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 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 head 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 neck. She licked him and smiled 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, then 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. 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 was a quivering mass of sensation when the knife finally dropped to the ground, and he stood up.
Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, and his breathing was shallow and harsh. Did she have the same effect on him? 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. 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. He rotated 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.
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. His pantaloons pooled round his ankles.
Fragile moonbeams slanted through the tree’s branches casting Ian in ribboned light. Vangie’s 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, clinging to him and matching his rhythm, stroke for stroke. This joining wasn’t gentle, but wild, almost violent. She was desperate to reach the ultimate place only Ian could take her.
It was but 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.
Chapter 33
Satiated into drowsiness, Vangie roused to angry shouts and frightened screams. Ian leapt to his feet cursing. He yanked on his discarded clothing, and then only enough to be considered decent before charging 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. 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 with him.
She darted into the clearing behind Ian. He skidded to a halt, and she bumped into him. Masked men on horses stampeded through the campsite, torching tents and wagons. The Roma that tried to stop them were kicked aside. Mothers scooped terrified children into their arms, and ran to escape the willful destruction.
“Vangie, this way.”
He 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, he held a sword and a pistol in his hands. Another pistol was stuffed into his waistband. The blade of a knife protruded from the top of his boot.
“Vangie, go. 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 can’t 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. “Go.”
Without waiting for a response he swiveled toward the chaos, pistol and sword at the ready.
“Ian. . .”
Pivoting around, he speared her with 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 he spun and ran into the fray.
Vangie scampered to the trees. She stayed only long enough for Ian to believe she’d obeyed him. 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. Yanking the door open, she reached inside and retrieved a leather pouch.
“Zora,” Simone breathed alarmed.
Vangie deftly loaded the small gun. “It’s only a precaution.”
She met Grandmother’s worried eyes. “Ian’s out there. He might
need me.”
With that, Vangie slipped from the wagon and into the riotous night.
Edging along the vardo, she took stock. Only four of the assailants remained on their horses. The others had either been killed or were fighting on foot. Nicu dispatch one assailant with his blade as Besnik wrestled violently with another.
Ailsa charged to his aid. “No, you don’t,” she shrieked, laying a stout branch across his opponent’s head. The man toppled over, a nasty gash in his skull.
“Besnik—” She burst into tears, before throwing herself into his sturdy arms.
“Shh, pirrini,” he soothed.
A few feet beyond them, Vangie spied Ian grappling with a scruffy man. The scarf intended to mask the bandit’s face had come loose and hung around his neck.
She gasped. He was one of Sir Doyle’s men.
The man outweighed Ian by a good three stone, but Ian’s quicker reflexes gave him the advantage. He danced circles around the clumsy oaf, his sharp jabs hitting home each time.
His opponent swung his beefy hand. Ian ducked and planted a solid facer on his foe’s ruddy cheek. The man tottered, weaving unsteadily. His legs crumpled beneath him, and he sagged into a heap in the dirt. A rider charged forward with a gun pointing straight at Ian’s back.
Please, God, no.
“I-a-n!” Vangie screamed.
Aiming the gun, she fired. Click. Nothing.
She threw it to the ground, stark terror ripping through her. At a dead run, she yanked the dagger from her waist, then hurled it. The blade sliced through the air with lethal accuracy landing between the man’s shoulder blades. He was dead before he toppled to the ground.
The unholy, animalistic fear permeating Vangie’s voice raised the hair on the nape of Ian’s neck. He wheeled around, sidestepping a horse’s thrashing hooves. Astonishment was etched across the rider’s face. He pitched from his saddle so close, his lifeless fingers brushed Ian’s chest.
Vangie’s dagger was sunk to the hilt in his back.
Holy Mother of God.
Twice she had killed to protect him. Where was she? Ian whirled around. She stood tight-lipped and sagging between Ailsa and Besnik. Terror lingered in her sapphire eyes. Her mouth worked, but no sound emerged. She was in shock. The other marauders pounded from the clearing as Ian bolted to her.
He embraced his shaking wife and held her firmly against his chest. “Shh, sweetheart.”
His gaze met Yoska’s and Besnik’s in turn. Both men’s mouths were twisted into grim lines. Fury simmered in their guarded gazes. Blood dripped from a gash in Yoska’s lip, and bright reddish-blue fingerprints marked Besnik’s neck.
“This,” Ian’s gaze prowled the clearing, “wasn’t random, was it?”
“Niks.” Yoska shook his shaggy head while wiping at the scarlet dripping down his chin.
The fury faded from Besnik’s eyes, replaced by a kind of defeated weariness. “We’ve not been so blatantly attacked before, though a small kor or two is not unusual.”
Ian surveyed the camp. Bloody hell. He’d wager Somersfield Lucinda and Doyle were behind this. The attack reeked of the magistrate’s greed and treachery. It was just like him to send his henchmen to do his dirty work while he kept out of harm’s way.
“I fear, my friends, I may have brought this upon you.”
Vangie trembled in his arms and pressed closer to him.
“How so?” asked Yoska.
Ian glanced down at her. He met Yoska’s probing gaze and gave a slight negative shake of his head.
Yoska inclined his.
Good. He understood. Ian wanted to keep his concerns from Vangie, at least for now.
Yoska’s dark gaze searched the shadows. “Here are our tikna’s.”
He waved at them. “Come, it is safe now.”
With trepidation, the Romani women and children hiding in the woods crept into the encampment, grief and bewilderment stamped on their faces.
Simone bustled forward toting a large basket. Jasper tagged behind her, lugging an equally cumbersome satchel.
“Zora, I need your help.”
Puri Daj’s voice roused Vangie from her fear-laced stupor. Ian held her in a tight embrace. She looked at him. “I must help tend the wounded.”
He relaxed his arms. Worry shone in his eyes. “Are you able?”
She nodded, giving him a wobbly smile.
He cupped her face against his chest and rested his cheek on the crown of her head. “Thank you. Once again, you saved me from certain death.”
Vangie closed her eyes and breathed his scent. Yes, she’d killed to protect him; her husband, her lover, and God willing, the father of her children. Bitter tears pricked behind her eyelids. No, she’d not think of it. Later, she would grieve and ask God for forgiveness for killing . . . again. But at present she focused on her joy.
Ian was alive.
“You can’t get out of your obligations so easily,” she mumbled against his shirt. When he didn’t respond, she plastered a pleasant smile on her face, then tilted her head upward.
He frowned at her, puzzled.
“You promised me a dozen children.”
His gray eyes deepened to black. “I did indeed.”
He kissed her nose, then released her.
“You’ve tear streaks—” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.
Scrubbing at her damp cheeks, Vangie surveyed the encampment. Eight raiders lay in the dirt. Two were unconscious thanks to Ian’s sound right hook and Ailsa’s questionable skill with the branch. Were the others dead?
The sobs and cries of Romani women filled the clearing. How many Roma were hurt? Dead? Her stomach churned.
“Zora,” Puri Daj called, “come.”
Grandmother knelt beside Nicu. His arm lay at an odd angle and lacerations marred his face and chest. Eldra, weeping loudly, cradled his head in her lap and dabbed at his wounds with her skirt.
Vangie rushed to them. “How is he?”
Puri Daj met her eyes before scanning the groups huddled around the other wounded. “He’s injured the worst. His ribs are cracked, and his arm broken.”
“No Roma are dead, truly?” Vangie sucked in a shaky breath and struggled to contain her tears of relief.
“No, praise God.”
Puri Daj paused, sitting on her heels. She assessed Vangie with her intelligent eyes. Affection sparkled in their depths.
“You are leaving.”
Covering Vangie’s hand with her own Puri Daj said, “That is how it should be.”
She cast a glance at Ian and smiled. “He loves you.”
Warmth infused Vangie. “Aue, I know.”
An hour later, just as dawn whispered her palette of colors across the sky, she hugged Puri Daj. “I’ll return with the land deed in two weeks.”
Grandmother brushed an errant curl from her cheek. “Your father and mother would be proud, tikna. What you’ve done for our people. . .”
Emotion clogged Vangie’s throat. She sent a loving look at Ian sitting patiently atop Pericles. He threw his head back, laughing at something Yoska said.
“Ian made it possible, and he is the one who deserves the Roma’s gratitude.”
Besnik lifted her to sit before Ian. Yoska handed her Lancelot. Her gaze fell on Jasper, sitting on the dog cart seat. His spine was ramrod stiff as he led them from the encampment. The two surviving bandits, bound and gagged, were stuffed into the box of the dog cart. Gerard and the other stable hands led a string of horses. Pericles brought up the rear of the odd entourage.
Shifting on Ian’s lap, she peered over his shoulder. She smiled at Ailsa standing beside Besnik. Vangie waved gaily. “We’ll return for the wedding. Two weeks will pass before you know it.”
Besnik stood with his arms folded, a surly scowl on his face.
Ian cocked a slanted brow. “Sweeting, why’s he so churlish?”
She giggled. “He wanted the wedding to take place immediately, but Ailsa insisted on waiting two weeks. She sa
id her family would want to attend. She wasn’t even going to remain in camp, but Besnik, poor besotted fool, wouldn’t hear of her leaving.”
Tapping her chin, Vangie mused. “Would Charlotte mind overly much if I were to send one of her gowns for Ailsa to remake?”
Ian nuzzled Vangie’s neck and squeezed Pericles in the sides. “Send her a dozen of the blasted things.”
The stallion ambled forward. With one last wave to Puri Daj, Vangie settled against Ian. She peeped at him through her lashes.
“I don’t understand it.” She smiled coyly while trailing a finger across Ian’s chest. “Besnik wasn’t the least pacified— Even after Ailsa kissed him soundly.”
Ian muttered, “I doubt he’ll have to wait two weeks for what he wants.”
He tugged Vangie against him and cupped her breast beneath her shawl.
“Ian, stop.” She pushed at is hand. “Someone will see.”
She cast a worried glance around them.
Grinning, Ian wiggled his fingers beneath the shawl.
“Lout.” She swatted at his hand.
Lancelot latched onto one of Ian’s fingers, sinking his needle-like puppy teeth into the soft flesh.
Ian yelped. “Let go, you little bugger.”
Vangie erupted into giggles. “He thinks you’re playing.”
Shaking the pup off, Ian’s roaming hand returned to its treasure. His fingers brushed the nipple protruding through the soft fabric of her blouse.
Oh, my. Vangie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning aloud.
“Ian—” She tried to sound scandalized, difficult to do when sultry yearning permeated every syllable.
“Besides—you’re wrong.”
He murmured, “Am I?” in her ear.
Unconscionable cur. She nearly melted from the delicious sensations his warm breath tickling her ear aroused. Instead she sagged against him.
She sucked in a deep gulp of bracing air. “Indeed. I heard her myself. ‘I’m no easy wench you can tumble before the vows, Besnik Bailey.’”
“Ah, my lady, therein lies the difference. We’ve exchanged our vows.”
The Viscount's Vow Page 27
