Ian struggled to keep a straight face. He glanced at the overflowing dogcart. “I presume there are both in the cart?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
He couldn’t suppress his grin as Jasper hobbled to the cart. Gerard held the horse’s harness. “Gerard, please assist Jasper with the unloading.”
“Aye, my lord.” Gerard motioned to a pair of stable hands. “George, Finney, ye untie the cords. Ye others, pull off the tarps and start unpacking the goods.” His gaze swept Jasper’s soggy foot. “And find somethin’ fer his feet.”
The men scurried to do his bidding.
Nuzzling Lancelot, Vangie sent Ian a curious glance. “What’s in the cart?”
“I told Jasper to collect goods for the Roma.” Ian surveyed the crowd gathered around the cart. “There are foodstuffs, clothing, sewing goods, blankets…” He grinned at her sheepishly. “Honestly, I don’t know everything he brought.”
“Thank you.” Vangie’s eyes shone. Was it merely gratitude in their depths or dare he hope it was something more? “Please excuse, me. Puri Daj beckons, and I need to find my dagger.”
His gaze trailed her, lingering on the gentle sway of her hips as she sauntered to her grandmother. Amusement played along the edges of his mouth.
Simone smiled and began a rapid monologue in Romanese. Vangie nodded and squatted. She lowered Lancelot to the ground and patted his head before straightening. Arm in arm, they crossed to a group of chatting women.
Ian’s smile faded. Was Doyle’s appearance in the Romani camp mere coincidence? Especially in light of Jasper’s unwelcome news regarding Lucinda vanishing? Not bloody-well likely. He’d ask his men to wait until morning to return to Somersfield. Having a few extra armed men here this evening seemed prudent.
He glanced around the encampment at the ecstatic Roma. From this point onward, when their travels brought them to this part of Northumberland, they had a haven. A place they could call their own. A place safe from persecution they could remain for as long as they wished.
Yoska’s voice boomed across the encampment. “Patshiv tonight my friends. To celebrate our good fortune and,” he extended a hand to Ian, “thank our new phral.”
The Roma cheered their approval.
When their cries faded, Yoska said, “See my friends, so o Del dela, oda ela. What God gives will be.” A wide grin on his face, he lifted his cup overhead. “Come, brother Ian, join me in a cup.”
As dusk fell, an enormous bonfire blazed in the center of the encampment. The night was balmy. An unseasonably warm breeze periodically whisked by like a fickle maiden unable to decide if she’d stay with her lover for the night.
Makeshift tables groaned under the weight of an assortment of succulent foods, many of which Ian never tasted before. The Roma brought out their instruments, and the night came alive with music, the singing and dancing unlike anything he’d experienced.
These were an uninhibited people, embracing life vigorously and celebrating with the same carefree abandonment they lived by. He now understood why the Roma, clapping and stomping and swirling around the scampering flames, preferred their unrestrained lifestyle.
How different they were from the sophisticated and artificial denizens of the haut ton. The Roma lived free from the confinements and judgmental protocols of society.
Ian suspected they were the better for it.
Eldra whirled by, gyrating her full hips provocatively. She raised her arms overhead, thrusting her breasts upward. She stared at him, a clear invitation in her sultry eyes. With marked deliberateness he averted his gaze and sought his wife.
Where was she? She’d been speaking with Simone a moment ago.
He shoved to his feet intent on finding her. Slipping away from the celebration, he ventured into the neighboring darkness. The night was clear except for an occasional drifting cloud. The muted brightness of the moon and stars illuminated the ambling brook. The water surging over and around the stones, caressing them with its cool touch, was a peaceful melody in the darkness.
Vangie, her head bent, stood beyond the fire’s flickering light, apparently watching the river.
“Vangie?”
She looked over her shoulder, the hint of a welcoming smile on her lips.
“Sweeting, are you well? You left the festivities—”
“I’m fine.” She faced the river once more.
Ian gently grasped her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Are you?”
Her gaze flicked to his before she lifted her shoulders, breathing out a deep sigh. Attuned to her every mood, he sensed her uncertainty.
“What is it?” His thumbs caressed her shoulders. “Is it the babe?”
She shook her head, her midnight curls swirling around her shoulders. The silky strands stroked his hands. “No, I…” A cloud glided past, permitting the moon’s full radiance to shine. She tilted her chin upward and peered at him. “Ian, I don’t blame you for the loss of the baby.”
Her gaze dipped to his mouth. “I did at first.” She shook her head and pursed her lips. “But not anymore.”
His breath caught and hitched in his lungs. She didn’t blame him? Relief, pure and cleansing, surged through him. His eyes misting, he closed them for a moment and slowly exhaled. Her words didn’t alleviate the entire weight of his guilt. He still blamed himself. Always would. His deceit and thirst for vengeance had cost them their child.
“I would’ve cherished our baby, and its loss pains me greatly.” Her voice caught.
He opened his eyes and rapidly blinked. How could he ever make recompense to her? Vangie’s attention wandered to the dark row of trees behind him. Tears glistened in her eyes. He’d caused those tears. Those, and countless others.
“But it’s unfair to blame you when even I didn’t know I carried your child.” She tucked her chin to her chest. “Because of our hasty marriage and the numerous changes in my circumstances these past weeks, I paid no heed to…” She trailed off into an embarrassed silence.
Ian bathed her in a love-filled gaze. He understood. She hadn’t realized she missed her monthly menses. He braced himself to ask the other question that had been tormenting him for days. Dread kicked him in the ribs, but he knew in his heart what he must do. What he would do, though he didn’t know how he’d bear it, if she confirmed his greatest fear.
“Is it Besnik, then? You harbor a tendresse for him?”
Vangie gave a watery chuckle, wiping her eyes with her shawl. Faith, was the man addled?
Besnik?
“Why are you laughing?” Ian furrowed his brow, his expression as nonplussed as a schoolboy. He sent a glance in the direction of the merrymakers. “It’s obvious he’s enamored with you.”
Was he jealous? The notion sent a jolt of pleasure skittering through her spine. It was really wicked of her, but she savored the moment.
“Do you?” His question was an agonized whisper. “You can tell me.”
Vangie searched his silvery eyes. Were those tears? No, it must be a trick of the moonlight.
“I promise, sweeting.” He trailed a finger across her jaw. “I shan’t be angry.”
The remorse in his voice tore at her heart. She couldn’t bear his pain. “I’m convinced Besnik’s affections lie elsewhere, though he may not, as yet, be aware.”
Ian’s strong hands cupped her shoulders more firmly. “You,” he hesitated, “you aren’t in love with him?”
“Besnik is a dear friend. Nothing more.”
“Ah.”
Ah? That was it? What did ah mean?
He wrapped his arms around her and drew her into his embrace. She didn’t resist, but rested her head against the wide planes of his chest and listened to his steady, comforting heartbeat. The circle of his arms offered her solace. He spoke against her hair. “What is it then? Why aren’t you celebrating with the others?” He kissed the top of her head and gave her a slight squeeze. “You can trust me.”
Vangie remained silent, snuggled against him. Trust again.
His actions today had done much to restore her faith in him. She wanted to trust him, but did she dare?
A passing cloud covered the moon once more. He took a step away. With his forefinger, he gently tilted her chin, until her gaze met his. “What is it?”
“I don’t belong here—with them.” She angled her head in the direction of the boisterous revelers. “I adore visiting my kinshna, but their way of life isn’t mine. Not any longer.”
Surprise flickered in his eyes.
The revelation astonished her as much as Ian. She attempted a smile. “I find I prefer stability. I guess I’m more English than Roma after all.”
He had said he’d stay with her and the Roma. She’d eliminated that option. He only had two left. Ian didn’t say anything, just stood there solemn-faced peering at her, unblinking and unwavering in the intentness of his stare. He angled his head the merest bit and opened his mouth. He shut it again and sighed. He was trying to decide something.
Would he offer her his love—or her freedom.
Which would she choose?
Which would cause less heartbreak?
“Vangie, Sheffleton Cottage is truly yours. You can live there—”
She stiffened and covered her mouth, barely stifling the cry surging to her lips. She backed away from him, pain wrenching her heart. It was to be her freedom then. She should be overjoyed.
He didn’t want her.
“You misunderstand.” Ian rushed on, stumbling over his words. “I love you. Love you enough to let you choose.” He spread his hands in entreaty. “I want to give you a child—no—a dozen children. I long to see your belly swell with my seed. I beg you, give me a chance to show you the kind of man, the kind of husband, I can be.”
The sincerity of his words rang true, touching an answering peal in her heart. She remained stock still, silent and stunned. He wasn’t casting her off. He was giving her a choice.
She so wanted to believe him. To trust him. To forgive him. Didn’t he deserve another chance? Hadn’t he shown her his inherent decency only hours ago?
He stood before her, his head bowed, beaten and defeated. “I’ll let you go, if that’s what you truly desire. If you cannot forgive me.” He raised his head, begging her with his gaze.
Overcome, she shook her head. She didn’t want him to let her go. A life without him would be meaningless. Shudders quaked her, and she shoved a fist against her mouth to quiet the sobs she struggled to conceal. Bitter tears of regret cascaded down her cheeks.
Ian’s shoulders slumped. “So be it. I’ll keep my word.”
Vangie wept harder. “No,” she gasped between sobs.
Reaching for her, he wrapped her in his arms. “It’s all right, darling.” He kissed the crown of her head. “I only want you to be happy.” Ian ran a soothing hand up and down her spine. “Shh, sweeting. In the morning I’ll make the arrangements for your things to be sent to Sheffleton Cottage.”
“No, Ian, No!” She threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him as if she was drowning. “Don’t cast me off. I couldn’t bear it. I know you didn’t want to take me to wife, but please let me stay with you. I love you.”
“You love me? You forgive me?” he asked in stupefied awe, unable to hide the astonishment from his voice or face. “You want to stay with me?”
“Oh, yes. Please, yes.” She clutched at his neck and shoulders, raining kisses across his throat.
Ian enclosed her in a fierce embrace, bending his neck to meet her seeking lips. His hot assault deepened her chaste kisses. It was as if the past fortnight had never been; the memory erased by a hidden hand.
Looping an arm beneath her knees, he swept her into his embrace. Vangie clung to him, pressing her face to his throat. She licked him, smiling when his throat muscles worked against her lips. He strode to the maple trees huddled beside the river. Passing between their massive trunks, he entered a sheltered nook. Lowering her to her feet, he tugged her shawl loose and laid it on the ground. Straightening, he ran his fingers through her hair.
“I love your hair.”
Sighing, she closed her eyes. She remained motionless as he tugged her blouse over her head and shoved her padma off her hips. She stepped from the many ruffles before kicking off her boots. Clad only in her light shift, she stood before him unashamed.
He gathered her hair, spreading the strands across her shoulders.
Her gaze never left Ian’s as he discarded his clothing until only his pantaloons remained. He untied the ribbons of her chemise, and his passionate gaze marked its path as the garment slipped from her shoulders until it puddled at her feet.
He grinned at the sheathed dagger strapped to her thigh. “I see you found your knife.” Kneeling, he used his mouth to untie the ribbon holding the blade in place.
She’d become a quivering mass of sensation when the knife finally dropped to the ground, and he stood. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, his breathing shallow and harsh. Did she have the same effect on him, as if she was tumbling into sensation, unable to stop?
Hands at his waist, he made to unfasten his buckskins.
Vangie nudged his hands away. “I want to do it.” She brushed her fingertips across his abdomen, and the muscles jumped and quivered. “Have you any idea how arousing it is to be undressed?” Pressing against Ian, she nuzzled the crisp hairs on his chest and slid her hands across his contoured ribs. She flicked his nipple with her tongue. His gasping groan further emboldened her.
He grasped her naked derrière and lifted her against him, rotating his hips upward.
She laughed softly. “Not yet.”
“Temptress,” he growled.
Inch by sinuous inch, she drew the soft doeskin pantaloons downward, across his tightly flexed buttocks and rock-hard marbled thighs. Her fingernails grazed his protruding heaviness. Surly a siren’s smile tilted her lips at his harsh expulsion of air through clenched teeth. She cupped his fullness, running her hands along its velvety length as his pantaloons pooled around his ankles.
Fragile moonbeams slanted through the tree’s branches casting Ian in ribboned light. Her gaze locked with his. Though they’d joined before, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. This time when they came together, she could express her love. The anticipation was unbearable.
She stepped into his embrace and was lost. Her mouth fused with his in a kiss frantic with hunger.
When had they sunk to their knees?
His hands were everywhere, caressing, stroking, and igniting. He whispered, “I love you,” over and over, like a holy mantra.
She lay on her back and tugged him to her. “Now, Ian. Take me now.”
He growled his consent then lifted and parted her thighs. Hovering for a moment, he threw back his head and plunged into her depths. Vangie cried out, clutching him to her and matching his rhythm, stroke for stroke. This joining wasn’t gentle, but wild, almost violent. She was desperate to reach the ultimate place he could take her.
Only moments later, she stiffened as glorious sensation pulsed through her core. He slammed his mouth atop hers to muffle her scream of fulfillment then groaning his pleasure aloud, pumped his seed into her.
Satiated into drowsiness, Vangie roused to angry shouts and frightened screams. Ian leapt to his feet, cursing. He yanked on his discarded clothing, scarcely enough to be considered decent, and charged from the enclosure.
She followed suit, frantically searching for one misplaced boot in the shadowy shelter. Her hand closed on the cold steel of her dagger, and snatching the blade, she slipped it into her waistband. At last she located the errant boot, and hopping on one foot, tugged it on. She ran to catch up, darting into the clearing behind him.
Ian skidded to a halt, and she bumped into him.
Masked men on horseback stampeded through the campsite, torching tents and wagons. The horsemen brutally kicked aside the Roma that tried to stop them. Mothers scooped terrified children into their arms and ran to escape the willful destruction.
/>
“Vangie, this way.” Ian grabbed her hand and plunged toward Yoska’s tent, shouting, “Gerard!”
In a flurry, Somersfield’s armed staff surged forth joining the enraged gypsies. Reaching Yoska’s tent, Ian dove inside. He emerged moments later, face grim and holding a sword and a pistol in his hands. He’d stuffed another pistol into his waistband, and a knife handle protruded from his boot top.
“Vangie, go.” He jerked the pistol to the side. “Hide in those trees behind Yoska’s vardo.”
She started to shake her head, but his lips thinned in warning.
“Don’t argue with me. I cannot help your people if I’m worrying about you. If I have to choose who to protect, it will be you.”
Gulping against the fear clawing at her, Vangie nodded, her loose hair whirling around her hips and shoulders.
Ian pointed to the trees again. “Go. Now.” Without waiting for a response, he swiveled toward the chaos, pistol and sword at the ready.
“Ian?”
Pivoting around, he speared her a questioning look.
“Please, be careful.” She struggled to smile. “I love you.”
His expression softened. “Aye, I love you too, my lady.” Grinning wickedly, he added, “And, we’ve not had our wedding journey yet.”
Despite the chaos reigning around the camp, a silent message passed between them. He jerked his head in the direction of the towering trees then spun and ran into the fray.
Vangie scampered to the trees, only staying long enough for him to believe she’d obeyed. If he thought she’d remain docilely hidden in the woods while he put himself in danger, he didn’t know her at all. She skirted the edge of the encampment, careful to remain obscured in the darkness beyond the fires’ glow.
She tore to Grandmother’s vardo. Puri Daj and Jasper were huddled inside, Lancelot cuddled between them. “Get outside, into the trees. They’re torching the wagons! Take your medicines, Puri Daj. We’ll have need of them this night.” Vangie crawled across them, intent on the tiny cupboard above her bed. She yanked the door open, reached inside, and retrieved a leather pouch.
The Viscount’s Vow: Enhanced Second Edition: A Historical Scottish Romance (Castle Brides Book 1) Page 27
