Claiming the Forbidden Bride (19 page)

‘You made your choice. If the Englishman wants to take his whore with him when he goes, I have no objection. The girl stays with her people.'

‘That's absurd. Angel's my daughter. You've acknowledged she's mine.'

‘Of course she is yours. You bought her, and so you owned her. An ownership you forfeited when you broke our laws.'

‘I have always defended you, Stephano.' Nadya's voice was quiet, but passionate. ‘Whatever you did, I made excuses for it. You of all people understand what it means for a child to be taken from the ones who love her.'

‘I know what it means to be taken from everything and
everyone you've ever known. By uprooting her from the
kumpania
, that's what you would do to Angel.'

‘I don't want to uproot her. I told you. I want to stay here. I want to be what I have always been to our people. Their
drabarni
.'

‘And the
gaujo
?'

Nadya didn't look at Rhys. It seemed as if she had erected a wall between them since they'd left the meadow.

‘He will go back to his people. To his life.'

‘Without you?'

‘I would be less welcome there than he is here.'

‘Yet you chose him over your own people.'

‘Don't do this, Stephano. What happened between us is over. We accept that. We have no choice but to accept it.'

‘And you,
gaujo
? What do you say?'

‘Nadya?' Rhys asked softly.

She turned to look at him then. Her eyes pled with him to say to her brother what he wanted to hear, but Rhys couldn't bring himself to do that. No matter what happened, he was at least going to tell the Rom the truth.

‘I love your sister. What happened wasn't something either of us had planned. This afternoon…' Unconsciously Rhys shook his head, unsure whether what he was about to say next would make this more difficult for Nadya, and yet unable not to say it. ‘I want to marry your sister.'

Rhys had no idea how to interpret the resulting rustle of movement among the assemblage. There was no doubt, however, about the interpretation of Stephano's shout of laughter.

‘And you will then take her into the bosom of your family, I suppose?'

‘Yes.'

‘That I should like to see, Major Morgan. That I should like to see very much indeed.'

Stephano
would
probably enjoy seeing Abigail's reception of Nadya. It would almost certainly prove his point.

‘I want my daughter, Stephano. Tell me what must I do to get her back?'

Nadya's words ignored the proposal Rhys had just made in an attempt to cut through her half-brother's games. Even as Rhys dealt with his disappointment at her lack of reaction to it, he understood that retrieving Angel must be her first priority.

Stephano enjoyed manipulating their emotions too much to give up that pleasure without a fight. ‘Your paramour says he will take her from me. That's something else I should like to see,
jel'enedra
. Wouldn't you?'

‘What do you want?' Nadya asked again.

‘I want him to fight me for the girl.'

The reaction from the Gypsies this time wasn't sound or movement. Nor was it a simple silence. It was as if they had collectively drawn breath and were holding it.

By now what was underway had become clear, even to Rhys. Stephano wanted blood because his sister had been defiled. Angel was simply the tool he had used to bring that about.

‘All right.' Even as Rhys agreed to the Rom's demand, he knew he might well be defeated. But if facing this bastard in combat was his only hope of making the Rom return Angel to her mother, Rhys was more than willing to fight him.

‘You don't understand.' Finally Nadya had turned to look at him again, her words low and intense.

‘I understand that this is what he's wanted from the beginning,' Rhys said. ‘He won't be satisfied until it's done.'

‘I will marry the
drabarni
.'

Intent on their own conversation, they turned, almost in unison, to see who had made that surprising offer. Andrash was making his way to the front of the group as he continued to address Stephano.

‘I will marry her and take care of the child,
Rom Baro
. Neither will trouble you again.'

‘Are you sure you wish to take the
gaujo
's whore into your bed, my friend?' Stephano's smile was mocking.

‘I would be greatly honoured if our
drabarni
would agree to be my wife.'

For a moment it seemed Nadya's half-brother was at a loss. The smith's offer had apparently spoiled his plan. As Stephano's own mother had again gained acceptance in the tribe through her marriage to Thom Argentari, as Andrash's wife, Nadya could not be forced into exile for her sin of lying with a
gaujo
.

As quickly as that small hope formed, it was destroyed. And by someone Rhys had not thought to be Stephano's ally.

‘The
gaujo
is Andrash's friend.' Magda's voice was again pitched to carry over the clearing. ‘He credits the Englishman with saving his life on the night of the raid. He would make any sacrifice to save Major Morgan's life.'

‘Marrying the
drabarni
would be no sacrifice,
chivani
,' the smith protested. ‘Not to me.'

‘You do me a great honour, Andrash,' Nadya said. ‘And an even greater kindness. But I won't marry you. I can't. You love someone else.'

‘If you marry me,
drabarni
, your daughter will become my daughter as well,' Andrash argued earnestly. ‘Just as Stephano became your father's son in everything but blood.'

‘No matter what you promise here, Andrash, in the end Stephano won't allow this. It isn't what he wants.'

‘Your lover has bragged that he will take your daughter from me. If he does, it will be up to them—' Stephano gestured toward the crowd ‘—whether or not you are allowed to stay. And if he doesn't succeed, you know what will happen.'

‘Angel loves you,' Nadya said. ‘And you love her. Why would you do this?'

‘Here, among our people, I know she is safe. And will be for the rest of her life. Out there…I have reason to know too well—as does Angel—what happens to children in his world.'

‘All right,' Nadya said.

Rhys wasn't sure what she'd just agreed to. Surely she wouldn't give up her daughter so easily.

‘There are things in my
vardo
—' she began.

‘Which now belong to the
kumpania
.'

‘She isn't leaving,' Rhys said. ‘Not without Angel.'

‘The fight he proposes is to the death.' Finally Nadya had looked at him again, her eyes anguished. ‘He wants you dead.'

That's what she'd meant when she told him he didn't understand. And yet, despite that threat, for the first time since they'd left the clearing Rhys felt a ray of hope. If Nadya were willing to give up Angel in order to protect him from her brother, it was obvious she cared for him. Far more than she had admitted before her people.

‘He isn't the first to want that.' He smiled in an attempt to reassure her, but her eyes glazed with tears instead.

Nadya had seen him at his most vulnerable. Injured and ill. In comparison to her robust brother, Rhys must always have appeared at a disadvantage.

And in truth, he had little cause to be optimistic. As he'd discovered earlier this afternoon, Stephano's checkered
past had given him certain skills Rhys's more conventional training hadn't provided.

Of course, the men he'd faced on dozens of battlefields through the years had not adhered to the standards of gentlemanly conduct. The Rom wasn't the only one who'd learned to fight in a hard school.

Bolstered by that knowledge as well as by the unexpected evidence of Nadya's love, he turned to address the man who was so eager to bring about his death. The ploy he was about to try was worth chancing. After all, according to Nadya, all Stephano really cared about was punishing him.

‘No matter what happens between us, Angel stays with her mother.'

‘Why would I take that condition from you,
gaujo
? If you lose, so does your whore.'

‘I find I'm growing very tired of hearing you say that word.' Rhys began to strip off his coat. Despite the disadvantages he'd acknowledged, he was more than ready to match skills with the Gypsy.

‘Don't do this,' Nadya begged, taking his arm. ‘You're simply playing into his hands. He
wants
to kill you.'

‘He can try.' Rhys pulled his arm from her grasp and began the long walk to where her half-brother waited.

T
he crowd parted before Rhys until only Andrash stood in his way. As he approached the smith, he could read sadness in the man's dark eyes.

He smiled at his new friend, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. ‘Will you keep this for me?' He held out his coat. ‘If he wins—' he indicated Stephano with a lift of his chin ‘—it's yours.'

‘He'll show no mercy,' Andrash warned softly as he took the garment. ‘And he carries a second knife in his boot.'

Rhys briefly tightened the grip of his fingers to express his thanks before he nodded. When he looked up, he realized Stephano had taken the opportunity to walk over to his grandmother's caravan. He was lifting the little girl up onto the steps where the old woman stood.

‘Take her inside. And keep her there.' Due to the waiting stillness that had fallen over the crowd, Stephano's command was clearly audible.

‘There are others more deserving of your enmity than this man,' Magda warned as she reached out to take the child's hand. ‘What of those under your mother's curse, Stephano?'

‘I'll take care of them in time.'

‘Nadya is your sister. Your own blood.'

‘And I am about to kill the
gaujo
who dishonoured her.'

Magda shook her head, her hand on the little girl's back. Although Angel clung to her grandmother's skirts, her wide blue eyes remained on her mother.

‘She loves him.'

She didn't mean Angel, Rhys realized, his heart literally leaping in his chest. Magda was talking about Nadya. And him.

If he'd needed any more incentive for the coming battle, the old woman's words would have provided it. Knowing how close Nadya was to her grandmother, he believed that Magda had just reinforced the realization that Nadya would never have agreed to give up her daughter unless she truly loved him.

‘She shouldn't have.' The curtness of Stephano's reply indicated he was as eager as Rhys to get on with this.

‘We don't choose who we love. Something you'll discover soon enough,
chaveske chav
.'

Stephano's laugh was brittle. ‘“The fault is in our stars” I suppose.'

Despite their disagreement over what he was doing, the Rom reached up to touch the old woman's hand. Her gnarled fingers closed tightly around his, holding them as if she were afraid to let him go.

‘In hers and in yours,' she said.

‘Then perhaps fate will let him win. Would you like that,
Mami
? No, I didn't think so.' Stephano's voice, which had softened as he'd addressed his grandmother, grew hard once more. ‘Take Angel inside. She loves him, too.'

For a long moment, the old woman stood looking down at her beloved grandson. Then her eyes lifted, seeking
those of her other grandchild, who still stood on the outskirts of the crowd.

Rhys's gaze followed. The wind, more chill as the sun began to sink, lifted a few strands of hair to curl around Nadya's face. As if she sensed that Rhys was looking at her, she turned toward him, her eyes filled with despair.

All my fault, Rhys acknowledged bitterly. Nadya had known what would happen if they broke the taboos of her tribe. And she had known how ruthless her brother could be. Now, because he hadn't been able to control himself—

‘This way, Major.'

Andrash stood at his side, indicating a new area of activity. One of the Rom drew a large circle in the well-trodden dirt at the centre of the encampment. Another was sharpening a long, broad-bladed knife on a whetstone. A matching weapon lay on a table nearby.

Despite Andrash's warning that Stephano had ‘another knife,' only now, seeing the pair of these, did Rhys realize the type of duel he'd agreed to. The art of the
navaja
was well known throughout Iberia. Although these deadly folding knives, with their cunning lock mechanism, were used everywhere there, they were virtually unknown in England.

That might provide an advantage for Rhys that the Gypsy couldn't be aware of. Fascinated by the skills displayed in a
navaja
he had witnessed, Rhys had been instructed in their use by one of the Spaniards his regiment employed as a scout. Other than the Rom, Rhys was one of the few people in this country remotely familiar with the ritual combat Stephano proposed.

The fault is in our stars…

Maybe there was more to Magda's ability than either he—or Nadya—had given her credit for.

He blew out a slow breath, trying to remember everything
he'd been taught that long-ago afternoon. At the same time, he attempted to block from his mind the images of the wounds both combatants had suffered during that
navaja
.

Ultimately, someone had decided the carnage had gone on long enough and put a stop it. That wouldn't happen here. Andrash was right about that. After what had taken place between Rhys and his sister, Stephano would show him no mercy.

‘Have you ever fought with knives?' the smith whispered as they watched the weapons being brought to a fine edge.

‘Bayonet drills.' Rhys's joke fell flat, so he told the truth. ‘I have some rudimentary skills. Nothing to compare to Stephano's, I'm sure.'

If possible, the smith's expression became even more grim. ‘He's very quick. And he can use a knife with either hand.'

An ambidextrous opponent. What other handicap could be heaped upon his head? Rhys wondered.

‘Any other tendencies I should know about?'

As his adversary was doing, Rhys began to turn up the sleeves of his shirt. The Gypsy hadn't removed the colourful vest he wore, so Rhys left his waistcoat in place as well. It would at least provide another layer of fabric between the sharpness of the blade and his skin.

As if that might make a difference.

‘He studied fencing under an Italian master when he was with the
gadje
,' Andrash added. ‘Forgive me, my friend. I mean to say while he was with his English family. I don't remember the man's name, but he was reputed to be an excellent teacher. Stephano's father was, after all, a nobleman who could afford the best for his son.'

Rhys looked again at the man sharpening the
navajas
. ‘Those aren't rapiers, Andrash.'

‘No, no, I know. But Stephano learned to fence before
he learned this. Some of his moves may come from that early instruction.'

Rhys couldn't see how that was possible. The art of fencing was like a dance. This…this was more apt to resemble a slaughter.

Very possibly mine.

‘Ready?' Stephano asked.

Rhys had opened his mouth to answer before he realized Nadya's half-brother was addressing the man preparing the weapons. Before he'd become aware of his mistake, his heart rate had accelerated in preparation for what was about to occur.

Time seemed to slow. The sights and sounds and even the smells around him became amplified by his heightened senses, just as they always had been before the charge was sounded. He turned his head, trying to locate Nadya.

She was no longer where she'd been as this unfolded. His eyes searched the compound, finding her at the foot of the steps leading up to Magda's caravan. She was talking with her grandmother. And contrary to Stephano's instructions, the old woman had not yet taken Angel inside.

‘You have first choice.'

Andrash's comment jerked Rhys's attention back to the duel. He hadn't understood what the smith meant by ‘first choice' until he saw that the man with the weapons was advancing toward them, holding the knives he'd honed by their curving bone handles, one in each hand.

‘Does it matter?' Rhys asked under his breath.

‘I can choose for you, if you wish. There's probably little difference, but…' Andrash shrugged fatalistically.

‘Thank you.' That settled, Rhys's gaze returned to the slender woman at the steps of the
vardo
.

Nadya had apparently given up trying to reason with her
grandmother. She now approached her brother, who refused to look at her, even when she placed her hand beseechingly on his arm. When Stephano shook it off, turning his back on her, she stepped in front of him, still pleading for his attention.

After a moment, Stephano signalled to someone in the crowd. The man came forward to take Nadya by the arm and draw her away. Although the Gypsy treated her with respect, it was clear he'd been ordered to get her out of the way.

The primary emotion Rhys felt as he watched was relief. He knew what he was fighting for. Nadya's presence wouldn't make any difference in how hard he fought. It might, however, prove to be a distraction. And he could afford none of those.

‘This one,' Andrash said decisively.

Rhys glanced down at the weapon the smith held out to him. As he wrapped his fingers around the hilt, he realized it was longer and heavier than the one he'd handled in Spain. His lips lifted at the memory of Andrash's suggestion that this might in any way resemble a duel with rapiers.

‘You find our customs amusing,
gaujo
?' Stephano had come over to take the remaining blade.

‘I'm never amused when asked to kill a man. Or to let him kill me.'

‘Dying is a serious undertaking.'

‘And usually an unpleasant one.'

‘We are agreed on that, at least. Perhaps it is time we began this particular unpleasantness.'

The Gypsy's hand thrust forward, the tip of the big knife it held grazing the material of Rhys's waistcoat. That it had not cut more deeply was only because he'd jumped back, arching his spine to remove his vital organs from its path.

The Rom held his weapon loosely, but with confidence. After his failed first feint, he had begun circling Rhys,
looking for another opening. Keeping both his hands in front of him, Rhys mirrored his opponent's moves, so that always they faced one another.

The crowd had re-formed around the circle in the dirt. Rather than cheering on their favourite, as the London mob did with their pugilists, the Gypsies were silent, as watchful as the combatants themselves.

Stephano's next attempt to get under his guard was a sweeping slash of his knife. Rhys countered it with his own, so that for the first time metal clashed against metal. As the Gypsy's blade slid harmlessly off, Nadya's brother stepped away, playing to the watchers by bowing slightly.

Seizing the opportunity, Rhys used a fencer's lunge to draw first blood. The wound in Stephano's shoulder was superficial, because Andrash had been correct in his assessment. The Rom was as agile as a dancer. He had seemed to sense Rhys's move even before he'd begun it. Despite that quickness, Stephano, the more experienced fighter, had not escaped unscathed, which gave Rhys's confidence a needed boost.

The collective gasp from the assembly at his success was a reminder of its one-sided allegiance. Rhys blocked that and every other consideration from his mind, concentrating instead on the next opening his adversary might offer.

Instead of providing one, Nadya's half-brother began a series of attacks. Knife held low, he jabbed and slashed, driving Rhys backward while forcing him to use his own weapon as a shield to ward off the other's blade.

Stephano's knife came at him again and again, its movements dizzying in their virtuosity. Thrust and jab and parry over and over again until they were both panting and drenched with sweat.

As suddenly as he'd begun them, Stephano stopped
the attacks. Exhausted but wary, Rhys watched as the Rom moved to the other side of the ring, never turning his back to him.

The Gypsy's shirt clung to his skin as Rhys's did. The sleeve on Stephano's wounded arm was now pink from the mingling of sweat and the blood he'd lost. The moisture in his hair had intensified its tendency to curl. His face was flushed with exertion, his mouth open as he pulled deep draughts of air into his starving lungs.

After a moment, the Rom raised the arm not holding his knife in order to wipe his eyes. Rhys mimicked the gesture, his own breath ratcheting in and out in the stillness.

He couldn't understand why Stephano had retreated from a strategy that would eventually have proved successful. He could only be grateful he'd been given this respite, however brief.

Stephano wiped at his eyes again before he closed them tightly once and then twice. With his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose, holding it between his thumb and forefinger as if attempting to stop a nosebleed.

Although the Rom still appeared coiled to strike, Rhys knew he should take advantage of his opponent's momentary inattention. Despite that acknowledgement, he was unable to command his exhausted body to move. After all, the fight would, he knew, resume soon enough.

The Gypsy peered across the ring, eyes narrowed as if he were having a hard time seeing in the twilight gloom. He seemed in no great hurry to get back to the duel.

‘Torches,' the knife sharpener shouted. ‘Bring the torches.'

‘No.'

Stephano's denial had been sharp and decisive. The men who'd started to obey the first directive halted in their tracks, the confusion on their faces matching that Rhys felt.

Then he had no time to think about anything other than the man who now launched himself across the circle, his blade moving with a power and intensity that seemed impossible, given the long minutes they'd already fought. All Rhys could do was try to defend himself, which he did with growing desperation.

Both of them bled from minor cuts. None of those was serious in and of itself, but the combined loss of blood would eventually begin to sap strength neither could afford to lose.

Rhys found it harder and harder to fuel his lungs with the air needed to sustain the relentless pace the Gypsy had set. If he didn't put an end to this soon, he knew that, after all he'd endured to survive the massive wounds he'd sustained at Orthez, he would die in this place. Figuratively as far from his home and family as if he were still in Iberia.