Samantha James (22 page)

“There’s no question Colin is fond of him,” Olivia admitted, her eyes soft. Colin had lost his shyness long ago—one of his favorite things to talk about was Dominic—and of course, Storm. “And I know he’s just as fond of Colin.”

Their talk turned to other matters. Before long they reached the village. Olivia was just about to take the split in the road that led to the cottage, when she noticed a number of people gathered near the church. She frowned. Shouts and angry voices punctuated the air.

She and Charlotte exchanged glances. Charlotte glanced back toward the church. “Why, there’s me mum,” she said slowly. Olivia’s gaze traveled over the group. Sure enough, she spotted Bridget, Charlotte’s mother.

Their step hastened until they were almost running.

Just then a white-haired figure separated itself from the group. She gave a great cry when she saw the two women hurrying toward her.

“Charlotte!” she cried.

Charlotte reached her. “What is it, Mama? What’s ’appened?”

Fat tears slid down Bridget’s ample cheeks. “Someone took him,” she wailed. “Someone took him!”

Charlotte’s eyes were huge. “Who, Mama?
Who?
”

“Colin,” Bridget sobbed. “’Tis my fault, Charlotte. Ye can send me back to Ireland, but first, let us find him!”

Charlotte began to tremble from head to foot. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. It was Olivia who said sharply, “What happened?”

“It was two hours past. He was sleepin’ in his bed, the little lamb. I laid me head down, too…just for an instant, I told myself. I must have fallen asleep—” Bridget’s tone reflected her anguish. “—but then I heard the door creak. It took me but a minute—but by then he was gone!”

The woods crowded directly behind Charlotte’s cottage. “Perhaps he wandered into the woods—”

“No.” This came from Charlotte, who was white as snow. “He was terrified of the woods. He wouldn’t even go behind the cottage unless Mama or I was with him.”

“Someone took him,” Bridget said, beginning to weep. “There were footsteps in the earth near the well. They led directly to the door. They weren’t there earlier, for I swept there only this morning.”
She began to weep. “Anyone could have looked through the window and seen the both of us sleepin’ there. Someone came in and snatched him from his bed!”

Olivia ignored the voice that told her it would have been only too easy to sneak the little boy into the woods. “He has to be somewhere—”

“We’ve searched everywhere.” This came from Reverend Holden. His thin face was shadowed. “As much as I hate to believe it, it appears young Colin was taken by someone—just like Lucinda.”

Olivia’s blood went chill. “Lucinda?” she whispered. Lucinda, so sweet and so shy, was the next oldest girl after her sister Jane.

It was then she saw Jane, who stepped up and wrapped her arms around Olivia. The girl’s face was stained with tears. “Oh, Miss Sherwood!” she sobbed. “Lucinda is gone! She went out to the barn this morning to milk the cow. She never came back. Papa sent me out to fetch her, but I—I couldn’t find her.”

A wave of shock slammed through Olivia.
Dear God
, she thought numbly,
both Colin and Lucinda
. With two of them gone, it couldn’t be coincidence. They couldn’t
both
have wandered off…

She smoothed Jane’s hair. “Try not to worry, Jane. She’ll be found soon.” She sought to comfort the girl, but it was an empty promise—never had she felt so useless!

Jane raised woeful eyes to hers. “What if she’s not, Miss Sherwood? What if she’s not?”

Olivia had no answer. She could only pray that such a thing would never come to pass.

From within the crowd came a shout. “It was the Gypsies! The Gypsies stole the children!”

An angry murmur swept through the assembled crowd.

“It must be!” yelled another. “Everyone knows they steal anything they can, even children!”

“Especially children!” claimed yet another.

A great hue and cry arose. “Let’s go search the Gypsy camp!”

It was all the encouragement they needed. Fists punched high in the air. Voices rose, joining together in a roar. The very air seemed to sizzle with the thunder of angry emotions. A man broke apart from the others.

“Let’s find the children!” he shouted.

Yet another man joined him, and still another and another fell into place beside him, until like a swarm they surged forward, marching together. Even the constable was among them.

They were headed toward the Gypsy camp.

“Miss Sherwood,” cried Jane, “where are they going?”

“To make trouble,” she said under her breath. She gave Jane a quick hug. “Go home, sweetheart, go home,” she urged the girl.

Charlotte grasped her sleeve. “Olivia, do ye think it’s true, that the Gypsies stole Colin and Lucinda?”

“Of course not, that’s just an old tale!” she cried. “There’s no truth to it, none at all!” She felt compelled to defend the Gypsies. Her eyes grew frantic. It might prove futile, but she had to at least try to stop them! “Oh, Charlotte, I cannot let them do this, I have to go after them! There are women and children there. Someone could be hurt!”

Charlotte swiped at her tears. “I’ll go with ye—”

Olivia shook her head. “No, love, stay with your mother. You need each other right now.” She gave her a fierce hug. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Olivia ran after them, crying out for them to stop, to listen to reason. The men paid no heed. She caught a glimpse of William—he’d been a soldier. Perhaps she could appeal to his sense of honor, but when she tried to reach him, someone reached out and shoved her viciously between the shoulder blades. She fell to the ground, scraping her palms and knees; the breath was jarred from her lungs. By the time she’d regained it, stumbling upright, the men had reached the Gypsy camp.

Olivia ran forward, pleading, cajoling, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. Tempers ran hot; emotions were strained to the breaking point. Half a dozen Gypsy men jumped up from around the fire. There was a barrage of furious words and then the villagers dispersed, knocking down anyone who got in their way. They climbed into the caravans, tearing them apart—the ground was soon littered with brightly colored clothing. There was little the Gypsies could do to stop them—they were outnumbered two to one by the villagers. The women clustered together, their children huddling behind their skirts, their eyes wide and dark and frightened. Battered by a sense of utter helplessness, Olivia could only watch in horror while they tore the camp apart searching for Colin and Lucinda. She was appalled, sick to the depths of her soul. Their judgment was colored by their hatred, their actions by scorn.

From the corner of her eye, there was a flash of movement. She turned to see Andre dart from within a tent. He was knocked to the ground by
two men. One of them raised a stick of wood high, then swung it down…Dimly she heard herself cry out.

Suddenly there came a shout that rose above all. “What the devil is going on here?”

It was Dominic.

He rode in, looking like a savior from heaven, tall and proud and commanding upon Storm’s back. The wind whipped at his shirt. The villagers stopped their looting, no doubt from the fierceness of his expression.

Nikolos, the Gypsy leader, walked toward him. His hands waving, he said something in Romany. Dominic scowled. His expression blackened further.

“Have you found what you were looking for?” His gaze swept over all those present. “Have you?” he demanded.

“No,” someone answered sullenly.

“Then I suggest you leave—”

But someone else had other ideas. “What about you, m’ lord earl? You’re half-Gypsy! Perhaps it was you who stole the children.”

“Yes,” someone else shouted. “Where were you today?”

A murmur went up. Suddenly the attack was centered on him—on Dominic.

Olivia couldn’t believe it. Why couldn’t they see what was surely obvious if only they cared to look? When she looked at him she saw a bold strength tempered by the utmost gentleness. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned Dominic and Colin, the sweep of his hand upon the boy’s head as a laughing Colin was lifted from Storm’s back. The boy idolized him—and Dominic was fond of Colin, she
knew it for certain. Were Colin here, he could only attest to it himself.

Before he could say a word, she marched forward. Her eyes were sizzling, and her cheeks were bright with indignation.

“How can you condemn him?” she cried. “When Jonny and Henry were nearly swept away, no one else tried to rescue them—certainly none of you!” It was a stinging denouncement. “He alone was brave enough—courageous enough. What did all of you do? You stood and watched—you stood and watched while those two young boys nearly drowned! Yet you dare to accuse him of such a monstrous crime!”

A hush fell over all, but Olivia was not yet finished. She pointed at a man who leaned upon a cane. “And you, Charles Danbury! He’s let you remain on his land rent-free while your leg healed. He sent some of his own people to help with the chores on your land!” Charles Danbury had the grace to look ashamed. “Would a man so fair and generous steal two children from their home and families? I think not!”

She was suddenly so furious she was shaking with it. Her chin high, she glared at all of them. “I know for a fact that he was at Ravenwood the entire day, so I suggest you look elsewhere for Colin and Lucinda!”

“She’s right,” shouted someone. “The earl had nothing to do with it! The children are not here, and we’d best look elsewhere if we hope to find them.”

The shout was quickly taken up by someone else, and still another and another.

Dominic scarcely heard. He had gone very still.
He had listened intently to every word Olivia spoke. He listened…and he heard. But it was what lay beneath that revealed a far deeper truth…How, he asked himself, could she push him away, yet defend him so staunchly—and before all?

She loved him.
She loved him
.

She simply didn’t know it yet.

Somehow she had accomplished what no one else
could.

One by one the villagers dropped back. Though a few appeared sullen, most were chastened and subdued and fell into a scraggly line. With no more protest, they headed back to Stonebridge.

Dominic had dismounted and stood talking to Nikolos. Olivia rushed to Andre, who lay sprawled in the dirt. With another young man’s assistance, she turned him to his back. Her breath caught, for a massive, ugly bruise already swelled on his temple. Blood streamed down his face, over one eye. The woman Catriana, the one who had told her fortune, pressed a clean, wet rag into her hand. Gently Olivia wiped away the grime and the blood. A grimace of pain crossed his handsome face, but still he didn’t awaken.

Dominic came and knelt by her side. “How is he?”

Olivia hesitated. “I can’t be certain.” The man who had done this—it happened so quickly she couldn’t be certain—but for an instant she thought it was William. Witnessing such violence made her
want to retch. It was far too potent a reminder of how her father had died.

“The Gypsies are leaving,” he told her.

Olivia’s eyes darkened. “I think it’s for the best.” Already the Gypsies had begun to gather up their belongings. A quiet pall hung over the group.

Dominic glanced at Andre. That he hadn’t regained consciousness yet was a bad sign. A chill went through him as he remembered hearing the hoot of an owl the night of the ball. He prayed this wasn’t the consequence.

Olivia covered the wound with a clean strip of linen, carefully winding it around his head. “I’m hardly an expert, but I don’t think he should travel.”

“I know. I thought I would take him to Ravenwood. It’s not far and he’ll be safe there. The villagers may resent me, but I think it will pass.” His eyes probed hers. “What about you? Do you want me to take you home?”

Olivia shook her head. “I’ll be fine,” she murmured.

He nodded, giving her shoulder a slight squeeze as he rose.

Emily was sitting in her chair, a square of lace in her lap. When she saw Olivia’s disheveled state, she leaped up.

“Olivia! What on earth happened to you?”

Briefly Emily told her that Colin and Lucinda had disappeared—and the resulting fray with the Gypsies.

“The Gypsies are leaving,” she finished. “I know you probably agree with those small-minded men who think the Gypsies are responsible—but please,
Emily, I’d prefer you keep it to yourself.”

Emily felt very small. “I wasn’t going to say that.” She paused. “Is…everyone all right? Was anyone hurt?”

Their eyes tangled. An unspoken question hovered in the air between them. Olivia couldn’t help but note her anxiety, but she was in no mood to coddle her—she was still too angry.

She raised a brow. “Anyone? Don’t you mean Andre?” she asked calmly.

Emily looked at her oddly. “You sound as if you know him.”

“I met him once, yes.” It was time for Emily to know the truth as well. “I went to the Gypsy camp with Dominic one night. He wanted to show me that the Gypsies are not the scourge everyone believes.” She paused a moment. “But I’m afraid Andre
was
hurt. Someone picked up a branch from the ground and hit him.”

Emily seemed to struggle to speak. She grasped the top of the chair. “How badly was he hurt?”

Olivia gazed at her steadily. “Do you care, Emily?”

“I—I care not if I see him again, but I—I would never wish him ill!”

Olivia spoke quietly. “He was knocked unconscious. The blow left him bruised and bloodied.” She hesitated. “But he is alive and in good hands.”

Nearly every drop of color drained from Emily’s face. “Oh, God, just like Papa,” she breathed. “Is he with the Gypsies, Olivia? Is he?”

Olivia bit her lip. Should she tell her? Or would it but deepen her despair? When she said nothing, Emily made a choked sound and ran into the cottage. Olivia followed her. She’d thrown herself
down upon the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

She sat next to her. “Would you go to him if you could?” Emily looked stricken; she made no reply. Olivia persisted. “Would you, love?”

Emily turned her head and gazed at her. “Why would you ask such a thing when you know I would not…
could
not! Why are you being so cruel, Olivia? Why?”

Her sister’s wounded look stabbed at her. Olivia swept a stray hair from her temple. “I don’t mean to be, Emily. I merely ask…what you perhaps should be asking yourself.”

Her heart began to bleed when Emily’s eyes glazed over, yet her whisper was almost fierce. “Sometimes I almost wish I’d never recovered my sight. Then it would be the same. I—I could love him without knowing he is a Gypsy. I never would have known…”

Olivia shook her head. “You’d have discovered it sometime, I think. Even if you didn’t, the Gypsies were bound to leave soon anyway—and when he was gone you would have pined for him…Would that be better, to love someone knowing you’d never see him again? Or perhaps he would return, but only for a few days.”

A tear slid from the corner of Emily’s eye. “It hurts so much, Olivia. It hurts so much and yet—it makes me so angry!”

“But are you angry because he is a Gypsy? Or because he deceived you—that he didn’t tell you he was a Gypsy?”

Emily pushed herself to a sitting position. “I’m angry at him because he didn’t tell me—because he is who he is! And I am angry for allowing my
self to fall in love with him! He is a Gypsy and that’s something I can never forget!”

Olivia spoke almost whimsically. “Can’t you?”

“I—I cannot love him!”

“Because he is a Gypsy.” It was not a question, it was a statement.

Emily nodded.

“Is he kind?”

“Yes.”

“Generous?”

“Yes, he is—”

“Considerate of you?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Emily’s tone was frustrated. “He is all of those things—”

“Then you love him for what he is—for who he is.”

“I do, but—” She broke off as she realized what she’d just admitted.

“All of those things come from here,” Olivia pointed out, touching her breast. “When you first saw him, if he had worn the clothing of a
gadjo
, a non-Gypsy, would you have known he was a Gypsy?”

“Do not ask me that,” Emily cried. “Olivia, you wouldn’t understand!”

Oh, yes, I would
, Olivia thought silently.
Far more than you know…

“Olivia…what you suggest…’tis impossible!”

“Is it?” Olivia paused a moment. “Do you know what I think?”

Emily hugged her knees to her breast. “I think you will tell me anyway!”

Olivia smiled slightly. Then her smile faded.

“What stands in your way has nothing to do with Andre,” she said quietly. “You hate the
Gypsy who killed Papa because of what he did—but do not hate Andre because of what that one Gypsy did.”

Reaching out, she smoothed Emily’s hair, her eyes as tormented as were Emily’s own. “Please understand that I do not mean to hurt you when I tell you this,” she said gently. “I only want what’s best for you, love. I want you to be happy, but clearly you are
not
happy. And if you refuse to see what your heart so clearly tells you, then perhaps…perhaps you are still blind.”

Leaning forward, she kissed her sister’s forehead. “I’ll see to supper. Why don’t you rest?”

Emily watched her leave, her expression troubled.
Rest?
her mind echoed in dismay. Ah, but there would be no rest. She laid her cheek on her knees. Her mind would not be still; it circled around Andre, ever and always!

If she could only find the courage to admit it, Olivia’s words held more than a measure of truth. During this time without Andre, she’d been miserable—it was as if a piece of her soul was missing.

The morning she’d regained her sight came back in scorching remembrance. If not for Andre, she might never have tried…He had encouraged her, pushed her, urged her to try again and again. Only now did she consider that surely he must have anticipated her reaction when she discovered he was a Gypsy.

It hadn’t stopped him.

There was a painful catch in the region of her heart. He’d said he loved her.
He loved her
. That was the one thing Emily did not question. He had risked her rejection—sacrificed all—knowing full well he might very well lose her.

It hadn’t stopped him. He had thought only of her…only of her. Yet what had she done?

Dark shame washed through her. She didn’t feel very proud of herself right now. Indeed, she felt small and close-minded.

Olivia was right, she thought with a pang. She was hiding from herself—hiding from the truth. Yet what was she to do about it?

The choice was hers.

She had only to make it.

Olivia saw Andre at Ravenwood the next day. He’d been given a room in the east wing, where she was cleaning today. In the afternoon when she had a bit of spare time, she peeked inside his room. He sat in a chair by the window, staring out at the forest. He was dressed in a clean shirt and breeches—Dominic’s, she guessed. Other than a snowy-white bandage wound around his forehead, she was pleased to note he looked reasonably well. Clearly his condition was much improved.

She knocked lightly on the doorjamb. “Hello,” she called.

He glanced up. A telltale red seeped beneath his skin as she stepped inside; she knew he’d recognized her.

“Hello,” he murmured.

“Well,” she said, “so we meet again.”

Smiling slightly, he got to his feet. His expression was rather wary as he watched her approach.

Her eyes went to the bandage around his head. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine. The earl called in a physician, though I told him it wasn’t needed.” An engaging
grin made a brief appearance. “I’ve had worse knocks than this while I was boxing.”

“Nonetheless, you should probably stay quiet for a few days.”

He made a face. “That’s what the physician said.”

An awkward silence reigned. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Finally she decided there was no hope but to broach the subject on both their minds.

“I suppose you’re wondering about Emily.”

Something leaped in his eyes at the mention of her name—but then his features turned cautious.

“How is she? Can she still see?”

“Her vision is excellent. Her eyes are still a trifle sensitive to bright light, but other than that, it’s as if she was never blind. It’s really quite strange.” She gave a tiny shake of her head.

“She’s convinced it was the crystal I gave her that healed her.”

“And I believe it was you.”

He looked startled, but said nothing.

“I believe it was your love for her that allowed Emily to see again,” she went on. “I didn’t even know about you until several days ago, but…there was a change in her. I know now it was because of you.” She paused, then said softly, “You love her, don’t you?”

“With all that I am,” he said simply, but then a fleeting despair crossed his features.

Olivia ached inside, knowing how hurt he must surely feel. She sought to reassure him.

“She loves you, Andre.”

“No,” he said flatly. “She hates me. She told me so.”

“She’s lost without you. Oh, I know ’tis none of my affair, but…don’t leave just yet. Please, don’t rejoin the Gypsies just yet.” Lightly she laid her fingertips on his sleeve. “I—I do not mean to give you false hope, but give it some time,” she urged. “Give
her
some time to accept her feelings…and you.”

For the longest time he said nothing. “I’ll try,” he said at last, but his eyes were bleak.

With that she left him alone.

She chided herself as she walked down the hall. Who was she to dispense advice? She was feeling her own way just as carefully, wondering what would happen with her and Dominic. She’d lain with him twice—twice! Did it mean to him what it did to her? If only she knew!

It was early evening when she departed for home. She’d just closed the rear entrance to the hall when she heard someone call her name.

It was Dominic. He was striding toward her from the stables. Dusty and travel-stained, his dark hair was windblown and mussed. When she’d arrived at Ravenwood this morning, he was already gone. It was Mrs. Templeton who told her he’d been out since dawn. Despite herself, her pulse leaped apace with her heart. Lucifer trotted along beside him, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. When the hound spotted her, he bounded forward.

She patted his head absentmindedly as she awaited his master.

“Did you find them?” she asked the moment he was near.

Deep grooves appeared beside his mouth. His answer was written in the weary set of his shoulders. Olivia’s spirits plummeted as he pulled her
beneath a shady spot under the eaves of the stables.

“Most of the villagers were out looking as well,” he said grimly. “No one found a thing.”

“Did you see Charlotte?” Olivia had stopped by her cottage this morning, but her mother had told her she was still sleeping—that she’d spent most of the night crying. Not wanting to disturb her, Olivia had continued on to Ravenwood.

Dominic nodded.

“How is she?”

He grimaced. “As well as can be expected, I suppose.”

She would stop by this evening, Olivia decided. Her eyes cloudy, she gazed up at Dominic. “Who would do this? And why? Why take two children from their homes and families?” She shivered as she recalled the horrible scene at the Gypsy camp. “Do you think it was done just so the Gypsies could be blamed?”

“It’s occurred to me,” he admitted. “Certainly it worked. The Gypsies were angry at being accused and moved on—they left last night.” He was silent, his forehead creased. “Yet if that is the case, why weren’t the children returned today?”

She suppressed a shudder. Colin and Lucinda must be terrified! Were they alone? Together? Were they still alive…no.
No!
She could not think like that. She
would
not.

Dominic’s frown deepened. “Or perhaps someone was just as eager to blame me.”

She glanced at him sharply. “It didn’t work, did it? Were the villagers—”