Gypsy Bond (7 page)

The other man ignored his hand, pushing himself up without assistance. “She will.”

Overlooking his curt tone, Marko turned and strode to the carriage. Twisting the handle, he jerked open the door. Inside, a woman cowered into the corner, her face hidden by a thick bridal veil.

“Oh my
gawd
,” she shrieked. “Lord
help
us, a heathen!”

Marko fell back a step in the face of such noisy female hysteria.

“What the devil?” James moved to stand beside him. His expression blanked as he stared into the interior of the carriage. “That’s not Juliet.”

Marko tried, but he couldn’t restrain the guffaw that shook him. He clutched his middle and bent over, trying to contain the combination of laughter and relief.

James was not amused. “Where’s my sister?” he demanded of the girl. “Tell me this instant.”

“Careful,” Marko warned, his voice not quite steady, “you’ll set her off again.”

The girl seemed to regain some measure of calm as she recognized James. She pushed the heavy veil back from her face, exposing eyes wide with dread. “Oh, sir, I’m that sorry, but she made me do it.”

“Yes, I’m sure, but where
is
she?”

Looking from one man to the other, the girl burst into tears. “She told me not to tell. I don’t want to be let go from my p-position.”

“You won’t have a position if we don’t find your mistress,” James said with callous disregard for the girl’s feelings.

“London,” she offered hurriedly. “She’s gone to join the theatre. Said she’d earn her living as an actress rather than be wed to someone she didn’t want.”

“The stagecoach.”
The words were forced from James on the tail end of a groan. “Quick, girl, what time does the coach leave?”

“The one from the Cock and Hound, sir?”

At his curt nod, she told him.

“I’m away.” Running for his horse, James swung up into the stirrups and turned the animal’s head toward the village. “Pray god I’m in time.”

Marko watched him go, his lids dropped slightly over his eyes as he considered whether to follow. Pursing his lips, he gave the piercing whistle he used to call his horse. The animal came from where he’d been nibbling on a bit of spring grass. Putting one foot in the stirrup, he sprang into the saddle then turned back toward the open door of the carriage. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that she’d been embroiled in this fiasco. In fact, he owed her a debt of gratitude, and he always paid his debts. His voice as gentle as he could make it, he said, “Wait here. I’ll send the driver back to take you home.”

~ Chapter 5 ~

Juliet paced beneath the spreading limbs of an oak tree. Her cloak was soaked through and she was wet and cold. Worse yet, she was beginning to feel like the world’s biggest dupe.

Marko had not arrived.

The old woman had led her false. There was no other path. No other hope. She would be forced to crawl back to Reginald and beg him to marry her.

Since it was unlikely that he would do so after the embarrassment of being left standing at the altar, what remained was a dwindling list of unpleasant choices. Given that she had no talent for needlework, drawing or cooking, the story she’d concocted for her maid might yet become the truth. London and the debased life of an actress might be the only course. She could only hope that she had enough bloom left to attract a wealthy protector.

Her fingers twined together as her nerves tightened. She forced them apart and crossed her arms under her cloak, hunching into herself for warmth. Soon she would have to seek shelter and dry clothes. The gypsy camp was closest, but she cringed inside at the thought of appearing there again. Reaching the drip edge of the tree, she twisted and began to pace back the other way. A man stepped out from behind the huge old tree trunk. A startled scream escaped her before she recognized him.

“Luca, what are you doing here?” She craned her neck to see around him. “Is Marko with you?”

The older man didn’t answer, just approached her slowly, his arms held out to his sides. His gaze shifted to something behind her and she whirled, startled to find two more men just a few steps behind her. One of them was Marko. Her instant of joy turned quickly to confusion. “You’re covered in mud,” she said with disbelief.

He laughed, a light sound, full of joy. He bowed deeply from the waist in a gesture no longer seen in the courts of Europe. “I live only to serve, milady.”

The suspicion that he was laughing at her stretched her taut nerves beyond endurance. Abruptly, she forgot how glad she was to see him. “I don’t recall asking you to roll in the pigsty.”

He eased close enough to her that she could see a glint in his dark eyes that might have been humor or arousal or some combination of both. “Your brother objected to my stealing Lord Stowe’s coach.” He cocked his head to one side as if considering the matter. “Or rather, what we thought was in it.”

“You fought?” Anxiety shaded her voice. “Are you injured?”

He held his arms out to his sides and turned in one smooth motion.
“As you can see, only my pride.”
One corner of his mouth tilted in a wry grimace. “However, you might need to hire a new maid.”

Juliet had had enough of the ambiguous phrasing of the gypsy tribe. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and she stomped her foot. “Tell me what happened, in plain words, if you know them.”

Reaching for her hands, he brought them up to his lips. With gentle care, he loosened her fingers from the tight balls in which she held them. “Ah, my Juliet, I fear plain words will not do you justice.” He pressed a warm kiss into the palm of one hand. “I would rather wax as lyrical as a bard of old, comparing your beauty to a moonbeam or the sparkle in your eye to a smattering of stardust.”

As he laid his mouth against her other palm, his voice dropped in timbre. “Wouldn’t you rather hear those words from my lips?”

Her fingers curled around his reflexively as a spark of heat ignited in her veins. Color rose in her face as she realized that the other men could hear. “Don’t tease, Marko. I can’t bear it right now.”

“My brilliant love.
Your plan has worked only too well. Your brother is on a wild goose chase to London and you are here with me.”

“Serves him right,” she muttered.

“I agree wholeheartedly, though I would have liked to have been included in the arrangements. I felt a royal fool when I opened the door to that coach.”

“Serves you right too.”

He went still for a moment. “I stand chastised.” Then his lips quirked in a smile that took her breath. “Might I ask what I am being berated for? Like the thieving gypsy I am, I came to kidnap my bride from under the nose of another.”

His bride.
Her heart swelled at the words, but she wasn’t ready to let him see the gladness in her face. With an effort, she jerked her fingers from his. Hunching one shoulder, she said with challenge in her tone, “How was I to know you’d arrive? You appeared ready to let me marry Lord Stowe.”

“You should have trusted me, my love, as you must trust me now.”

She stiffened in suspicion, but hesitated a second too long. From behind her, someone grasped her arms, dragging them behind her. She turned her head to see that it was Luca holding her. “What are you doing?” she demanded as he tied her wrists together with a length of twisted cloth.

 She struggled against the hold while Marko pulled a kerchief from around his neck and approached her. “No, don’t–” She broke off as he thrust the cloth between her teeth and tied it behind her head, gagging her. She stared into his face, trying to read the emotion there. His lips were pressed together in a firm line, his dark gaze sharp with an intensity that caused her heart to trip on its own beat. Had he tricked her? Rumors abounded that gypsy tribes made their money by kidnapping. If he planned on ransoming her back to her brother, he’d find James was unlikely to pay. Lord Stowe, on the other hand, might pay handsomely for the chance at revenge.

Marko reached for her face, cupping both her cheeks in his hands. She jerked back from his touch, trying to scream at him to release her, but the cloth muffled the sounds to gibberish. The fact that she looked foolish made her angry and she kicked out at him, the toe of her shoe colliding with the soft leather of his boot near the knee.

“Perhaps we should tie her feet as well,” the other man said with laughter tinting his tone. “A more unwilling bride I’ve never seen.”

“Easy, my love,” Marko said under his breath for her ears only. “You will not be harmed.”

It was then that she understood. A gypsy betrothal was usually short and often ended when the girl was taken from her bed and delivered to her future husband’s
vardo
.
He had failed to kidnap her from the coach, so he was doing so now. Since she did not have family who would barter with him for the bride price, this was the most public declaration of his intention to wed her that he could make.

As if he saw the understanding dawn in her eyes, Marko turned and whistled for his horse. When he was mounted, the other men lifted her up, placing her in his arms.

“In two weeks, we meet again” he said to the men as he gathered the reins tightly. “Until then, safe travels,
phralale
!
”

They echoed the blessing as Marko let the horse have its head, and the clearing disappeared as the green of the forest surrounded them.

Heedless of the drying mud on Marko’s shirt, Juliet turned her face into his chest, partly for protection from the low-hanging branches and partly for the sheer pleasure it gave her. She was uncomfortable, but she no longer cared. Marko’s heart beat strongly against her cheek, his arms held her secure and she wanted nothing more from life. They rode in silence for some time. After a while, she realized that they were not going to the gypsy camp.

When she raised her head, Marko looked down inquiringly, then exclaimed softly under his breath.
“Nearly there, sweet.
Then I’ll make it up to you.”

She relaxed against him again. When he pulled the horse to a stop, she saw a large
vardo
parked beside a slow-running stream. There was no sign of the others. He slid from the horse with her in his arms and strode to the wagon, opening the door and depositing her on her feet inside. Shutting the door behind them, he released her from the bonds, allowing her to take her first good breath of air. With gentle fingers, he rubbed at the marks left on her cheeks until her face felt nearly normal.

“Where is everyone else?” she asked to break the silence.

“Scattered to the four winds.”
His gaze focused on her red lips. “If we were to capture a nobleman’s bride, we knew the tribe would have to disappear for a while. You and I will be well-hidden here for a few days,
then
we’ll start the journey to the meeting place.”

A slow blush started up her chest as she considered how she and Marko could spend several days alone. She half-turned from him, rubbing at her wrists to restore feeling to her hands. “You could have told me. I fret myself to stitches wondering how I was to bear my wedding night with Lord Stowe.”

“I sent
Vadoma
to alert you to the plan.”

“That old woman?” she scoffed with mock annoyance. “She scared me witless with her talk of paths and destiny. An inability to speak plainly seems to be a trait that is taught in your tribe from birth.”

He bent his dark head toward her, his breath warm against her nape. “Then let me speak pure truth now.” His hands grasped her gently by the shoulders and he turned her to face him. Placing one bent finger under her chin, he raised her face to his. He stood for a moment, looking down at her features as if seeing her for the first time. “I never want to sleep another night without you by my side or wake to another morning without your sweet smile to greet me. I promise to watch over you and protect you the rest of our days if you will agree to stay with me.”

Juliet stared up into his beautiful dark face, afraid that this was another dream and the exquisite words would evaporate upon her awakening. “What has changed since the night I visited the tribe?”

His hands tightened on her shoulders, the grip almost certain to leave red marks on her skin. “When I heard that you were marrying that
gadjo
, I wanted to rip his heart out.” He grimaced and released a long shuddering breath, his grasp gentling. “I returned to England to lay your memory to rest. I thought I’d find you married with a brood of children and that I’d finally be able to move on. Instead I fell even deeper under your spell.”