Claiming the Forbidden Bride (20 page)

Suddenly, with a speed that left him no time to think, it happened. The Rom's blade slid in under his guard, searching for his heart. Rhys turned, so that what could have been a fatal thrust became instead a gash along his side.

Then, acting on instinct alone, he clamped his elbow down as hard as he could over the Gypsy's still extended arm. He would only be able to hold it there for a matter of seconds, but those allowed him time to twist his torso so as to bring his body behind that of his enemy. Once there, he laid the edge of his blade against Stephano's exposed throat.

‘Move and you die,' he gasped into the Rom's ear.

Frozen in place, they stood joined, front to back. For an eternity, it seemed that their harsh breathing, almost in unison now, was the only sound in the clearing.

‘Drop your knife,' Rhys commanded.

‘To the death,' Stephano reminded him. His voice was strained from the angle at which he held his head to keep Rhys's knife from cutting his skin. ‘Kill me. Or we fight on.'

‘Do you acknowledge that your life rests in my hands?' Rhys increased the careful pressure he'd been exerting against Stephano's windpipe.

He didn't want to kill Nadya's brother, but he knew he was physically incapable of resuming their duel. Whether or not Stephano would accept his life at Rhys's hands was something only the Gypsy could decide.

The Rom swallowed against the increased bite of the blade. If Rhys had judged it correctly, Stephano should now be able to feel a trickle of blood down his throat.

‘Your decision,' he urged. ‘Do you want to punish Nadya enough to die? Or do you want to keep your life to pursue whatever it is Magda thinks is your destiny? And,' he added, determined to force this concession from Stephano, ‘allow your sister to pursue hers?'

‘You believe
you're
her destiny?' Despite his predicament, the Gypsy's disdain was clear.

‘Yes.'

The surety in that voice brought Rhys's eyes up to find the speaker. Magda once more stood on the steps of her caravan looking down on the combatants.

‘No,' Stephano ground out.

‘You are blinded by pain because your heart knows you're wrong. I have told you, Stephano. This is not your destiny. Give him your word and seek those things that are.'

The Rom said nothing for a long time. Then Rhys felt the tension drain from the lithe body he held against his own.

Despite his acquiescence, the Rom couldn't resist a final warning, his words loud enough so that only Rhys would hear them. ‘Betray my sister, and I swear I'll hunt you down and skin you like a wolf.'

‘Fair enough.' Rhys took his knife from the Gypsy's throat and stepped back.

He was prepared for the man to whirl and come at him again. Instead the Rom straightened away and then turned to face him while letting his own blade fall to his side.

‘It seems the stars are on your side, Major Morgan.'

‘According to Magda, at least.'

The Rom's mobile mouth ticked up a reluctant fraction. He lifted his knife slightly, one dark brow raised questioningly.

Rhys nodded permission and watched as Stephano closed the blade and slipped the weapon into the waistband of the loose trousers he wore. He then removed the kerchief with which he'd tied back his hair to dab at the blood that was still trickling from the cut in his throat and into the open neck of his shirt.

Finally, with a glance over his shoulder, he gave an order in his own tongue. As two of the Rom hurried to obey, Rhys had time to wonder if Stephano intended to keep his promise or if he now planned to throw other impediments in their path.

Only when he saw one of the two who'd left lead Nadya toward the circle did he begin to believe this might really all be over. Of course, other than Magda's encouraging words and Nadya's concern for his life, he had little cause to believe she would leave with him, even now that her brother had agreed to let her go.

Because he had been watching her face, Rhys knew the instant she became aware they were both still alive. Her eyes had touched on Stephano first, and then, seeing Rhys standing beside him, they widened. When she began to run toward him, he understood that she had expected to emerge from the tent where they'd confined her to find his lifeless body sprawled in the centre of the ring.

Her steps slowed as she approached. Her eyes moved
from him to her half-brother, clearly seeking an answer as to why they should both still be standing, but it was to Stephano that she spoke. ‘I don't understand.'

‘Your
gaujo
chose to let me live,
jel'enedra
. It seems he feels we should both fulfil our destinies.'

‘Our destinies?' Her eyes again had found Rhys.

They examined him from head to foot, looking for injuries. With her experience, it must have been obvious those he'd suffered were not life threatening.

‘I leave it to Magda to inform you what yours might be,' Stephano said. ‘She has already set me on mine.'

‘That wasn't Magda,' Nadya said. ‘You chose your path of blood and vengeance.'

‘Forgive me if I decline to debate you right now as to its merits. Or the impetus for it.'

‘And Angel?'

‘She was part of our bargain. She's yours. Whatever you decide to do.'

‘Whatever I decide?' Nadya's gaze returned to Rhys, once more searching his face.

‘I have asked your brother for your hand in marriage.' That was not the literal truth, of course. He had imposed his will on him at knifepoint instead, but the object was the same.

‘And…he agreed?'

‘Willingly.' Rhys managed to keep any trace of satisfaction or irony out of the word.

The Rom made some sound, causing Nadya to glance at him. When her eyes returned to Rhys, her expression was troubled.

‘You know what marrying me would mean to you. And to your family.'

‘To me, it would mean the woman I love has agreed to share her life with me. To my family…' He hesitated,
knowing all too well what might happen on his return to Balford Manor. ‘I love my family, Nadya, but I can live content if I never see them again. I cannot live without you.'

With his words, her eyes filled with tears she refused to let to fall. After a moment, she looked up to where her grandmother stood. ‘Nothing will ever be the same.'

‘I have known that from your birth. The lines in your palm do not lie. Do not fight against your fate,
chaveske chei
. Nothing but grief can come of that.'

‘How can this be my fate?
To leave my people.
To leave everything and everyone I've ever known. To go to a place where I shall be forever alien. Forever an outcast.'

‘That isn't how it will be, Nadya. I swear to you.' Rhys held his hand out to her, almost in supplication.

Still she hesitated, and then she turned again to her grandmother. ‘And Angel? What of her destiny?'

‘It has always been with her kind. Even you, who mock the hand of fate, knew that. She, too, will find what you are offered. If you're brave enough to accept he who offers it.'

This was, and always had been, Nadya's decision. Her brother's hatred had required Rhys prove his willingness to die for her and Angel, but nothing had changed the divide that lay between their worlds. He wasn't convinced anything could.

‘Are you sure?' As she turned back to him, for the first time Nadya's eyes dared to hope.

‘Marry me,' Rhys said again.

She hesitated a heartbeat longer before, reaching out, she clasped his fingers. Her hand trembled, but its hold was strong and sure.

He used it to pull her to him. He put his arm around her shoulders, looking down into her eyes. Despite, or perhaps because of, the people who were gathered around them, he
kissed her, savouring the receptive softness of her mouth only briefly before he raised his head to smile at her again.

Her lips, slightly parted from his kiss, didn't respond. After a moment, she turned to face her people.

‘This is my choice. I make it with the permission of our
Rom Baro
. May God keep you all.'

Andrash's was the first voice to repeat that blessing. Then slowly others among the throng began to wish them well.

Curious as to how Stephano was dealing with the loss of his sister, Rhys looked where the Rom had been standing when Nadya had accepted his hand. He was no longer there.

Nor could Rhys find him among the crowd. The Gypsy had been defeated, but it seemed he'd been unwilling to watch the victor claim his spoils.

‘Your daughter,
gaujo
.' Unnoticed in the commotion, Magda had descended the steps of her caravan with the child. Now she held out the little girl's hand, not to Nadya, but to him. ‘I give her into your care.'

He nodded, accepting Angel's hand as her mother had taken his. The child smiled at him, her beloved rag doll clutched to her chest. In the same hand, she held the wooden cat he'd made for her.

Nadya touched her daughter's hair before she wrapped her arms around her grandmother. The words she said to the fortune-teller were in Romany. Even if they hadn't been, they were so softly spoken Rhys wouldn't have known what she said.

‘Go with God,
chavi
,' Magda answered. ‘You will find your place.'

‘I have already,' Nadya said.

The old woman nodded, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘Now go, before he changes his mind.'

Magda wasn't talking about him, Rhys realized, but
about her grandson. From what he knew of Nadya's half-brother, he was perfectly capable of going back on his word to try and stop them.

With the old woman's warning, things seemed to happen very quickly. A brief conversation between the two women, and Magda began to issue commands that were obeyed with the same alacrity Stephano's had been.

His brother's bay was harnessed between the traces of Nadya's wagon, which was then pulled up before them. While Rhys helped Angel up its steps, Nadya kissed her grandmother before she turned back to the watching Gypsies.

She said nothing, but her gaze rested briefly on each individual. Those she had cured. Those she had delivered into this world. Those with whom she had watched loved ones leave it. Her face twisted briefly with emotion, but she quickly followed Angel up onto the high seat of the caravan.

At last, Rhys and the old woman stood alone in the dirt where he had fought her grandson. Her dark eyes met his assessingly before she touched his forehead with her right thumb. ‘May your sons bring you honour and may your daughters bear you many strong grandchildren, who will care for you in your old age.'

Rhys controlled his urge to smile at the triteness of her blessing. He wondered if she would expect him to cross her palm with silver in response to its nonsense.

‘Thank you,' he said instead.

As he leaned forward to kiss her on the brow, he realized how small and frail she was. The force of her will was powerful enough to make one forget both her age and her size.

‘As you, Rhys Morgan, shall do as well,' she added for his ears alone.

He stepped back, unsure of her meaning. She had turned away before he could ask, clearly done with her fortune-
telling. Apparently it would be up to him to puzzle out what that last cryptic addition to her blessing had meant.

He took his place beside Nadya, who held Angel on her lap. Andrash handed up the reins, smiling at him.

‘I'll never forget you, my friend,' Rhys said to him.

‘Nor I you, Rhys Morgan. I owe you my life.'

Rhys shook his head. ‘You owe me nothing, but…'

‘Yes?'

‘Look after her.' Rhys nodded in the direction of the old woman who was slowly mounting the steps of her own caravan.

Andrash nodded. ‘With my life. That I promise you. Go with God,
drabarni
.'

‘Thank you, Andrash,' Nadya said. ‘For everything.'

When Rhys set the bay in motion, the woman beside him did not look back at the world in which she had spent her entire life. Her eyes remained focused stoically forward instead, her arms wrapped tightly around the little girl who would always be, if not a daughter of her blood, the child of her heart.

T
he inn yard at Buxton, when they reached it, was crowded with the conveyances of travellers seeking haven from the cold October rain, which had begun to fall shortly after they left the encampment.

The weather wasn't, however, why Rhys drove the bay past the hostel's welcoming lights, with their promise of food and warmth. He wasn't ready, not tonight at any rate, for the stares their presence there would occasion.

Besides, they had shelter of their own. And a blessed privacy available within it.

When it became too dark to safely navigate the deepening mud of the road, he found an opening in the trees and drove the
vardo
through it and into a small clearing partially concealed by the surrounding woods. If anyone still looked to do harm to Nadya, they would be less conspicuous here than on display to curious eyes in a busy public house.

Nadya disappeared inside the caravan as he tethered the bay behind it. He fed and watered the animal from the provisions stored in covered barrels carried on the back of the wagon for that purpose.

Although the rain had now slackened, he was soaked to the skin by the time he climbed the steps of the caravan and pushed aside its curtain. Snug against the wind and rain, the interior seemed as warm as any room at the inn. And far more welcoming.

Angel was again sitting on the bed in the sleeping partition, playing with her toys. Her damp clothing had already been replaced by her nightgown.

Nadya was slicing bread and cheese onto plates she'd taken from the shelves across from the patient bed. She turned to smile at him, but considering the conditions of their first night together, he wondered if she might not be sorry of her bargain already.

‘The storm appears to be lessening. Tomorrow should be a better day for travel.' The weather seemed, as always, a safe topic in awkward situations.

‘And if not, we can stay here.'

Rhys could detect no strain in her voice, but this was hardly an auspicious start for their journey together. More troubling, he couldn't guarantee things would improve when they reached Balford tomorrow.

‘What's wrong?'

Nadya's question brought his head up. She still held the cheese and the knife she'd used to cut it, but her eyes were on him.

‘I'm sorry.' It seemed there was so much more he should say. A promise that things would soon be better. Reassurance that she hadn't made the greatest mistake of her life in choosing to come with him rather than stay with her people.

‘For the rain? I didn't realize it was in your control.'

He shook his head. ‘I wanted to give you so much more.'

With the hand that held the knife, she gestured at their
surroundings. ‘This is all I've ever known, Rhys. All I'd ever wanted. Until I met you,' she added softly.

‘Not sorry of your bargain?'

She shook her head, smiling at him. ‘Not yet, at least.'

‘Good. Things
will
get better, I promise you.' It was a vow he had no right to make, considering the reception that he suspected would await them tomorrow.

‘After you've eaten, I want to look at those cuts. I'm brewing a cup of tea made from the bark I told you about. An attack of recurring fever can be brought on by so many things.'

‘Like knife fights?'

She glanced up in time to catch his grin, but ignored it to concentrate on her preparations for dinner. ‘Why don't you take your wet things off?'

‘Because I have nothing to put on in their place.' As he said it, he looked to the back of the caravan where Angel played.

‘There are plenty of blankets.'

Unable to argue against the wisdom of her suggestion, he began to remove his coat, followed by his waistcoat. Soaked with rain, bloodstained, sliced in a half dozen places by Stephano's blade, it was fit for nothing but discarding. His shirt, stuck to his skin in several places by dried and clotted blood, was in equally bad shape, but the lawn could be washed and repaired, while the brocade was beyond hope.

In the process of undressing, he discovered that, not only did he have several painful mementoes of Stephano's knife, the muscles in his arms and shoulders ached from the strain of that combat. He thought longingly of the deep slipper tub and unlimited hot water his brother's house would have offered. When Nadya came up behind him to wrap a blanket around his shoulders, the loss of those amenities went out of his head.

She pressed a kiss on the side of his neck. ‘Eat. Everything looks better when viewed from the perspective of a full belly.'

‘That sounds like something Magda might say.' He turned to take the food she'd prepared.

‘She probably did say it. For all her fortune-telling mumbo-jumbo, no one ever accused my grandmother of not being practical.'

‘As well as romantic, apparently?'

Nadya's brows lifted questioningly. ‘Romantic?'

‘She seemed to feel that…' He shrugged before he finished. ‘…that you and I were destined to be together.'

‘My destiny,' Nadya repeated with a smile. ‘Magda tends to cloak her desires in terms of what fate has decreed.'

‘Her desires? You think she wanted you to marry me?'

Nadya shrugged. ‘To her, you're a rich
gaujo
. How better to assure the future of two people she loves?'

‘I'm not rich, Nadya.'

The anxiety that had gnawed at the pit of his stomach since they'd left camp increased at the thought of how far from the reality her description was. The bread and cheese that had seconds ago been so appetizing seemed repellent now.

‘I said that was Magda's view.'

‘And I have no idea about our reception tomorrow—'

‘I think that you do, Rhys. But believe me, it doesn't matter. I'm not expecting your family to welcome me.'

‘My brother isn't…' He shook his head, unsure even of what he could say about Edward's reaction. ‘My sister-in-law has a very rigid view of Society and of her place in it. Anything she sees as threatening to that would upset her.'

‘Is she the one who took such good care of you when you returned from Spain?'

He nodded. With all Abigail's peculiarities, he could not fault her kindness or her concern for his recovery.

‘Then I shall cherish her as my sister. No matter how she feels about me.'

Nadya's calm in the face of the storm they faced tomorrow, which was likely to be far more severe than the one they had endured today, should have given Rhys hope. Instead it made him wonder if she could have any idea about the kind of approbation she was likely to encounter among the Ton.

‘It may take her a while to become accustomed to the idea of our marriage. I believe my sister-in-law had already selected a wife for me from the local gentry.'

‘Poor girl.' Nadya's eyes were alight with amusement.

‘In truth, Nadya,' he tried again to warn her, ‘tomorrow may be…difficult.'

‘Today I believed my brother was going to kill you because I could not resist the temptation you offered. What could tomorrow bring that could be worse than that?

‘Eat your supper, Rhys. Whatever happens, my love, I promise you we'll deal with it together.

 

‘This probably needs stitching,' Nadya said as she examined the long gash along Rhys's side.

Ignoring his objections, she had cleaned and anointed the other injuries her brother had inflicted with salve made from a recipe passed down from her paternal grandmother. This one, however, was deeper than the rest.

‘Just bind it.' His right arm held shoulder high, Rhys had watched her probe the cut.

‘It will be more apt to leave a scar if I do.'

His laughter brought her eyes up. ‘Are you telling me you object to another scar?' he asked.

She leaned forward to touch her lips to the scars that marred his shoulder. ‘Of course not. But I reserve the right to object any time you've been hurt.'

‘Thank you. Now bind it up.'

If she changed the dressing every day, it would heal almost as well as if she sewed it. And in all honesty, she would rather not cause him more pain.

‘Once it's clean,' she conceded.

With the same care she'd employed on all the other cuts, she made sure no thread or bit of fabric had become embedded in this one. Then, using her fingers, she rubbed salve into the raw flesh.

True to her grandmother's training, while she worked, Nadya's concentration was on the wound rather than the wounded. Her eyes came up again at Rhys's sudden intake of breath.

‘This is where the knife penetrated the deepest,' she explained. ‘That means it's more prone to suppuration.'

‘I'm familiar with the process,' he said flatly.

He would be, of course. Although she'd never actually watched an English surgeon at work, she had treated on more than one occasion patients who'd suffered at their hands.

‘I know you are, my love. I intend to prevent your further exposure to it.'

When she was satisfied that every part of the cut was cleansed of debris and covered by her grandmother's concoction, she placed a clean piece of lint over the gash and then began winding the narrow strip of cloth she'd prepared for the purpose around Rhys's waist.

As she tied the ends of it together, she said, ‘I believe you'll survive. In spite of everything my brother could do.'

‘Thank you, milady.'

‘You're very welcome, my lord.'

‘Life
would
be easier.'

‘If you possessed a title? It was my understanding that a fair share of those who do have little else.'

‘Most have a roof over their heads, at least.'

‘As do we,' she reminded him.

‘Thanks to your father.'

‘To give the devil his due, thanks to Stephano as well. He would have been within his rights to claim my
vardo
as property that belonged to the
kumpania
.'

‘I think Magda was more responsible for seeing to it that you left with what's yours than your brother was.'

‘My grandmother's always been a powerful force among our people. She knew it was only fair my inheritance went with us.'

‘Fair perhaps, but I didn't expect her to give her blessing to your going with me.'

‘To my people, Rhys, we are already married. We were from the moment I accepted your hand. I thought you knew.'

He shook his head. ‘I should have. Handclasp marriage. I've heard the term, of course, but, forgive me, I hadn't realized the significance of what you did this afternoon.'

‘If you're having second thoughts, I'm sure such a primitive custom isn't binding on the
gadje
,' she teased.

‘It is on this one. Besides, I've already accepted your dowry.' He glanced at the roof of the caravan, against which the rain continued to beat.

‘And paid for it with your blood.' She touched the swath of white she'd wrapped around his body.

He put his hand over hers, looking down into her eyes. They stood without speaking for a long time.

‘I need to put Angel to bed,' she said finally. ‘It's been a hard day for her as well.'

‘I'd like to say goodnight.'

‘Then come with me. That's another of Magda's favourites. ‘Begin as you intend to go on.' I hope you'll say goodnight to our daughter every night.'

‘She's going to have quite an adjustment to make.'

‘Learning to live like the English?'

‘Learning to sleep by herself.' When her eyes widened, he added with a smile, ‘Luckily, that particular battle needn't be fought tonight. Actually, as much as I love you, I don't believe it would even be possible tonight.'

Considering the duel, the blood loss, and everything else he'd been through today, she hadn't expected him to make love to her. But Rhys was right about the other.

His role in their lives was something else Angel would have to adjust to. Still, having Rhys with them would make up for the loss of her beloved uncle.

Rhys would help to fill that void in her own life. As well as so many others.

Angel was not the only one who faced adjustments. And for Nadya, no matter how well Rhys's people treated her, the loss of her own family would always weigh heaviest on her heart.

 

Nadya had made him stop a few miles from his brother's estate so she could bathe and change. While she did, Rhys had entertained Angel, who in Nadya's skilful hands had—miraculously—already been transformed into some approximation of a proper English child.

When Nadya finally emerged from the partition in the back, Rhys's heart sank. Although he'd had no doubt the fabrics used in the full skirt, the lace-edged blouse, and the embroidered shawl she wore were as rich as any he'd ever seen, her appearance could only be described as exotic.

The combs he'd noticed once before again held her curls off her face. Along with them a gold necklace set with what appeared to be rubies gleamed at her throat, its matching earrings in her ears.

‘I know my clothing isn't what the English—'

‘It's beautiful,' Rhys interrupted. ‘As are you.'

He could tell from her smile that he'd struck the right note. And given what he suspected they would face, Nadya would need every bit of confidence he could provide.

She touched the necklace she wore. ‘This set was my father's wedding gift to my mother. I realized as I fastened it, these are the only things I have left that he made.'

Because she had traded the rest for a little girl who was about to be sold into the most terrible form of slavery.

‘It's magnificent.'

‘Thank you. They're my real dowry, Major Morgan. The gems themselves are fine enough, but the workmanship is unsurpassed by anything you could buy in London.'

‘I'm sure it is.' Rhys
was
sure, but in the back of his mind was the thought of Abigail's probable reaction to her new sister-in-law's ensemble.