Samantha James (9 page)

Olivia gave a tiny shake of her head. She could only watch as he moved to stare out the window at the encroaching darkness. The lines of his back were rigidly immobile.

A stinging rush of tears pushed to the surface. She blinked them back. Never in her life had she felt so low, so utterly miserable! Her mouth opened, but the words she sought just wouldn’t seem to come. “Please,” she said faintly. Quaveringly. “You don’t under—”

He whirled on her. “Dammit, didn’t you hear?” His tone was as blistering as his glare. “Get out, Miss Sherwood…Get out!”

Olivia waited no longer.

With a jagged sound she snatched her shawl from the hook and ran out. Out of the house. Out into the storm which had begun to rage. She didn’t care where she went, as long as it was away…

Away from him.

His eyes squeezed shut. The world revolved in a crimson haze all around him. He was fiercely, bitterly angry. Damn her, he thought.
Damn her
. He knew what they all thought of him…Gilmore. The rest of the villagers. He knew what
she
thought of him…Olivia.

He couldn’t help it. A deep, potent rage shook him. He felt betrayed. Bewildered. Christ, he’d even dreamed of her, for pity’s sake, only to awake rock-hard and throbbing.

His eyes opened. His feet moved, without conscious volition. He found himself staring at the portrait on the wall, the portrait of James St. Bride.

His thoughts drifted. He remembered that long-ago day when he was but a lad of twelve, no longer a boy, not yet a man—the day James St. Bride had ridden into the Gypsy camp to see him.

Most of the others had gone into town to barter at the market. Only he, his mother, and a group of children remained. Dominic had only to glimpse his mother’s paleness, her wild, panicked expression to realize the identity of this tall, mahogany-haired stranger atop a sleek-limbed, shiny black stallion. Instinct provided all the answer he needed.

Madeleine rose slowly from where she’d been sitting near the fire. Her hand had climbed to her throat, yet she faced him bravely.

“
Why are you here?
” she asked, her voice very low. She spoke in English, so the other children didn’t understand.

But Dominic did. She’d taught it to him at a very early age.

James St. Bride swung to the ground. Dominic could see he carried himself with the arrogance of one accustomed to giving orders—and being obeyed instantly.

It was then that the fire of hatred began burning even more deeply in his soul.

“
I’ve come to see for myself if you spoke the truth. To see if the bastard you carried is mine
.”

Madeleine said nothing.

James St. Bride’s hard gaze encompassed the straggly ring of children lined around the fire, gawking at the stranger. He slapped his riding crop
against his thigh. “
He’s here, Madeleine. I know he is. I’ve heard of him. The Gypsy with blue eyes
.”

Dominic longed to hide. He’d always known he was different. Gypsies from other bands whispered about the boy with pale eyes;
gadje
pointed in disbelief. Once, at a market fair, curiosity had gotten the better of him. Catching sight of a mirror in one of the stands, he stood before it and stared at his reflection, stared endlessly at eyes the color of a warm summer sky…

He’d shattered the glass with his fist.

And now, once again Dominic knew shame, the bitter shame of his heritage…the shame of his
gadjo
blood.

Deliberately he averted his face.

But James St. Bride had seen him. He advanced upon him, grabbing him by the shoulder and wrenching his chin upward.

Never in his life would he forget that moment. It was etched into his being as surely as a brand…the look of shock, of black resignation that traveled fleetingly across James St. Bride’s countenance. Oh, he’d wanted to deny that this man was his father, just as James St. Bride had longed to deny that he was his son. But each of them had only to look into the other’s eyes and know the truth…he was born from the seed of James St. Bride.

Dominic spit in his face.

A harsh smile twisted St. Bride’s lips. His gaze locked with Dominic’s as he wiped away the spittle.

“
The boy has no manners, Madeleine. I think it’s time he learned some
.”

Madeleine’s lips parted. “
What! You—you would take him with you?
”

St. Bride released him. His lip curled as he moved toward Madeline. “
Does it make you happy to know that your curse worked, Madeleine?
”

Her eyes widened.

“
Do not pretend ignorance!
” St. Bride’s expression turned brooding. “
I have no other children, save this one. No matter that I wish it otherwise, he is my son—my only heir
.”

Madeline lifted her chin. Though she was still pale as winter snow, she was calm. “
A word with you in private
,” was all she said.

Dominic leaped to his feet. Madeleine whirled on him. “
Dominic, no!
” she said in Romany. “
Leave us alone
.”

The two of them retreated to a secluded spot near the stream. Dominic watched them, saw his mother’s head dip low for the longest time. Slowly she raised it, then gave a slight nod.

They turned and walked back. Dominic watched their approach with a sick feeling of dread winding all through him. His mother didn’t look at him but went straight to their
vardo
. She emerged in but a few moments. In her hand was a small bundle.

Tucked within were his belongings.

He fell to his knees in the dirt, crying out. “
Mother, no! Don’t let him take me!
”

“
You will do as I say!
” She spoke with rare sharpness. “
You will go with him, and you will learn the
gadjo
ways
.”

Her gaze slid toward James St. Bride. He knew then, for he saw it in her eyes. She loved him. She loved him still.

“
He is your father. I have had you with me these many years, Dominic. Now it is his turn
.”

A storm of rage swirled inside him. “
I don’t want to—
”

“
It must be
,” was all she would say. “
It must be. Now rise and be strong, my son
.”

He could have done it. He could have been strong, if only her voice hadn’t cracked. If only he hadn’t seen the heart-wrenching sheen of tears in her dark Gypsy eyes.

It took two of James St. Bride’s men to restrain him.

At last he stood tired and subdued between the two burly men. His chest burned with the effort it took to hold his pain inside. But he wouldn’t shed a tear, not before James St. Bride.

Madeleine approached. She kissed each cheek in turn.

“
Grow and learn, my son. And remember that a part of you is Gypsy, and a part of you is
gadjo.
Be true to them both, and to yourself
.”

She was wrong. He could not be both Gypsy and
gadjo
.

Oh, he’d tried to return to the Gypsies, to his people. But it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same. And then his mother had died…and there was no reason to return.

Yet he would never forget what she’d told him.
Remember that a part of you is Gypsy, and a part of you is
gadjo.
Be true to them both, and to yourself
.

But he’d discovered he could never go back to the Gypsies. He enjoyed the comforts that money could buy…a roof over his head, shelter from the rain and wind. A soft bed beneath him at night. No, he could never go back…yet he could never be free. And so he found himself lost, trapped between two worlds.

All this he remembered. All this…and more.

And then he thought of her…Olivia.

A bitter storm of emotion caught hold of him. He’d lived under a veil of suspicion his entire life. He’d wanted her to be different, but she was just like everyone else. She knew nothing about the Gypsies, yet she hated them…

Did she hate him too?

Little by little his anger receded. What madness had come over him? He couldn’t explain what had seized him. He’d been angry at Gilmore, yet it was Olivia who paid the price. He’d taunted her, taunted her into answering a question that should never have been put to her.

His insides twisted into a sick, hard knot. He remembered her expression as she’d rushed from the room. She’d looked shattered, as shattered as he felt inside.

His jaw clamped tight. He had to go after her. He had no choice. He couldn’t let her go, not like this.

In less than a minute, he reached the stable and called for Storm, his horse.

The night was a wild one. Rain fell in drenching sheets from a steely sky. Wind snatched at tree branches, lifting his cloak from his shoulders. His hat shielded him from the rain. Eyes narrowed, he scanned the muddied roadway. It wasn’t long before he spotted a small, bedraggled figure.

He bent low and called to her. “Olivia.”

She ignored him and kept on walking. She stepped in a puddle. His ears picked up the sound of the splash but her pace never wavered. If anything, she walked faster. An unexpected smile
caught at Dominic’s mouth. Stubborn, he thought. Stubborn and full of pride.

“Olivia, please stop.”

Her pace quickened even more.

Dominic wasted no more time but pressed his heel to Storm’s flank. In no mood to cajole patiently, he wheeled the animal so that her path was blocked, then swung down from the saddle. Reaching out, he caught her shoulders just as she would have stepped aside to skirt him.

“You didn’t take Lucifer.” He cursed himself; that wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

She refused to look at him. Beneath his hands, her body was rigid as stone.

“I don’t need you or Lucifer to protect me,” she announced.

Her expression was mutinous, but there were wet streaks upon her pale cheeks. His heart stopped. Rain…or tears? Before she could stop him, he snared her chin between his fingers and tilted her face up to his.

“Leave me be!” she cried, and then again: “Please just—just leave me be!”

Her voice wobbled traitorously; it wrenched at his insides. He condemned himself to the devil and beyond. Christ, he’d made her cry!

Without further thought, he scooped her up in his arms and placed her in the saddle. With a gasp her eyes flew wide. She lurched forward as if to launch herself from the saddle, but Dominic was already up and behind her. A hard arm about her waist, he caught her close and held her tight against the plane of his chest.

He bent his mouth to her ear. “Pray don’t argue
with me, Olivia. I’m taking you home and I’ll hear no more arguments from you.”

To his everlasting surprise, she didn’t challenge him further. She shivered, a tremor that shook the whole of her body. Indeed, she shocked him by winding her fingers in the front of his shirt and holding on for dear life. In his arrogance, he attributed her sudden acquiescence to gratitude. Not once did he consider it might have been something far different.

Storm was sleek and powerful, and quickly covered the distance to the cottage. He bent his head low, for Olivia had buried her head in the hollow just below his chin. “We’re here, Olivia.”

Without waiting for an answer, he leaped to the ground, then turned to reach for her. He pulled her from the saddle.

Only then did she raise her head. Her eyes were half-wild, her mouth tremulous. Dominic’s hands tightened on her shoulders. Jesus, she was shaking so that she could hardly stand.

An oath stung the air. “Dammit, why are you trembling? Why are you so afraid? Is it me? My Gypsy blood? Or is it this?”

Powerful arms swept around her, drawing her close. Oh, but so very, very close…!

And then his mouth closed over hers.

The world seemed to stand on end. All around thunder
cracked. Lightning split open the sky.

But all she could hear was the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears.
No
, Olivia thought numbly. Shock and disbelief warred within her. This could not be happening. It could not…

Yet it was…
it was
. She was being kissed by the Gypsy earl. God above, the Gypsy earl!

All thought but one fled the confines of her mind. His kiss was nothing at all like William’s, neither sweet nor worshipful nor brief. Alas, from the very instant his mouth closed over hers, ’twas as if she’d been caught in the rampage of the wind. Deep in some corner of her mind, she knew she should pull away—and was appalled that she didn’t! It was as someone else had taken over her body, as if she’d been flung into a world where nothing else existed, nothing but the branding heat of his mouth on hers.

A shiver coursed the length of her, but this time it was not one of fright, nor of cold. She felt as if she were floating in a warm pool of darkness. All she could do was cling to him blindly. His mouth
was warm, insidiously demanding…and utterly persuasive.

All at once she recalled the day he’d asked if she’d been kissed.
I don’t mean a mere peck on the lips, mind you. I mean really…thoroughly kissed…a kiss that makes the very earth move beneath your feet…

On and on he kissed her. In the driving rain. In the dark of night. God help her, it was just as he’d said…as if the very earth moved beneath her feet. His kiss was everything…everything William’s was not.

Even as that realization tolled all through her, he raised his head. His arms fell away.

“There,” he said roughly. “It’s done. That’s all you have to fear from me.”

Reality caved in all around her. Olivia tried desperately to still the frantic thunder of her heart. Was that why he was angry? Because he thought she was afraid of him?

“Dear God,” she said faintly, “it’s not you I’m afraid of—” She pointed over his shoulder at the stallion. “—it’s…it’s
him
.”

“You’re afraid of Storm?” Dominic cursed himself. He should have known! That day in the town square when he’d first seen her teaching the children. He’d wanted her to ride atop Storm. She had vehemently declined.

She nodded. All at once she was laughing. She was crying, tears running unchecked down her cheeks. Her emotions lay scattered worlds apart.

Through a misty haze of tears, she saw him lift a hand toward her. “Olivia—”

“Go,” she choked out. “Please…just go.” She could say no more, for she could stand it no longer.
If she stayed—if
he
stayed—she was certain she would splinter apart. Picking up her sopping skirts, she whirled and rushed inside.

Emily was sitting in the parlor. “Olivia? Is that you?”

Olivia leaned back against the door. She pressed cold hands to her burning cheeks. “Yes, love. I’m here.” She prayed she could disguise her tumult. Through some miracle, she managed to sound normal.

Or so she thought.

Emily tipped her head to the side. “Are you all right? I heard the rain. And the thunder—”

“I’m fine. I just need to—to catch my breath. And I fear I’m half-drowned. I must get out of these wet things.” She hauled in a deep, fortifying breath. “It’s been a long and tiring day, Emily. Would you mind terribly if I went straight to bed?”

“No. No, of course not.” Emily frowned, faintly disturbed. She knew when something was amiss, and Olivia was most certainly not herself. “Was it that horrible Mrs. Templeton again?”

“Actually Mrs. Templeton has been quite tolerable lately.”

The wet swish of skirts told Emily that Olivia had moved to the bedroom door. It was all Emily could do to hide her displeasure. If it was not Mrs. Templeton who caused her sister’s troubles, then no doubt it was him—the Gypsy. Obviously Olivia didn’t wish to talk, and she would not trouble her further, though she did wish Olivia would share her burden sometimes.

“Sleep well, Olivia,” she said softly.

“And you, Emily.”

In the bedroom, Olivia stripped quickly and
donned her nightgown. Slipping into bed, she pressed her cheek against her pillow. Her mind raced apace with her heart. Was he still out there? she wondered. Compelled by the need to know, she threw aside the covers and moved to the window. With one hand she parted the curtains and peered outside.

The darkness was like a thick fog. She couldn’t see a thing.

Suddenly her spine seemed to shiver. All at once she could feel him, the force of his presence…and she knew…

He was still there.

Despite the night’s fierce storm, the next day dawned bright and sunny. The afternoon turned so warm Emily opened the window against the heat.

It was just as she was turning around that she heard Esther’s voice through the window.

“Emily! Emily, open the door, dear. ’Tis Esther!”

Emily obligingly moved to the door and opened it. “Hello, Esther,” she murmured as Esther bustled inside.

“I’ve brought ye some bread just fresh from the oven. It’s warm and yeasty, just the way ye like it.”

“Thank you, Esther. That’s very kind of you. I believe I’ll save it for supper. Olivia rarely has time to bake anymore.” Emily had a hard time holding back a smile. Esther had stopped by the day after she’d deserted her outside the alehouse, immensely contrite and full of apologies for having left her alone in the village. Yesterday she’d brought fresh berry tarts, and the day before, half a dozen buns—her way of making amends, Emily decided.

“I thought we might take a walk about,” Esther
said brightly. “What do you say, Emily?”

Emily directed a smile her way. “Actually I’m feeling a bit tired today, Esther. Perhaps another day.”

“Yes, of course.” Esther didn’t sound terribly disappointed. “Well, I’ll just be off then. Oh, but it’s a warm one outside today! I vow I’ll have quite the thirst by the time I arrive home!”

A thirst which would no doubt entail a visit to the alehouse! Emily smothered a laugh as she bade the older woman good-by and closed the door. Despite her little habits, Esther really was a dear, generous soul. And if it hadn’t been for Esther, she’d never have met Andre.

A sigh escaped her, for nearly four days had passed since her encounter with the young man Andre. She knew she’d been remarkably bold when she’d hinted he might visit; too bold, it seemed. Odd, but he hadn’t seemed the sort of man to stand confined by the boundaries of propriety.

Strangely enough, it wasn’t long before the crunch of gravel reached her ears. “Hello?” called a male voice.

Emily’s heart bounded forward, then began to sing.
It’s him—it’s him!
She was on her feet and moving toward the door in an instant.

She groped for the handle, found it and slanted the door open. “Andre?”

“Here.” He stepped within and closed the door behind him. His heart pounded as he drank in the sight of her. God, but she was a beauty. Her hair was like a shining golden waterfall. And she actually appeared glad to see him. He could hardly believe his good fortune, although not two months past, Irina had predicted that very soon a woman
would come his way who would enchain his heart forever. As was his way, he’d laughed and boasted to his friends that there was not a woman alive who could accomplish such a feat.

This one could. He knew it. He knew it as surely as the sun had risen that very morn.

Her smile was warm and welcoming. Her fingers found his sleeve. “Here. Come into the parlor and sit.”

In the parlor, she resumed her chair and indicated the small settee where Olivia usually sat. Nervous as a schoolgirl, she reached for the scrap of lace she’d been working on.

“I hope your sister wasn’t angry that I escorted you here the other day.”

“Not at all.” Emily fidgeted slightly. That wasn’t quite the truth. But then again, perhaps it was. Olivia hadn’t been angry because she didn’t know! Nor had she told Olivia about Esther deserting her. Esther had been extremely contrite the next day, vowing that it wouldn’t happen again. Emily had assured her it was all right, that someone had found her and guided her home.

She simply hadn’t divulged who that someone was.

Now, she heard the rustle of a movement. The next thing she knew there was a slight touch on her hands. “What are you doing?” she asked softly. Again she felt the slightest brush on the back of her hands. The lace she’d been clutching was pulled gently from her fingertips.

“Did you make this?”

She felt her cheeks heat up. “Yes. I—I count the stitches.”

“It’s quite exquisite.”

“That’s what Olivia said,” Emily confided shyly. “I—I had this notion that—that I could sell it.” The confession spilled out before she thought better of it. “Olivia labors hard and long at Ravenwood, while I sit here and—and do nothing. I thought if I could only sell it that I could help in some way…” She gave a half-laugh, a sound that was self-deprecating. “But of course the idea was quite foolish. I—I can hardly travel myself to sell it.”

Andre took a deep breath. “I could sell it for you. Do you have more?”

“Yes, I—I have an entire basket full.” She tipped her head to the side. “But…how would you sell it?”

“At market fairs perhaps. My—” There was the slightest hesitation. “—work often takes me to such places.”

Emily bit her lip. Oh, but it was almost too much to hope for…“I hate to put you to such trouble—”

“It’s no trouble.” Andre gazed into her face. Lord, but he would travel the earth and back for her. Earnestly he said, “Let me try, Emily. If I cannot, then you’ve lost nothing.”

Emily took a deep breath. “All right. I—I’d love it if you would try. But only if you keep a part of whatever proceeds you make.”

“Oh, but I could not—”

“Otherwise I won’t do it. Now,” she said crisply, “do we have a bargain?” She lifted a hand toward him.

Andre took the hand she offered. He wanted to carry it to his lips, to pull her into his arms and smother her lips with his. Perhaps in time…“We do,” he said huskily.

A slow smile spread across her face, a golden smile that made him feel he’d been punched in the belly. “I cannot tell you how happy I am that I met you,” she said softly. “I hope that you’ll be staying a long, long while in Stonebridge.”

His own smile faded. “Most probably, throughout the summer.” He prayed that he was right. Much depended on the
gadje
. If they were tolerant of the Gypsies’ presence…

“Forgive me if I sound too forward, but I—I couldn’t help but notice the scent of leather. Are you a tanner?”

“No, but I—” There was just the slightest hesitation. “—I work with horses.” It wasn’t a lie, but instinct warned him not to tell her he was a Gypsy.

Emily nodded. So. She’d been right. He was a working man. “Buying and selling?”

“Y-yes. And trading. I also break them in to the saddle. ’Tis said that my—” He caught himself just in time. “—that I have a way with them.”

Emily listened intently as he spoke. He’d been moving around the parlor rather restlessly, she suspected, as if he were unable to sit still.

“Would you like to go outside?” she asked. “I believe ’tis a fine day—”

She never got the chance to finish. In the very next instant, she was scooped up and borne high in the air, snug within strong male arms. She was still gasping when he lowered her to the ground.

Slowly he released her. Emily found herself breathlessly wishing those hard arms would have stayed around her just a while longer.

“Princess,” he announced gallantly, “your throne.”

Beneath her was a soft bed of lush grass. Emily
tried to withhold a smile but failed utterly. “You, sir,” she scolded good-naturedly, “are very brash.”

“And you, princess, are very beautiful.”

A tiny thrill went through her. He was smiling. Oh, she could not see it, but she could hear it in his voice and feel it in the very air around them.

Her mind was suddenly whirling. How old was he? Was he young?
Please
, she prayed. Was he married? Engaged to be married?
No. Please, no
!

Her smile faded. She hated being blind, hated it, for indeed, what man would want to burden himself with a woman who was blind? No doubt she was consigned to spinsterhood, forever and ever. She would grow old sitting in that horrid chair in the parlor. And poor Olivia would grow old with her, for she knew Olivia would be both honor- and duty-bound to remain with her. No, Olivia would never leave her alone. And poor Olivia’s life would be ruined because of her—because of
her!

Never had she hated being blind as much as she did at that moment.

“Emily,” said a low male voice, “what are you thinking?” The laughter was gone from his voice as well.

She smiled faintly. “I can feel the heat of the sun, but it seems a lifetime since I’ve seen it.” She couldn’t tell him the truth.

He took her hand, enfolding it warmly between both of his own. “You weren’t always blind, were you?”

It was a gesture of comfort, of friendship, and…oh, she was quite mad, but she hoped and prayed he stayed forever and ever in Stonebridge.

Wordlessly she shook her head.

“How did it happen?”

Emily’s breath came fast, then slow. Memories flashed through her brain, one after the other. She felt herself tumbling from Bonnie’s back; she saw Papa lying face-down on the ground, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, that horrid Gypsy standing over him with a bloodied club in his hand…

A shudder tore through her.

Andre’s hand tightened around hers. “You need not talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I—I wish I could, but I…I cannot.” Her voice was barely audible.

The calloused pad of his thumb ran across her knuckles. “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he murmured. “It’s a lovely day, too lovely for dark thoughts.”

She took a deep breath and the scent of flowers teased her nostrils. The breeze whirled around her, cooling her from the warm air. Her blessings might not be many but she must be thankful for what she had. She was young and healthy, and…and the very best reason of all sat right beside her.