Thunder and Roses (53 page)

The next part was the most dangerous because he would have to straighten up. If he was seen, he would be an easy target for a rifle. But there was no help for it. He unwound the whip from his waist and stood, bracing one foot on the ridgepole for balance. Then he lashed out at the one dimly seen branch that looked close enough, and strong enough, to support them.

The thong curled neatly around the branch. He tugged experimentally, but the hold didn’t feel secure. Fighting down his raging impatience, he worked the whip loose and drew it back again. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the slate seemed to be getting hotter. Time seemed unnaturally distorted. How long had it been since he had awakened—five minutes? Three?

What mattered was how much time they had left. Stretching out as far as he could, he snapped the whip again. This time when he tested it, the hold seemed stronger. It had better be, for there wasn’t time for another cast. He extended his free hand toward Clare. “Come here.”

She crawled to his side and stood up. He took one instant to press his mouth to hers in a kiss that was meant to say what he could never have put into words. Then he wrapped his arm around her waist. “Hang on tight, my dear.”

Her arms went around him, slim but strong. An instant later, they were swinging across emptiness, supported only by the dark, supple leather. He felt a shift, a loosening of the whip’s hold on the branch. If they fell to the ground, the fall might not be fatal, but the attackers would be on them in seconds.

The arc of the swing took them downward until they slammed into the tree trunk. Clare gasped as air was knocked from her lungs. He tried to absorb the shock with bent legs, but even so, the force of the impact almost caused him to drop her. For an instant they hung free, the weight of them both dragging on his strained right arm.

The thong began to uncoil under the weight. They were on the verge of falling from the tree when he kicked out and managed to get his foot on a limb. It wasn’t much support, but it was enough, and a moment later they were safely balanced on a thick branch.

He worked the handle of the whip until the thong dropped free. As he coiled it again, the roof collapsed with a hideous roar. A pillar of flames and sparks shot skyward and a wave of searing heat struck them. In the lurid light, he saw the silhouette of the roughly dressed man who had been waiting with rifle ready in case they had tried to escape from the back window. Though no more than thirty feet away, the attacker had not seen them in the smoke and darkness. As Nicholas watched, the man lowered the gun and made his way around the blazing hut, from which no one would now emerge alive.

They were high enough that Nicholas could see the attackers who waited in front on the far side of the fire. One of the men had a tall, rangy figure that was vaguely familiar. His mouth tightened to a bitter line. Glancing down, he saw that Clare was looking in the same direction, her face coldly furious.

Now was the time to escape, while the attackers watched the fire in primitive fascination. He touched Clare on the shoulder and they began to work their way downward. The lowest branch was still well above the ground, so once again the whip was pressed into service to lower them.

When they were safely down, he coiled the whip, then led Clare straight into the woods, away from the hut and the road. The ground was soggy from the earlier rain, and the air was damply chill. A good thing Clare had escaped with her cloak.

When he judged that they were about a mile from the hut, he stopped for a brief rest. Clare’s breathing was ragged, so he drew her into his arms. She was shaking violently, and he guessed that it was not only from cold. “We’re safe here,” he whispered. “Even if those bastards are thorough enough to wait until the fire dies down and check for bodies in the ashes, that won’t happen before dawn at the earliest.”

Voice muffled against his shoulder, she said, “You saw him, didn’t you?”

He didn’t bother to ask for clarification. “I saw a tall man who could have been Michael Kenyon, and I can’t think of anyone else who might want to kill me,” he said harshly. “But that is a question for later. Now we have to get to safety.”

“Are there cottages nearby?”

“No, something better than that.” He put his arm around her shoulders and began walking, drawing on the sense of direction that had been bred into him. “We’re going to the Rom.”

 
They walked through the woods for hours, stumbling over rough ground and getting saturated by water that dripped from the trees. Clare gave fervent t
hank
s they had both put on their boots before escaping, or they would be in trouble now. As it was, she was soon exhausted and would have collapsed under a tree if Nicholas hadn’t been half-carrying her. He seemed to know exactly where they were going, though to her, all wet trees looked exactly the same. And they didn’t feel very nice when one walked into them.

The sky was beginning to lighten when they caught a wispy scent of smoke. “The site is occupied,” he said with satisfaction. Only then did Clare realize that he had not been sure if they would find help here.

Suddenly an explosion of barking broke out, and the shadowy forms of half a dozen dogs charged toward them. She froze, wondering if they should run or look for a tree. But as the ferociously baying pack closed in, Nicholas drew his arm back and made a broad throwing motion. Though his hand was empty, the effect was magical. The dogs immediately fell silent and began milling around, following them into the camp.

There was enough light to see that the kumpania consisted of three wagons. Dark shapes under the wagons appeared to be beds, and she guessed that the rain had driven the Rom to take that amount of shelter. Roused by the noise, several men rolled to their feet and approached, posture alert. One carried a coiled whip in his hand.

Nicholas put his arm protectively around Clare and squinted at the nearest man. “
Kore
, is that you?”

There was a moment of astonished silence. Then a baritone voice roared, “Nikki!”

Suddenly they were surrounded by people jabbering noisily in Romany. Nicholas managed to get silence by lifting his hand. Arm still tightly around Clare, he gave a terse explanation in the same language.

A clucking female with a smooth, handsome face took Clare’s arm. Nicholas said, “Go with Ani, she’ll take care of you. I’ll join you later.”

By this time, Clare was quite willing to put her fate in the hands of someone else. Ani took her to one of the bow-topped wagons and helped her onto the porch-like ledge at the end. When the door opened, Clare saw a row of small heads pop up from under a feather quilt, the black eyes bright with curiosity. Nicholas’s eyes, she realized. The children started to chatter questions, but Ani hushed them.

The near end of the wagon was covered with a thin pad. Ani said in lightly accented English, “Sleep here.”

Clare took off her wet cloak and struggled out of her boots. Then, muddy hem and all, she lay down. Ani dropped another feather quilt over her, and within three minutes, Clare was asleep.

 
It was mid-morning when Clare woke with Nicholas’s arm across her waist. Like her, he was wearing the clothes he had escaped in, breeches and a shirt that gaped open at the neck. He still slept, his face youthful and heart-stoppingly handsome. Rolling over, she kissed his forehead lightly.

His eyes opened. “How are you feeling?”

“Very well, t
hank
you. A few bruises from walking into trees, but nothing to signify.” She suppressed a shiver. “You’re a useful man to have around when danger threatens.”

His face tightened. “If not for me, your life would never have been at risk.”

“We don’t know that.” She gave him a jaunty smile. “And what a splendid adventure. How many people can boast of such a honeymoon?”

Though he smiled a little at her sally, she felt the bleakness inside him. She wondered how she would feel if one of her oldest friends— Marged, for example—was trying to kill her. The thought produced such a wrench of pain and disbelief that she hastily thrust it away. If she found it so upsetting even in her imagination, how much worse it must be for Nicholas, who wanted to believe in friendship. Deciding to attend to the practical, she asked, “Where do we go from here?”

“The kumpania was heading north, but they’re willing to turn around and take us back to Aberdare. It will take about three days at wagon speed.”

She thought of her pony and sighed. “I hope whoever ends up with Rhonda takes good care of her.”

“When we get home, I’ll send a couple of men up here to make inquiries. If someone sells the horses, perhaps I can buy them back.

That might also uncover the men who attacked us.”

She nodded and went to her next question. “Is there anything I should know about living among the Rom?”

He thought a moment. “Try to observe the cleanliness taboos. At a campsite, water is taken from the stream at different points, with water from the highest, `cleanest` location being used for drinking and cooking. Washing and bathing water are taken from farther down. Always wash in running water before eating, never put food utensils in impure water, because that makes them
marhime
, polluted, and they would have to be thrown out.” He gave her a wry glance. “You won’t like this, but women are also considered impure. Never let your skirts brush any man but me, never walk in front of a man, or between two men, or in front of the horses.”

She frowned. “You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“It makes sense for people living in such close quarters,” he explained. “It gives women a degree of privacy and protection that would otherwise be impossible, and reduces sexual tension as well. Though Gypsy women have a reputation for sexual allure, in fact promiscuity is almost unknown among the Rom.”

“I see. I’ll try not to offend anyone.”

Drawn by the sound of voices, Ani peered in the wagon. “Breakfast. You go, Nikki, I bring clothes for your wife.”

He obediently rose and climbed from the wagon, then helped Ani in. The Romany woman was wearing a loose, low-cut blouse and layers of full, brightly colored skirts. Earrings of dangling gold coins matched the jingling coin necklaces looped around her neck, and a patterned scarf covered her hair.

Clare was outfitted with a similar costume, though without the
jewelry
. Looking down at the deeply scooped blouse, she remarked, “Nicholas will love this.”

Ani grinned, her teeth white against her glowing dark skin. “It is good Nikki has taken a wife. How long since you marry?”

Clare counted mentally. “Three days.”

“So recently!” She took Clare’s hand and looked at her wrist, then nodded with approval when she saw the small, almost healed cut. “It is good. We will have a feast to honor the marriage. But now,” she added practically, “you must eat.”

They climbed from the wagon, which was made of wood and decorated with bold painting and carving. The rain had cleared, leaving the sky fresh and clear. The men were gathered around the tethered horses in the middle distance. Closer to hand, women moved gracefully around the campsite and a pack of near-naked children raced about, shouting gleefully. A tiny old woman with a face like a wrinkled walnut studied Clare intently, then nodded her head and went back to smoking her pipe.

Near the wagon was a cook fire with a tin pot and a cauldron warming over the coals. As Clare sniffed hopefully, Ani said, “Wash first.” She lifted a metal pitcher and indicated that Clare was to wash her hands under the stream of water that Ani poured. As Clare obeyed, she was glad that Nicholas had given her that brief lesson in Romany ways.

Ani served her with a mug of fierce, sweet coffee and a plate of fried onions and sausage. Both were delicious. As Clare ate, she saw that the women were packing things away in preparation for leaving, but without any great sense of urgency.

Nicholas returned with three men, all of them talking earnestly. He had acquired a loose leather vest and a red handkerchief around his throat, and looked entirely at home among his kin. She would never have known him for a British nobleman.