Gypsy Moon (15 page)

“Were is who?”

The old woman matched his fire with her own. Her eyes glittered with defiance. Mateo realized immediately that the information he sought would not be easily come by. Certainly loudly voiced demands would get him nowhere.

“Tamara told me Charlotte is gone. She said you might know where she is.”

“Yes, I might.”

“Then,
tell me
!”

“Some things are better left untold until after the fact, my son. It would do you no good to know where she is. She is out of your reach for the moment.”

“She’s safe, then?”

The old queen nodded.

“She will return?”

“If she chooses. I certainly did not drive her away, if that’s what you’re thinking, Mateo.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I should have known you wouldn’t do such a thing. But it isn’t like Charlotte to just disappear… to go off all alone.”

“You needn’t worry. She isn’t alone.”

A heavy silence hung in the tent for a few seconds. The dread that had gnawed at Mateo a short time earlier returned with far greater impact.

“You didn’t let her go off with Petronovich?”

“I told you, son. I had nothing to do with her leaving. As for who accompanied her, I had no say in that either. I haven’t spoken to Charlotte all day.”

Mateo frowned. “But she told me she was coming to visit you. She had a basket of berries she’d picked.”

“She meant to, but Phaedra intercepted her before she got here—just outside, in fact. The two of them talked for a long time.”

“And you overheard their conversation?”

“I had little choice in the matter.”

“Then you know exactly what’s going on.”

“I do. At first, I considered putting a stop to it. But after all, Charlotte Buckland is not one of us. I have no say in what she does. Perhaps Fate willed this. At any rate, it was not my place to interfere. You must not either, Mateo. It would only shame her and prove nothing.”

“Shame her?
Mother, what in God’s name are you talking about? What’s going on? I have to know!”

Queen Zolande was silent for a moment, considering. She had heard Petronovich’s caravan leaving some time ago. Surely, by now, that which they had set out to accomplish was done. She could not see putting her son through further needless worry. Besides, he would learn the truth sooner or later, and perhaps it would not hurt so much coming from his mother.

“Very well, Mateo. I will tell you. Charlotte Buckland has returned to Leavenworth. It seems she and Phaedra have certain plans for the evening. Phaedra explained to her one of our ancient traditions, and Charlotte expressed a desire to experience the Gypsy way of life. Tonight your Golden One has lain with a
gajo
in order to earn her own gold.”

For several moments, silence reigned in the tent. When Mateo finally spoke, his voice was cold, hard, deadly. “How could you allow this?” He turned away from his mother, afraid of what else he might say if he stayed a minute longer.

“Mateo, let her go!”

The queen’s words followed him from the tent as he raced for his horse. He leaped into the saddle, dug in his heels, and headed at a gallop toward Leavenworth. His face was grim, his heart and soul torn with a black fury. Maybe he would be in time. If he wasn’t…

“You need not be afraid of me.”

The lieutenant had brought Charlotte to a lavishly appointed bedroom, where he’d tossed her unceremoniously into the middle of the large featherbed. He’d locked the door. Now he was taking his own good time—toying with her.

He fixed himself a drink and offered her one. Charlotte declined. Sipping from his glass in a leisurely manner, he strode about the room, touching the dainty pieces of gilt furniture, stroking the purple satin bedspread, smiling at his reflection and Charlotte’s in the mirrors overhead. Suddenly he reached down and stripped the blouse from her shoulders, still staring at her reflection. His hand fondled her breasts casually. Charlotte went rigid.

“Relax!” he ordered in a stern voice. “I told you, there’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m sure this isn’t your first time. That bastard in the fancy cart who brought you in would have charged far more for a virgin. So we won’t have that to worry about, will we?” He looked down, his cold gray eyes measuring Charlotte’s reaction, and added, “More’s the pity! Still, I can’t say I have the patience tonight that it takes to deal with a virgin.”

Charlotte could see in the mirror that her cheeks were flaming scarlet. She had to escape. She glanced toward the window. Maybe she could get out that way.

Lance Delacorte guessed her motives and gave a low, humorless chuckle. “You’re here to stay until I’ve had my fill. Doors locked, windows barred. Solange’s one great fear is of thieves stealing her precious things.” He leaned down close, pressing a hand on Charlotte’s skirt until it slipped between her legs. Then he whispered, “If you want to know the truth, I think she keeps some of her other valuables barred up as well. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that the woman wears a chastity belt to guard against thieves in that area, too.”

He gave his hand a quick twist, then pinched her through the layers of fabric. Charlotte cried out as much from shock as pain.

“Good!” He smiled down at her. “No chastity belt there!”

He left her for a moment, going back to the portable bar on the bureau. Pouring a stiff whiskey, he tossed it down, then a second and a third. With his back still to her, he began undressing. He slippped off his shirt, displaying a lean back bulging with muscles. He tossed the shirt onto a chair near the door.

Charlotte eyed him cautiously. The key was in the pocket of that shirt. If she were quick enough, she might be able to make a dash for key, door, and freedom. But there was no time to think about it. She must move like lightning.

In one fluid motion, she was off the bed and at the chair, fumbling in the shirt pocket until her fingers closed on cool metal. She had the key in the lock and was turning it when powerful arms gripped her from behind. He threw her across the room to the bed with the bellow of an enraged bull. She lay there, panting, terrified. All was lost.

His eyes blazed with rage as he shouted, “I was going to be nice to you. Yes! I fully intended to make this a pleasant experience for both of us. But no! You don’t want that. You want to make things difficult—unpleasant. Well, Gypsy woman, I can arrange that, too!”

He fell on her then, tearing at her clothes while his mouth ravaged hers. She tried to scream, but he swallowed the sound. Meanwhile, his hands worked her flesh—kneading, gouging, bruising.

Frantic to be away from him, she bit down on his lips. He howled in pain and rose from her, but only long enough to slap her hard across the mouth. The blow stunned her. She lay still for a time, her whole body aching and refusing to respond. Lance Delacorte took advantage of her immobility to strip away the rest of her clothing. When her head cleared, she was staring up at her own naked image. She screamed so loudly that the crystal droplets on the wall sconces tinkled together, threatening to break.

Mateo leaped off his Black Devil even before the horse came to a full stop. Already he had spotted the caravan in front of the saloon. He found Petronovich and Phaedra in each other’s arms in the back. Pulling his cousin out into the street, he yelled, “Where is she?”

Petronovich, hurriedly hauling up his trousers, replied, “How should I know? In there somewhere with the
gajo
who paid for her.”

“You slimy son of a diseased dog!”

Mateo smashed his clenched fist into Petronovich’s jaw and sent him sprawling in the street, his blood mingling with the dust and filth. The enraged
Rom
never even noticed the half-naked Phaedra scurrying from the caravan to go to her downed lover. Mateo stormed into the saloon and pounded the bar.

“Where is she, Solange? The woman the Gypsies brought in?”

Solange turned to him with a startled look. Never had she seen murder in this man’s eyes before. Prince Mateo was a man of peace. But now… She shuddered and said, “Upstairs in the end room.”

Mateo heard nothing past her first word. He took the stairs in great leaps and started down the hall, kicking in one door after another. Women’s screams and men’s curses filled the Star of the West. Soon Solange’s girls and their customers, in various states of undress, crowded into the upstairs hall.

“He’s crazy, that one!” Bella shrilled, her ample pink body quivering with indignation.

Lydia—tall, dark, and entirely naked—strolled after Mateo, a wanton smile on her full, wine-colored lips. “Crazy or not, he can kick in my door
anytime
! That one is
all man
!”

Mateo heard none of their comments. What he did hear was Charlotte’s screams. He charged the length of the hall and battered down the door to Solange’s private apartment. The sight that greeted him chilled his blood. Charlotte lay naked on the bed, a trickle of blood oozing from her puffy mouth. Over her knelt a dark-haired man, aiming his first plunge.

At the sound of the crash behind him, Lieutenant Delacorte turned his face toward the shattered door. The next instant, Mateo was upon him. His first blow sent the officer sprawling to Solange’s thick white carpet. The next bashed the lieutenant into a table beside the door. A moment later, the two men were brawling their way down the hall amidst screaming women and men, who were hurrying to dress and get away before they were recognized.

“I paid for that whore!” Delacorte shouted as he landed a right jab to Mateo’s midsection.

Neither the blow nor the remark was well placed. Mateo, with a roar of renewed rage, charged the other man, sending him through the balcony railing with splintered wood flying. Delacorte landed below on the very poker table he had cleared for Charlotte earlier.

Breathing heavily, Mateo stared down. The bastard, whoever he was, lay on his back, his arms and legs—among other things—now limp and useless. Solange hurried forward with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth to cover the naked, unconscious officer.

“Leave him!” Mateo bellowed.

Solange looked up. She smiled, nodded, and dropped the cloth to the floor. The crowd cheered.

“Prince Mateo,” Solange called up to him. “If you wish, you and the lady may use my room for the night.”

Mateo returned her smile. “Exactly what I had in mind!”

He turned and stalked back down the hall. When he reached the room, Charlotte was still on the bed. But she had pulled the purple quilt up to her neck. He stood in the doorway—hands on hips, fight-tousled hair in wild whorls framing his face, while his black eyes glittered with a mixture of accusation, jealousy, and smoldering desire.

Charlotte was far more afraid of him in that instant than she had been during the entire night of his moon madness.

“Mateo?” she whispered uncertainly. “You aren’t going to do anything rash, are you?”

His black expression never softened as he strode toward her. Suddenly he reached out and snatched the quilt away. She gave a startled cry. He stood beside the bed and stared down, his gaze traveling from her face to her full breasts, her smooth belly, and the silky golden triangle dividing her thighs.

“Mateo, please,” she begged, “say something.”

“What I have to say you won’t enjoy hearing, Charlotte Buckland!”

He reached a hand toward her bruised face. She shrank away. She had never seen him this way and had no idea what he was about to do to her.

She would find out soon enough.

Still without speaking to Charlotte, but never taking his eyes from her, Mateo stepped back a pace and loosened the money pouch from his belt. He stood holding the leather bag in one hand, balancing it on his open palm as if to measure the contents.

“How much?”

Charlotte was confused. “What do you mean, Mateo?”

“How much gold did that man pay you?”

She shook her head in furious denial. “He paid me nothing!”

“Don’t lie to me. There is always gold exchanged when a man buys a woman’s body.”

“Petronovich took it.” She hung her head, unable to meet Mateo’s eyes. Suddenly, the full weight of what she had done hit her. She felt ashamed, sick,
dirtied.

“How much do you think you’re worth, then?”

Charlotte could feel tears brimming. She stretched out a pleading hand. “I don’t know, Mateo. Please don’t talk about it.”

A grim smile curved his full lips. “But only a moment ago you wanted me to talk. Now I’m willing.
Answer me
/” As he shouted the words at her, he caught her upper arms, dragging her toward him across the bed until their lips almost met. But a kiss was not his goal at the moment; that much was very clear to Charlotte Buckland.

Her fight against tears was lost. “Please, Mateo, you’re hurting me. I don’t have an answer. Maybe I’m not worth anything. At least, that’s how I feel right now.”

He released her so abruptly that she fell back on the bed. She clamped a palm over her mouth, trying to stifle a sob. He was staring at her now in a different way—his manner cold and appraising.

“A pretty face… nice skin… breasts, not quite as large as they might be, but ample for a
gajo
woman, I suppose.” His eyes traveled once more down her torso. “Too thin. No belly at all!” He glared at her suddenly and accused, “A man likes some softness in his woman. You’re all skin and bones!”

Charlotte’s tears stopped suddenly and she bolted upright, shaking a fist at him. “If you think I’m going to go to flab and paunch just to please some man, you
are
crazy! I’m the way I want to be. If you don’t like it, you can go to…” She tried desperately to think of the
Romani
word for hell, but it eluded her.

Mateo smiled grimly. “So, you do think you’re worth something after all. How much?” She didn’t answer, only stared as he opened his pouch and poured a heap of gold coins onto the bed in front of her. “That should be enough.”

“Enough for what?” Charlotte was horrified, guessing his meaning.

“Enough to buy your favors for the night. I want to be fair. I don’t want to pay any less than your other customers.”

“Mateo!”
Charlotte wailed. “I don’t want
your
gold.” She stared up—mouth open, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

He never answered, merely stripped off his shirt and trousers, showing her his readiness. His intention was all too clear.

He scorched her with blazing eyes. “My money’s not good enough, eh? After the other night, I can’t even buy your favors. Well, then I’ll take what I want.”

He came to her suddenly—an animal seeking its mate. Instinctively Charlotte struggled against him, but only briefly. She wanted Mateo as much as he wanted her.

His weight crushed her down into the soft mattress. He pinned her shoulders with his hands and entered her without preamble. The sudden penetration made her gasp, but not from pain. She had waited so long for this. It was as if she were suddenly filled and warmed and made whole.

She stared up at Mateo. His eyes were wide, looking down into hers while a sneer curled his lip. His hips worked at her with powerful, determined thrusts. She could see his strong, pale buttocks in the mirror above, the muscles bunching and straining before each plunge. His body was damp against hers. The hair on his chest scratched her breasts. She felt every touch of flesh to flesh a thousand times over, until her nerves tingled and her muscles and thighs ached.

Her pleasure was rising to its highest point when, suddenly, his eyes narrowed, almost closed. He drew in a ragged breath and his entire body shuddered over hers. She watched as his eyes came open again—black, hot, glazed. He paused in midstroke. His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. He stared down at her, groaned, and gave a final, spasmodic thrust. Charlotte felt his liquid warmth flood through her, firing the passions that throbbed deep in secret parts of her body.

He rolled onto his back away from her and threw one arm across his brow, shielding his eyes from the sight of himself and the woman he had just used for his own pleasure.

“You’ve earned your gold, Charlotte Buckland. Every coin of it!”

“I don’t want it.” Fresh tears made her voice husky. “Your gold doesn’t count.”

“Take it! Then you’ll be able to get away—to leave this whole unpleasant experience behind. Isn’t that what you want?”

A sudden cold, sick feeling gripped Charlotte. Is that what he thought she wanted gold for—to escape from him? She sat up, hugging her knees, staring at but not seeing the far wall.

“Phaedra says the gold must come from another man… that I must give it to you to prove my loyalty and my love.” Tears flooded her eyes. She had thought Mateo knew why she’d come to Leavenworth and to the Star of the West. Could he really believe she only wanted to be rid of him and his
familia
? How could he imagine such a thing after everything they’d been through together? It was all so foreign to her… so painful for her to explain to Mateo. Surely there must be better ways to show their love for one another.

Mateo turned and stared at her. He sat on the edge of the bed, sagging the mattress. The gold coins spilled off onto the floor, clinking softly against each other in the silence before they sifted down into the deep carpet. His rage shifted from Charlotte to Phaedra. He reached out for Charlotte, tenderly now, drawing her close and kissing the tears from her cheeks.

“Why did you do it, little one? Don’t you understand that you don’t have to prove anything to me? I love you. I believe that you love me.”

“But what about the tradition? Phaedra said—”

His voice flared to an angry roar. “The Devil take Phaedra! Do you think she did this out of kindness? No! She did it for two reasons: to humiliate you and to infuriate me. As for the tradition—yes, it existed in the old country. But it is so ancient that no one follows it any longer. It is only something passed down in our history. I don’t know of a woman in our
familia
who has ever done such a thing.”

“Not even Phaedra?” Charlotte stared up at him, her eyes wide with innocence.

Mateo gave a cynical laugh. “Oh, she’s done it all right, but not for the reasons she told you. She tricked you, my little darling. I’m sorry I’ve put you through this. But perhaps it wasn’t as bad as what might have been. If Mother hadn’t told me what was going on, I hate to think what would have happened.”

“The queen knows?” Charlotte’s horror was evident in her voice.

“Little goes on in our camp that escapes her.”

“But she’ll never accept me now! Oh, Mateo! I’ve ruined everything!”

She collapsed into his arms, sobbing against his chest. Mateo held her, letting her cry it out. All the while, his large hands rubbed her quaking shoulders and stroked up and down her bare back. He could feel her skin quiver beneath his touch. Her back arched to meet his fingers. Soon, her whole body was making inviting, undulating motions. Mateo felt new desire rising within him, but he refused to give in this time. No, this would be their first true experience. He would do everything possible to wipe the memories of his night of moon madness and his earlier selfish use of Charlotte from her mind forever. He wanted her to remember, after tonight, that he could be gentle, loving, giving.

Charlotte trembled against Mateo’s hard chest as he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, and the tender flesh beneath her eyes and around her mouth. He avoided her lips, maddeningly. And all the while, his big, warm hands played over her back—fingering her ribs, tracing her spine, teasing the sensitive skin about her waist and below. She felt a pleasant numbness creeping into her legs. Heat seemed to radiate from deep inside her until it warmed the entire surface of her body. She felt fevered. She ached. She clutched at him. She throbbed for him.

“Mateo, oh, Mateo!”

In answer, he let one hand slip between them to cup her breast. She sucked at the air, filling her lungs like a drowning victim. His callused thumb scraped across the nipple, charging it to pulsing life. He repeated his manipulations on the opposite side, then let the flat of his palm smooth down over her rib cage to her belly. He pressed, released… pressed, released. Soon Charlotte could feel new vibrations set up inside her. Her body seemed caught up in sensual waves set in motion by his caresses. When his hand slipped farther down, stroking the silkiness between her thighs, Charlotte all but stopped breathing. One questing finger sought out her tender flesh, teasing it to fullness, torturing it with hesitancy. Charlotte gasped softly and writhed against his palm. The finger, made bold by her actions, plunged into her moist, hot depths.

For what seemed an eternity, Mateo played with her as if she were a toy created for his exploration and amusement. He searched her body with hands, mouth, and eyes, seeming to know without being told what would bring her the sweetest pleasure. When he changed positions—laying his lover back against the pillows—Charlotte stared overhead, fascinated by the sight of the tender homage being paid her.

Mateo’s own body, she noticed, had renewed itself. She reached a trembling hand toward him and ran her fingers lightly along the dark, velvety skin. It pulsed and swelled in her hand. She started to pull away, but Mateo’s hand stayed hers.

“No, please,” he whispered.

Then they were lying side by side. He found her waiting lips at last and gave them their due. This was the final pleasure before the ultimate act of love. With tender skill, Mateo’s tongue sought and was granted entrance. His mouth tasted of sweet, warm wine and desire. Suddenly, his eager tongue brought every individual longing in her body into focus, gathering all together in a consuming, soul-wrenching need to be filled.

Mateo rolled onto his back, holding Charlotte firmly in his arms. She stared down at him, puzzled.

“Do with me as you will, my Golden One,” he whispered. “I am the stallion to be ridden in your ring—at the command of your whip. Mount me.”

Charlotte felt at once embarrassed and thrilled. Carefully, she lowered her body over his—slowly, precisely, at her own pace. Mateo allowed her to take the lead, meeting each stroke of her slim body with an answering thrust. To spur her passions, he fondled her breasts, her belly, and her thighs, murmuring to her tenderly.

“Gently, darling. Do not rush your pleasure. Ride your mount slowly to start. The canter before the full gallop. Get the feel of the saddle.”

The feel of the saddle! Charlotte thought. She had never felt such a thing in her life! Her heart was threatening to burst from her chest. Her blood raced like the wind. Every nerve
zinged
with sensual static. Her flesh burned, melding itself to Mateo’s.

“Mateo. Oh, God!” she cried out.

He gripped her hips, afraid she might flee from him in the final, ecstatic moments.

“Pace yourself, darling. Let it come naturally—rising, flowing, flooding over you like the warm waters of a river in summer. Bathe in the feeling. Drink deeply of it.”

Charlotte Buckland did more than Mateo instructed. She nearly drowned in the ecstasy. It came, as he said, rising until it flooded her—working from her toes up and her head down to meet at the very core of her in an explosion of tingling, gripping, other-worldly sensations. At the grandest moment of all, when starbursts were flashing in her head and all that is wonderful in the universe was pulsing through her body, Mateo clasped her to him in a fierce grip and cried her name aloud. They were one… forever… come what may.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, sated, exhausted, in awe of what had passed between them. Mateo continued to stroke Charlotte’s breasts and kiss her lips lightly from time to time, but they said nothing for a long while. Words seemed pointless after what they had just shared.

Finally, Charlotte broke the comfortable silence. “What now, Mateo?”

“Now I will see to it that our marriage is hastened. Love as sweet as we have just given each other must have created a new life. There is no other explanation for the way I felt… the way I feel even now.”

Charlotte had to admit to herself that she had thought the same. But that was not what she’d meant by her question.

“No, Mateo. You misunderstand. What can we experience from here on through the rest of our lives that will be better than tonight? Is there anything more to look forward to?”

He raised on one elbow and smiled down into her face, tracing the delicate line of her lips with one finger.

“Oh, my love, with one such as you there will always be something to look forward to—the coming of darkness each night to shelter us as we make love, the sunrise of a new day to light the love in your eyes, the sight of you bathing in a clear stream, the sound of your voice crooning lullabies to our child, the taste of your lips, the feel of your breasts, the glow on your face this very minute. Oh, yes! There is much to look forward to still.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Yes,” she whispered. “And I can always look forward to being in your arms the next time. Each time will be better for us. I know it will.”

But even as she breathed in his closeness and drifted off into her dreams, she wondered how many more times she could look forward to having Mateo make love to her. Things were not as simple as he would have her believe. And the more she came to love him, the more complicated their lives became.

What if she were carrying his child even now? Even that might not be enough to force Queen Zolande to sanction their marriage.
Mateo must marry a Gypsy!
The words nagged at Charlotte’s mind and heart. But if she let him take her away somewhere so that they could be married, what would it do to him? Would it change him so that he would become someone other than the man she now loved so desperately? Could she bring herself to be that selfish?