A Dangerous Love. Brenda Joyce

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СКАЧАТЬ “Are you certain a Gypsy stole the stallion?”

      “It is the conclusion I drew. But if you are asking if I am one hundred percent positive, the answer is no.” He laid his hand on her shoulder with a brief smile and they started forward.

      They had reached the outermost line of wagons, which encircled a large clearing where several pits were being dug for fires. Ariella’s smile faded. The children ran about barefoot with barking dogs, and their pets were thin and scrawny. Women were hauling buckets of water from the creek. The pails were clearly very heavy, but the men were busy pounding stakes and laying out the canvas for tents, hurrying to get the camp made before dark. She looked more closely at the women. Their faces were tanned, lined and weather-beaten. Their colorful skirts were carefully patched and mended. They wore their long, dark hair loose or in braids. The woman closest to them had an infant in a pouch on her back. She removed items from a wagon.

      This was a hard life, Ariella thought, and now, she realized that all the laughter and conversation had ceased. Even the guitar player had stopped strumming.

      The women paused and straightened to stare. Men turned, also staring. The children ran to the wagons and hid there, peeking out. An absolute silence fell, broken only by a yapping dog.

      Ariella shivered, uneasy. These people did not seem pleased to see them.

      A huge bear of a man, his hair dark and unkempt, stepped out from the center of the camp in front of the wagons, as if to bar their way. His red shirt was embroidered, and he wore a black-and-gold vest over it. Four younger men, as dark and as tall, came to stand with him. Their eyes were hostile and wary.

      Hoofbeats sounded. Ariella turned as a rider on a fine gray stallion galloped up to the outermost wagons, another rider trailing farther behind. He leaped off the mount, striding toward the Gypsy men.

      She felt the evening become still. He wore a plain white lawn shirt, fine doeskins breeches, and Hessians that were muddy. He did not wear a coat of any kind and his shirt was unbuttoned, almost to the navel. Clad as he was, he may as well have been naked. No Englishman would travel publicly in such a way. He was tall, broad-shouldered, powerfully built. He wasn’t as dark as the other Gypsies, and his hair was brown, not black, glinting with red and gold in the setting sun. She couldn’t see him more clearly from this distance, but oddly, her heart began to wildly race.

      Cliff took her elbow and started forward. Ariella now heard the newcomer speaking to the Gypsies in their strange, Slavic-sounding tongue. His tone was one of command. Instantly Ariella knew he was their leader.

      And then the Gypsy leader looked at them.

      Cold gray eyes met hers and her breath caught. He was so beautiful. His piercing eyes were impossibly long lashed, and set over strikingly high, exotic cheekbones. His nose was straight, his jaw hard and strong. She had never seen such masculine perfection in her entire life.

      Her father stepped forward. “I am Cliff de Warenne. Who is vaida here?”

      There was a moment of silence, filled with hostility and tension. It gave her the opportunity to really look at the Gypsy chief. Of course he wasn’t English. He was too dark, too immodestly dressed and his hair was far too long, brushing his shoulders. Tendrils were caught inside his open collar, as if sticking to his wet skin.

      She flushed but couldn’t stop staring. Her gaze drifted to a full but tense mouth. She glimpsed a gold cross he wore, against the dark, bronzed skin of his chest. Her color increased just as her heart sped more fully. She knew she should look away, but she simply couldn’t manage to do so. In the fine silk shirt, she could even see his chest rising and falling, slow and rhythmic. Her glance went lower. The doeskin breeches clung to his thick, muscular thighs and narrow hips, delineating far too much male anatomy.

      She felt his eyes on her; she looked up and met his gaze a second time.

      Ariella flamed. Knowing she had been caught, she looked quickly away. What was wrong with her?

      “I am Emilian. You will speak to me,” he said, a slight accent hanging on his every word.

      “I see you are already making camp. You are on my land,” Cliff said, his tone hard.

      Ariella looked up, but the gray-eyed Gypsy was intent on her father now. She didn’t know why she was so flustered. She had never been as aware of anyone. Maybe it was because he was an enigma. He was dressed like an Englishman might in his boudoir—but he was not in the privacy of his home. His English seemed flawless, but he spoke the Gypsy tongue.

      Emilian smiled unpleasantly. “Long ago,” he said softly, “God gave the Rom the right to wander freely and to sleep where they wish.”

      Ariella flinched. She knew a gauntlet when it was thrown, and she also knew that while her father wished to discuss the situation, he had a dangerous side. There was a hint of ruthless savagery in Emilian’s cold gray eyes.

      Cliff’s smile was equally unpleasant. “I am sure you think so. But recently, the government of England passed laws limiting the places vagabonds and Gypsies can stay.”

      Emilian’s gray eyes flickered. “Ah, yes, the laws of your people—the laws that allow a man to hang simply because he travels in a wagon.”

      “This is the nineteenth century. We do not hang travelers.”

      A cold smile began. “But to be a Gypsy is to be a felon, and for such an unlawful life, the punishment is death. Those are your laws.”

      “I doubt you understand the law correctly. We do not hang men because they are Gypsies. None of that changes the fact that you are on my private land.”

      Emilian said softly, “Do not patronize me, de Warenne. I know the law. As for this camp, there are women and children here who are too tired to go on tonight. I am afraid we will stay.”

      Ariella tensed. Why did their leader have to be so belligerent? She knew her father had not intended to send them away, not that night. But she now saw Cliff’s eyes flicker with real annoyance, and she sensed an impending battle.

      “I did not ask you to leave,” Cliff said flatly. “But you must give me your word that there will be no mischief tonight.”

      The gray-eyed Gypsy stared. “We will try not to steal the lady’s necklace while she sleeps,” he said scornfully.

      Her father tensed, his blue eyes flaring with anger. “The lady is my daughter, vaida, and you will refer to her with respect or not at all.”

      Ariella quickly stepped forward, uncertain if the men might not come to blows. The air was drenched with their male fury. She smiled at the Gypsy leader; his gaze narrowed. “We are more than pleased to accommodate you, sir, for the night. There is plenty of room to spare, as you can see. My father is only concerned because the townspeople are in a tizzy. That, of course, is due to their ignorance.” She spoke in a rush and was terribly aware of her nervousness.

      He stared at her. Her smile wavered and vanished.

      Cliff flushed. “Ariella, go back to the house.”

      She started. Her father hadn’t ordered her about in years. How had a simple reconnaissance mission turn into such hostility? She stepped closer to Cliff and lowered her voice. “You will let the Gypsies stay the night, won’t you?” It had become terribly important to СКАЧАТЬ