Gypsy Jewel (3 page)

April laughed again and shook her head. “I’m in more danger from you than Adar,” she said, never suspecting how close to the truth that was.

Raised alongside the Romany boys in the band, April was nearly fearless, and for years she had tussled with them like a wildcat in the woods. She learned to knife-fight when she was eight, and the Greek gypsy who trained her had once been a slave. Dinos had taught April to be ruthless where self-defense was concerned, and she had learned well. She eyed Nicky now with the same contempt she had reserved for the bullies she had faced in the past.

Nicky said in a low voice, “What you need is another sort of stallion, April. You should be married and having your own children.”

“And I suppose you have someone in mind for their father?”

Nicky grinned. Seeing she was unafraid excited him. He expected women to cringe and tremble in awe of him, and the fact that April seemed unable or unwilling to do that was nothing more than a challenge.

He took a slow step toward her, raising his hands. “I’ll take the fight out of you like I do my mares,” he said, and when her green eyes widened slightly, he laughed. “The first trick is gentling you to my touch.”

Adrenalin shot through April as she read the intent in his glittering black eyes. “Stay away from me,” she ordered him, but couldn’t summon further words before his hand shot out and caught her abruptly by the wrist, yanking her into his arms.

For the height and weight he lacked, Nicky’s strength was like iron. As April struggled in his arms, he wrenched her hands behind her back and forced his thin, hard mouth down on hers.

“Bitch!” He spat out the word along with a bright bead of blood as April sank her teeth into his lip. With the momentary release of his hold, she fled.

April ran toward her horse, who stopped grazing and regarded his mistress with a look of alarm. Scenting fear on her, the stallion shied away just enough to prevent April from scrambling up on his back. Without the harness, she had no way to hold Adar still.

Soon it was too late. Nicky ran up behind her, shoving April to the grass and reaching out to soundly slap the horse on the flanks. The black bolted instantly, lashing out his back hooves in a fit of upset before he tore off toward the woods.

Dazed, April had no time to recover her feet before Nicky dropped on her. In one smooth move he pinned her with a knee on either side, and brutally twisted her wrists above her head. She had the feeling he had either done this before, or had planned it down to the last detail — perhaps both.

“Go ahead,” Nicky panted down at her, “fight. I like a woman who fights.”

“Pig!” She spat at him, setting her teeth with the effort of trying to throw him off. She had the satisfaction of seeing he kept well away from her mouth this time, pausing to lick his already bloodied lip.

Nicky’s nostrils flared as he drank in the sight of the golden beauty splayed beneath him. She was like a young filly, his for the taking and training. He knew now why the mothers in camp murmured restlessly about April, and what a temptation she was for their sons. They would never admit they were jealous themselves, jealous of her fairness and her slim, proud figure that so easily set men afire.

April’s green eyes shot sparks of hatred up at him, and her long legs flailed wildly in the attempt for freedom. Nicky glanced over his shoulder at the sight of her hips snugly encased in the tight trousers, and he felt the sharp swell of his desire.

“Relax,
chula
,” he chuckled lewdly as he settled himself firmly into the saddle of her hips, “you’ll only hurt yourself. I’ll ride you, cat-eyes, and curb your spirit. Soon you’ll beg me for more.”

His leering face deserved only one thing. April spat up at him and had the satisfaction of seeing Nicky flinch.

“You still think you’re too good for me, eh? I’ll show you, witch.”

While Nicky muttered his vile plans for her, April held down the nausea and the fear enough to construct one of her own. Suddenly she remembered the small dagger she had tucked under her belt that morning, a gift from Tzigane several years ago. She had never had the need to use it until now. With Nicky pinning her hands so effectively, it was unlikely she could reach it anyway. Unless …

Swallowing her revulsion, April whispered softly, “Please.”

Nicky paused and savored the word with obvious glee. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

April licked her dry lips, straining against the burning hold he had on her wrists. “Please, Nicky. Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt me.”

When she suddenly ceased struggling, Nicky stared at April suspiciously. But there was a glimmer of tears in her eyes, real enough to stroke his ego. He had no way of knowing they were tears of rage, not fear.

“Anything?” he rasped, roughly shaking her for confirmation, until she nodded wildly, anxiously. “You know what I want, April. Will you give it to me?” Again she nodded, and her silky voice stirred hope in the depths of his burning loins.

“I-I’ve wanted you to teach me things, about men and women,” she stammered convincingly, and blushed a little, which was easy.

Actually she could imagine nothing less appealing than letting this greasy
gitano
touch her in any way, but she knew her life depended on her ability to act. When April quickly rimmed her lips with a moist tongue, Nicky groaned aloud. Then gradually, she felt the tiniest loosening of his hold upon her wrists.

“I knew it,” Nicky panted, “you just need a real man to teach you tricks, eh? You’ve been driving me mad all for nothing, witch. But I can train you well, and I will.”

He released her hands then, but before April could reach down to grab her dagger, he seized the front of her silky white blouse and ripped it halfway down. Rage engulfed April when he buried his dark head between her breasts and slobbered wet kisses all over her skin.

Her own hands fumbled desperately about her waist for the handle of the knife, but her palms were sweaty and slick. When she finally found it, it took several tries to tug it free from her tight waistband.

Thinking April groped for something else between his legs, Nicky grunted encouragement. He never had an inkling as to what was happening until he felt the sharp point of a dagger digging into the tender flesh at his neck, and his head rose with a jolt.

“No more sudden moves,” April hissed as she kept the razor-thin stiletto pressed to his jugular. Nicky was furious, but he wasn’t foolish enough to jerk away. One thrust, awkward or not, would mean a ghastly wound, or even death.

“Now, get off me, slowly.” April followed his every move with the waving blade, and he saw bloodlust in her eyes.

When they were both on their feet, April collected herself again. It took all her self-control not to gut Nicky like the dog he was, and her grip trembled on the little knife, but did not loosen.

Nicky’s eyes burned like live coals in an otherwise expressionless face. “Give me the knife, April,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice. “You know you don’t need it. I won’t hurt you.”

He took a single step toward her again, and she tensed with fury. “I will kill you if you touch me again, Nicky.”

“Women.” He shook his head and gave a deprecating little laugh. “Come on, April, I was only playing. You knew that, didn’t you?”

The sound of distant voices in the nearby woods caused April’s head to turn in hopeful expectation. Seeing his only chance, Nicky feinted to the right and lunged at her. But he had forgotten how resourceful she was, and April pivoted smoothly and avoided his grasp.

Knowing she was in dire danger as long as they were alone, and seeing the madness in his eyes, April finally chose to run. She was only steps ahead of Nicky as they crashed wildly into the woods, and she gasped for breath to scream just as he seized a handful of her hair from behind. Pain exploded in her scalp, but instead of trying to tear free again, April spun around and lashed out with the dagger, carving a thin ribbon of blood along his left cheek.

“April!” Nicky cried her name and it echoed throughout the woods. It sounded strangely forlorn coming from the young man, but April was too angry to notice. She watched in bitter satisfaction as Nicky crumpled to his knees, bright red blood trickling through his hands and spotting his shirt.

“Why, April? Why did you try to kill me?”

Nonplussed, April stared at him as Nicky continued his surprising plea with arms outstretched in supplication.

“I told you it was over long ago. I will marry Marya instead!”

April heard a sharp intake of breath nearby. Shocked, she glanced over to see that Nicky’s performance had been for the benefit of an audience. She recognized three girls from the camp standing there watching the drama with berry baskets in hand.

The dagger fell from her numb fingers as she opened her mouth to speak. But already she saw Marya’s eyes hardening on her, and the other Lowaran girl drew herself up with a hiss.

“So, you jealous little bitch. You’ve been trying to steal my man, eh?” The unmarried daughter of the copper-worker Bruno spat out the words as she ran to Nicky, kneeling by him and gasping in horror at the blood covering his hands.

“You tried to kill him,” Marya accused April, whipping the kerchief off her dark hair and dabbing at the wound on Nicky’s cheek with angry, curt motions. She glared at her supposed rival for Nicky’s affections.

“No! He attacked me in the meadow.” April heard her own voice coming as if from a great distance away, and realized she had spoken in a dazed whisper.

She was no match for Nicky, who gazed up at Marya with soulful, dark gypsy eyes and murmured, “April lured me to the woods and then threw herself at me. I told her we are to wed, but she wouldn’t listen. And when I tried to leave, she came after me with that knife …”

“Liar!” April lashed out, unable to listen any longer. She indicated her torn blouse clutching it to cover her breasts, and shook with indignation. “How do you think this got ripped to shreds?”

Nicky closed his eyes in apparent anguish. “You were foolish enough to offer yourself to me, knowing I would never betray Marya.”

April made an exasperated noise, but when she saw the faces of the other two girls, she tensed. Both Beti and Dodee were staring at her uncertainly, and she saw the conclusion they were coming to.

“It’s not true. He tried to rape me.” Her desperate cry, however, was lost in the sudden flurry of activity as Nicky rose to stand and Marya rushed to assist him.

He moaned dramatically and clutched his bleeding face. “Please lead me back to camp. I can’t see … my eye …”

Knowing she did not go anywhere near his eye, April burned in helpless frustration. But the moment she moved in the direction the others were headed, Marya screamed at her to stay put.

“You evil thing, stay away from us!”

As the three girls turned to help him limp from the scene, Nicky glanced over his shoulder and gave April a smug, victorious smile.

Knowing it would be pointless to run or hide when the men from the camp came in search of her, April waited there until they arrived. After all, she was innocent. Everyone knew that Nicky was cunning and cruel, even to his prized horses.

She intended to face her accuser with dignity. If it took everything she had, April would see that the truth was dragged into the light of day, and of course her people would believe her.

Wouldn’t they?

“W
E ARE NOT GOING
over this again.”

Damien Cross spoke with exasperation over the dramatic sobs which trailed him down the curving mahogany staircase to the front door. Pausing on the landing behind her son as he gathered up his overcoat, Marcelle de Villette, a countess of Normandy in her own right and also the widow of an English earl, wiped at her streaming dark eyes and cast another plea after him.

“Damien! You cannot rush off like a madman to your certain death like this. How can you leave me here alone while you go running off to heathen lands again?”

Gathering his patience, the Earl of Devonshire turned to face the tear-streaked, beautiful face of his French mother. Long used to Marcelle’s tragic scenes, Damien said dryly, “The moment I am gone,
Maman
, you will doubtlessly decide to retire to Versailles to take the spring air, and be comforted by your many admirers.”

Not consoled in the slightest, Marcelle sniffled and dabbed at her delicate features with a lace-edged handkerchief. She knew her headstrong son had gotten his brooding good looks from her. His thick, blue-black hair and stubborn air were perfectly reflected in her own. But above Damien’s firm, square-cut jaw, his father’s ice-blue eyes stared her down from beneath the dark pair of brows, and Marcelle was unhappily reminded of Edward Cross’s famous stern looks.

“Bah,” she sniffed at last, in perfect imitation of her English dowager friends, “I can see you have no sympathy for your poor
Maman
, none at all. Well, perhaps I will go to France then, and try to distract myself from the thought of your certain demise.”