tears to swim in her gaze.

“Nay. ‘Tis not a sacrifice.” She turned away and gnawed on her lip. “It was my choice. I was ready to make it. I needed to make it.”

Although her words were softly spoken, they calmed his rising fear that she hadn’t come of her own volition.

“I knew I had to find you. I would have searched all through Ireland to find you.”

He smiled at her honesty. “’Tis lucky I was still at Riverton.”

She stood and held out her hand to him. “Aye. I knew you were.” She playfully slapped at him. “I didn’t know your estate had burned to the ground and you’d found the woman who killed your wife.”

He stilled, not yet ready to deal with Sadie Bannon and the horror she wrought.

Martine brought her hand to her mouth. “Declan, ‘tis sorry I am to have ever mentioned it.”

He rose and they walked out of the stable. They’d have to find proper lodgings after they wed, and it was odd he would think that at this moment. “Nay,” he said as he shook his head.

She scowled and her fist clenched. “’Tis no matter now.”

He called to Kindred. “Aye, you’ve the right of it. I am no longer suspected of killing my wife. We will travel to London, and there we’ll wed.” He looked into her eyes, soft brown and full of compassion. “Without knowing who sent me to prison we will never have peace.”

A frightened look furrowed her brow and she chewed on her lip once again. “What priest will marry us? I’m Rom.”

“You’re English.” He grabbed the reins from the ground and held them tight.

She scoffed. “I’ve lived with the Rom longer than anywhere else. The way I talk, the way I dress, all say Rom.”

“Father Anthony will marry us,” Declan said with conviction. “He’s the priest near my home in London.”

She looked uncertain, but she accepted his help onto Kindred’s back regardless. Declan whispered a prayer as he leapt into the saddle that his absence at mass wouldn’t cause the priest to punish him. Of course, a few pounds in the offering cup would go far to soothe the man. Luckily his money was kept safe in a metal box the fire wasn’t able to breach. And he had other resources in London.

As they made their way to the village, they drew the attention of those working the fields or herding sheep. Some called to Declan in an attempt to show support. Probably feeling guilty over the day they tried to lynch him. Martine rode stiffly in front of him, her body tense. He patted her hand. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Martine looked down at her clothing. “I must clean up.”

She still wore her red wedding gown. Declan looked at her and saw nothing but beauty. The gown’s full sleeves drew tight at the wrist and lace edged the neckline hiding her ample cleavage. He wouldn’t change a thing, but he realized the wrinkles and tears bothered Martine.

He gazed down at her. Even though she’d spent the night in a barn, she looked truly magnificent. The dormant sun flickered through cloud cover and shone over her luminous skin. Her thick hair teased over her shoulders, infused with brandy highlights. He wanted to bury his face in its softness and inhale the scent of her. A swift shot of lust tightened his loins.
Bollocks
, she was lovely.

She tipped her head up to him as a quizzical look raised her brow. “Why are you grinning so?”

“Because you are so beautiful.”

She swatted at him. “Pah, don’t you think compliments will win me over.”

“Do you mean I haven’t won you yet? Now I’ve more work to do.” He kissed the tip of her straight nose.

Martine laughed. A musical twinkle that went straight to his heart. Pure, lovely, her. He wiped the back of his neck as he wondered at his winsome thoughts.
Bollocks
, not only was she bewitching, she’d bewitched him.

He steered Kindred farther into the village and straight towards Finnian’s Pub. ’Twas the cleanest and friendliest. Details Martine was sure to appreciate. Again, villagers’ attention sought them. Instead of the vulnerable woman who’d just ridden past farmers, Martine’s spine was straight and her chin thrust a notch higher than usual. He was proud of her.

“Stay here while I arrange for rooms,” he directed.

She glanced about the walkway and at the people completing their errands. Her chin trembled a wee bit, then she squared her shoulders and nodded.

Declan walked into the pub and stood in the doorway. He inhaled the aroma of ale and smoke and the underlying scent of stew bubbling in a pot. After surveying the main floor, he almost left in search of something more suitable. Knowing full well that nothing existed, he walked toward the bar area and flipped a coin to the bartender.

“I need two rooms.”

The barkeep continued to clean a glass and didn’t even glance at the money on the scarred wooden bar. He jerked his head toward the stairs and a withered-looking woman standing at the landing. “She’ll see to ye, m’lord.”

He knew this would happen. With Abigail gone and Ettenborough back in London, his authority over the villagers and tenants was gone. The man hadn’t even looked at him. Lord knew who Ettenborough had decided to put in charge, but he was certain ‘twasn’t him.

Declan approached the woman who looked more worn than his saddle. She hobbled up the stairs and opened the first door on the left. He entered the room and felt assured ‘twas clean and roomy enough for Martine. The second chamber was much of the same and he told the woman he’d take them. “Make sure water is brought up for my lady’s bath.”

“Reggie won’t be likin’ that, I tell ye.”

Declan ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m paying more than enough for these rooms. Now see to the water.”

She headed back down the stairs, talking to herself the entire way. Daft, ‘twas no other explanation.

He shrugged and went back down to fetch Martine. While she bathed, he’d visit some shops and purchase new clothing for her to wear as they traveled.

She was still on Kindred when he came back down, eyes wide and bright. Kindred’s nostrils flared.

As he exited the pub, he saw what had them so nervous. A few men had surrounded the horse, taunting Martine.

“Aye, look what we have here.”

The other men chuckled and moved in closer.

“Quite the beaut.” He laughed. “The horse, not the Gypsy.”

Rage shot through his veins. “
Step away
.”

The men looked to him.

“I saw her first,” one said.

Declan quickly glanced at Martine. She looked to the ground, her face ashen. He must get her to safety, far away from the strangers. “Step away from my betrothed.”

Metal scraped as one of the men pulled a knife from its hardened leather sheath.

“Put your weapon away,” Declan warned as he reached for Kindred’s reins.

He sensed his men arriving before they were visible to the men harassing Martine. With a quick grin, he pulled back and punched the man holding the knife.

The weapon clattered against the rocky road.

“Grrahhh!”

Chaos ensued.

Nate and Pierce flanked one man. Matthew and Lange wrestled another.

Declan threw Kindred’s reins to Martine. “Go,” he yelled as he turned and punched another ruffian. The man lunged. Declan landed against the ground. He scrambled up, feinted right, and released a punch. The ruffian landed on the ground out cold.

“Lads, ‘tis enough.”

The magistrate, Connelly, had arrived.

“He punched Paddy, he did.”

Declan wiped the back of his neck and released a sigh. He scanned the horizon to see where Martine had fled.
Damn
, he didn’t see her.

“The men were harassing my betrothed.” He said, no longer caring about the men, his concern solely fixated on Martine.

“We were just being friendly like.”

He scoffed and the rest of his men gathered close as a united front of intimidation.

“Gather your friend,” Connelly said. “I’ll take care of them, m’lord.”

The men looked at him and blanched. “We didn’t know he was a lord.”

The magistrate shoved the men toward the jail, grumbling the entire way.

“Where is Martine?”

Little came around the corner, leading Kindred.

Declan breathed a sigh of relief as his gaze settled on his betrothed. Thank God she wasn’t hurt.

She slipped off his steed’s back and raced toward him. He held her tight in his embrace and kissed her head as she shook. “You’re safe, my love.”

She pulled back, tears glistening in her eyes. Deep pools of brown gazed at him, pulled at his heart. Not only fear lingered in her eyes, but anger as well.