The Gypsy King (12 page)

He smiled to himself at his luck. He took pride in being a very giving man and had an

unquenchable passion for life. The more life he could touch, caress and hold the better! He laughed to himself, saying a quick prayer in silence.
Help me hold life, caress it, stroke the beauty
and passion with my hands as I bring the sheen and
sparkle into the horses I work with. Make my hands the
path to my soul and my touch to the soul of others, and
every day I give thanks to the heavens by lifting them
up and washing them in the fresh breeze of the hills
. He lifted both his hands up to the sky, shook them briskly and laughed out deep and loud.

They were riding toward three police officers and a prisoner. The prisoner was being

transported from Lourmarin to a neighboring town at least a day’s ride away. The Gypsy King told him he needed to know if she had anything to do with this prisoner and it was Diego’s job to get 118

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her close enough to see the prisoner’s face.

After another hour, he saw the tracks of several horses traveling together and they picked up their speed. As luck would have it, it wasn’t long before the group was below them on a narrow trail and Diego and Veronique were up out of sight on a ridge.

“We’re here, Veronique,” he gestured for her to get off the horse as he dismounted. He pointed below to the group as they rode slowly through a narrow pass. “It is important we get close enough to see faces, but very important we are not seen ourselves. Do you understand? Veronique, you need to look at the man with the group of police officers and tell us who he is.”

She looked. “Ohhhhh…nooooo…nooooo…I

can’t do this…I have to go, I have to get out of here now!” She bolted like a freshly startled stallion.

“Veronique, come back!”
I knew it! Merde!

Diego cursed. He had counted on her perhaps not being agreeable and he was much faster. He

caught up with her in seconds. As he grabbed her blouse and forced her to stop, plumes of hot, red dust swirled between and around them. He put both of his hands on her shoulders and began speaking to her in a low, comforting tone. “I don’t know why you are here with us now, Veronique, but you are. You are safe with us until you are well again.” He dipped his gaze to her ankle, then 119

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compassionately looked into her eyes. “We need to know how to protect you and protect my

family, too. Do you understand this?”

“Noooo… Noooo…I can’t see who that is and

what if it
is
Leone? Why did you do this to me, Diego…why would you make me look at him

again?” She lifted her head up and glared into his eyes.

He saw fire! “I don’t know who Leone is, Ver—

”

“He is a bastard!” she screamed. “Look at what he did to me!” She grabbed his hand and placed it on the long, smooth scar on her cheek. “This is what he did to me with his blade. He called me a whore, Diego, and he did
this
to my face…my face!” She lost control and lashed out at him, slapping him with enough force to make him look west.

Diego reached for her again and pulled her

tighter before she could begin pummeling him with fists of rage. He held her until he felt the fight dissolving from her body. Finally, she gave up and collapsed sobbing into his chest, her spirit broken. She cried in heaving gasps, her eyes as red as the dust beneath their feet. He could do nothing at the moment that would change anything so he simply held her by her shoulders, waiting

patiently. “I do understand some of your pain,” he found himself saying.

“He is a bastard and I believe you are a bastard, 120

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too, for bringing me here to do this!” She whirled away from him quickly, wiped the dust from her eyes and face and started off again.

He grabbed at her and this time it was all he could do to pull back this frantic, out of control horse of a woman. “I don’t know about all of that, Veronique, and I’m sorry. If this is not the man you call Leone, this means the man who hurt you is still out there looking for you and that means he may find you with us. We have children,

Veronique, to think of…babies…mothers…when

you are safe, we will be safe with you. We are outcasts and are not protected by everyday laws,”

he pleaded with her calmly.

* * * *

She stared at him and felt strange sensations

coursing through her body. He was right…
damn
it!
She had never struck a man like that and she half expected him to return the blow, but with much more power. But he was calm. She found herself angry with him, yet yearning for him in the midst of the fire still burning through her heart and soul.

Anger, pain, sorrow, it was consuming

her…and her love…her Ahndray…her love was

lost and she was perhaps a few hundred yards from the man who killed his own brother and slashed her face, scarring her forever. And now 121

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she had to see him again! She wanted to scream until blood ran from her mouth and she collapsed forever!

She was too drained and exhausted. They stood together with only dirt and heaving breaths between them as Veronique was silent. She didn’t understand this man, this
horseman
, but he did have a calming effect on her. Damn if her thoughts weren’t beginning to stray to the forceful way he gripped her shoulders. The fire in her heart quickly spread throughout her body. Her nipples tightened and her mouth became as parched as the dry dust under her feet. Fire spread to her own folds and that really pissed her off…again!

“Okay. You’re still a bastard for making me do this, but I will get a quick look at this man—but that’s it!
You
take me close enough to see his face, then we leave and go home. You can be damn sure I’m talking to his royal highness when we get back!”

Diego hesitated.

Veronique spun around quickly, but was not

completely free. One hand remained on her

shoulder and she wanted to jerk away, but instead left it there. “Or we leave right now! And don’t you think I can’t out ride you to hell, Diego!”

He nodded, then gently reached up with his

hand and ran his dusty fingers along the edge of her physical wound. It was such a genuinely caring gesture and so unexpected she simply 122

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stared at him. She felt the rush between her legs as the trickling of lust began to seep from within her.

Suddenly she missed the smell and touch of a man.
A firm, but passionate, hungry man
.

He said nothing, which meant everything, and let his hand fall to his side. He seemed to ignore the stinging on his cheek as easily as he ignored the horse flies on hot, summer days.

* * * *

Horses are not nearly as difficult as this woman, but
they don’t smell like honey and wild flowers either.

“Let’s go quickly then.” Secretly, he wanted to hold on to her longer, much longer.

He admired her spirit and felt her physical strength in her arms, but he also felt more, much more. The passion in the heart of this woman was unmistakable—her anger was temporary and

much deserved. Suddenly he wanted to

understand more about this sad and angry

stranger.

Diego quickly tied off Veronique’s mare to a lone, withering tree and they rode together now.

Veronique nestled in front and Diego seated rather rigidly behind her. It was snug with both of them in the saddle, but neither of them relaxed enough to enjoy being so physically close. He held the reigns and accepted that she was still too upset to do anything but look ahead and squint from the 123

The Gypsy King

mid-day sun. He let himself revel in feeling of her backside rubbing up and down against his chest, stomach and his now bulging crotch.

* * * *

Veronique could feel Diego’s shirt rustling against her back and she noticed how his strong thighs wrapped around her legs and cupped her ass. She was too angry and frightened at the thought of looking at Leone again to consider anything else about his body against hers, pleasant or not.

They rode together swiftly, but without much noise. Diego’s horse skittered between sparse foliage and blazed their trail along a windswept ridgeline. Neither seemed to lose sight of the group, but it was several minutes before they stopped, dismounted and scrambled behind a

large outcropping to get a clear view. Veronique regained her composure and was determined not to let fear get the best of her in front of this man.

You can do this,
she soothed. They were less than a hundred or so feet from the group of men and their prisoner. She looked into the ravine and felt like she was going to be sick. The coffee and oatmeal gruel knocked at the back of her throat and she swallowed hard. She made herself

concentrate, took a deep breath and accepted her fate.

The police officers were easy to distinguish in 124

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their black riding pants, bleached blue shirts and suspenders. Their horses were fresh, but the officers looked tired and bored. None spoke and each wore the customary black beret familiar to her since she was a child. Seeing the berets gave her an immediate sense of comfort and reminded her of home. She studied the group. Each had a holstered weapon and looked alert as they rode surrounding a man on foot.

The prisoner walked with his head down,

shoulders slumped, his arms secured in front of his body, tethered to two officer’s horses. He kicked dust and walked begrudgingly. He looked broken and not at all dangerous, but she could not see his face yet.

Veronique turned to Diego who also looked at the group, then turned back quickly before saying anything. Anxious at not being able to see the man’s face clearly, she felt nauseous again. “He’s almost the same height, has dark hair.” Suddenly, as if the prisoner heard her speaking, he looked up into the bright sun. Veronique’s heart pounded and blood rushed in her ears. “Let’s go!” she barked to Diego.

They both scrambled away from the ridge.

Neither spoke as they rode back to Veronique’s horse and were riding beside each other again.

Sun blazed overhead and the fields and flowers were quiet. The cooling breeze she had enjoyed most of the morning died.

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Chapter Eleven

n hour passed, then two, and Diego rode

Acasually and waited patiently for Veronique.

He watched her ride and was a bit puzzled. She had not cried, not gotten angry, not galloped ahead, or fallen behind, or screamed, or collapsed.

She simply rode beside him and stared ahead. He could only guess at whether his task was a success or failure.

Her stoic demeanor confused him, but he also admired her and wanted to tell her what was on his mind, wanted to touch her, hold her. Diego let his mind wander as he rode and he teased himself with glances and long, covert stares at Veronique’s full figure on her horse.

Her gaze was relaxed, her hair bounced lightly over her shoulders and back, her full breasts pushed against her blouse and her hips and thighs moved in rhythm as she rode. He found himself 126

Morgan Rush

breathing along with her stride and pictured himself resting on his elbows over her, his mouth hovering above hers, his warm breath blowing into her mouth as she opened wide to receive his tongue. It was a vision he had been painting in his mind since he had both of his hands on her

shoulders and felt the powerful stirrings of her anger, her pain and her passion.

Diego eyed a strip of perhaps forty green, leafy olive trees. Ripe fruit dotted each branch like black crows littering a cool October sky. He motioned for Veronique to follow as he guided their horses to a shaded area completely covered from the sun.

The cool breeze pick up again.

He skillfully dismounted before Veronique

began slowing her mare and, with the grace of a cat, covered the several steps in an instant, then grabbed her reigns while soothing and calming her horse with his free hand.

* * * *

Veronique heard him speak a language she didn’t understand into her horse’s ear as he stroked her mount’s long nose. He acted like he was having a dignified conversation complete, with laughing, looking surprised and slapping his forehead in relief.

She giggled when the horse jerked its head up and snorted, pulling itself away from Diego who 127

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acted completely insulted, then gently put his mouth close to the horse’s ear and went back to his whispering and petting.

Veronique needed the break and was ready to get down when Diego moved himself to the side to help her dismount. Instead of lifting his arms to support her, he slowly moved closer toward her knees and thighs, reached up and placed a hand on the mare’s withers and the other hand on her knee.

Tired, she was emotionally drained and hot

from the sun. In an instant, she felt the same calm effect she had felt hours before when he was holding her shoulders and talking in a low

whisper. She looked down at him, waiting to see what he was going to do, but did not remove his hand.

He reached down, pulled her foot out of the stirrup and began sliding it back.

Veronique knew instinctively what to do. She removed her opposite foot from the stirrup and swung it up and over the horse’s neck in one smooth motion. About to fall into his waiting arms, she paused, sitting sideways in the saddle, facing Diego.

Holding both of her feet in his experienced hands, Diego pulled them apart slowly, placing her left leg in the lone stirrup for extra support. He looked up at her, but said nothing.

Veronique waited for him to ruin this moment.

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She was ready to jump down and maybe peck him lightly on the cheek, walk as provocatively as a girl with a healing broken ankle can walk across the warm grass, stretch out like a cat and take a short nap under one of those inviting olive trees—