Following the path she had seen the other women take the night before, she wended her way down the incline. As she drew closer to the stream she heard children’s laughter bubbling forth. A horse whinnied, then snorted; a man’s familiar voice followed. His soothing words were lost to her, for they were spoken in Romani. When Kristiana reached the end of the trail her eyes caught sight of Balo. He stood downstream beside his uncle, his hand gently stroking his mare’s neck. For one brief second their gazes connected, then his turned away.
Confused by the distinct coolness she’d seen in his eyes, Kristiana steeled her frayed emotions and made her way to the water’s edge. As she bent down to dip the keg through, the fine mist that floated atop the stream a bevy of children converged on her. Small hands snatched at her clothing, pinching the tender flesh beneath it, while strident young voices purposely attacked her ears. Unwilling to defend herself against the unruly bunch, for they were only children, she thought to escape them, but there was nowhere to go except into the water.
“Cease!” a harsh voice cracked through the air in Romani. But the command had come too late. By means of a vicious shove from at least two dozen hands Kristiana fell facedown into the shallow brook.
Riotous laughter filled the air as a spitting and sputtering Kristiana rolled herself over to stare pointedly at her attackers. Downstream Logan saw the clumps of mud hidden in the children’s hands. They were not yet through with their games. Cursing, he dropped the mare’s reins and, with a long-legged lope, covered the distance between them.
“All of you—back to the camp! Now!” he ordered the ill-mannered group.
Their smiles fading, the children espied the golden fire burning in the eyes of the one called Balo. Like a swarm of bees heading back to their hive they scurried up the path.
At long last Logan turned his attention to Kristiana. His gaze slid across her wet face, noting the trickles of moisture flowing over her smooth skin; liquid beads dotted her long lashes, and she tried to blink them away. Then his wandering eyes stopped briefly to view her water-soaked tunic. Unknown to Kristiana, the translucent material revealed her ripe young breasts. Their pink peaks strained against the tattered linen, hardened by the effects of the cool morning air and the ice-cold water.
Perfection, Logan thought, then he remembered his vow. Emitting an angry growl, he latched onto her arm and pulled her from the stream. The abrupt motion shot Kristiana straight against Logan’s hard body; a small cry erupted from between her dewy-soft lips. Bewildered green eyes gazed up at deep saffron orbs, rings of ebony surrounding the gold, then Kristiana detected the aversion that suddenly shone in their depths. Before she could utter a word he released her as though the touch of her had seared his skin. With hard strides he rejoined Yokka and the horses.
Puzzled by his immediate hostility, Kristiana stared after him. He had saved her from the continued harassment of the children, but just as quickly he had turned on her himself. And Kristiana questioned whether her handsome Gypsy had grown to be like the rest: hating her because she was a stranger. Truly, she was someone who would never be accepted, someone who would never belong.
Believing herself to be even more the outcast, for Balo had surely deserted her, Kristiana felt the sting of tears behind her eyes; a hollow ache centered itself deep inside her chest. Drawing a ragged breath, she turned to retrieve the fallen keg. It would be wise, she thought, to leave the Gypsies and set off on her own. But there was no place for her to go, to hide. And if Edward still searched for her, which she was confident he did, he would undoubtedly find her. Oh, if only she could stand against the blackguard who had slain her father and laid waste her home. A sword in hand she would slice him from navel to neck, then lop off his head—the murdering swine! But she had neither the courage nor the ability to strike back. She was a woman alone, with no one to help her.
She thought of her aunt and cousin and wondered how they fared. If they yet lived, she felt certain the mental anguish and physical torture they suffered under Edward’s hand was far greater than her own, for the Gypsies couldn’t possibly be as ruthless as he was. Knowing as much, Kristiana decided she could readily bear whatever ill treatment these seemingly heartless people might heap upon her.
As she continued to think about Penelope and Letitia she found she was no longer concerned about her own welfare; she debated whether she should return to Harcourt Castle. By doing so she might save those whom she loved from Edward’s continued wrath. Yet she was unsure if anyone had survived the carnage, and her fear of Edward was far too great. The mere thought of his touch sent tremors of dread coursing through her. A coward she might be, but the terror that she’d endured prevented her from trying to encounter her enemy anytime soon.
Resigned to the fact that she had little choice but to stay with the Gypsies, Kristiana dipped the keg into the frigid stream. Rising from the water’s edge, she noticed how her tunic clung to her torso. Embarrassed, she tugged the wet material from her breasts; then, hugging the keg close to her, she made her way back to the trail. From the corner of her eye she glanced at Balo, then watched fully as he groomed his mare.
Unnoticed by Kristiana, Liza had slipped down the path. She now stood next to the handsome Gypsy. The sloe-eyed beauty gazed up at him. Likewise, his golden eyes centered themselves on her. His straight teeth flashed white in the sunlight, contrasting sharply with his deeply bronzed skin, and Kristiana noted how his grin widened as Liza boldly flirted with him. His seductive laughter rang forth, filling Kristiana’s ears, then he mumbled something to Liza; the woman whispered something in return.
Their obviously playful words lost to her, Kristiana looked away. Her chest felt oddly compressed as she slowly made her way up the path. Reaching Sidi’s wagon, she placed the keg back into the hemp bindings and lashed it to the side of the conveyance.
Gazing at the other kegs, which were secured in a row, she assumed she needed to fill them all. She dreaded the thought of having to return to the stream, of having to watch Liza trifling with Balo, but the task needed to be done, and it was her duty to see it through. No sooner had she retrieved a second keg than Rupa descended upon her.
“Stupid girl! Where have you been?”
Kristiana blinked at her hostile tone. “I was unable to find you, so I went to draw some water, as you instructed.”
“You went without me!” Rupa cried, looking into the kegs. A string of Gypsy curses rolled from her lips when she saw one was full. Hard black eyes pinpointed Kristiana as Rupa turned on her. “Where did you get this water?”
“From the stream,” Kristiana stated. “Where else?”
Rupa’s glare intensified. “What part of the stream?”
“Does it matter? Water is water.”
“Yes, it matters! Now tell me, from what part of the stream did you draw it?”
Although Kristiana did not understand the importance of Rupa’s knowing the exact location where the water was drawn, she nonetheless explained it was taken only a few yards upstream from where the men were watering the horses.
At that Rupa began tearing at the fringes of her covered hair. Thinking the woman had gone mad, Kristiana drew away from her, but Rupa advanced on her with a loud screech. “Eeee! Stupid girl! The water you took is marhime! You have ruined Sidi’s keg!”
In a fit of anger she grabbed the container and tossed it toward the trees at the edge of the camp. The hard-earned liquid trailed through the air, falling to the dry ground, where the scattered moisture was immediately consumed.
“Balo should never have brought you here,” the woman ranted, backing a frightened Kristiana against the wagon. “Mulo! Demon! You are an evil one. You will bring us bad fortune, I know it.”
“Rupa!” Sidi admonished sharply, stepping from the rear of the wagon. “Leave the girl alone! She is under my care, and I will be the one to scold her if she has done something wrong. Now go! Leave us in peace.”
Her lips drawing into a tight line, Rupa turned her hard gaze o
nto Sidi. Then, her tongue held in check, she stomped off to her own wagon.
“Eh, she is a quarrelsome one, that Rupa,” Sidi said after a moment. “Pay her no mind, child. Had she been able to have children of her own, she’d less likely be meddling in Balo’s affairs now.”
“Rupa’s barren?” Kristiana asked, once she had straightened from the wagon where she’d been pinned by the woman.
“Aye, and it has made her shrewish. She looks upon Balo as her own, and she protects him like a lioness with a lone cub.”
“Balo’s own mother… who was she, and what happened to her?” Kristiana asked, her curiosity piqued.
“She was a sister to Yokka,” Sidi stated. “A beautiful woman, Keja. Not long after Balo was born she died.” Sidi shook her silver head. “Balo never knew her.”
“Why did Yokka and Rupa raise him,” Kristiana probed, “and not his father? Did he die also?”
“Yes,” Sidi said, then she changed the subject. “I am hungry. Tend to the fire before it goes out. When that is done, there is a new keg in the wagon. Fetch it for me.”
Kristiana saw the fire had burned low, so she added more wood. Next she went to the wagon, entered, and, after a brief search, found the new keg. “What shall I do with it?” she asked once she’d again reached Sidi’s side.
“Hand it to me, then follow over to the others.”
Kristiana did as she was told. As she watched Sidi’s fingers travel the sides of the remaining kegs she saw each one contained a peculiar mark, all of them different. Feeling the last keg, Sidi withdrew the small knife from its holder at her waist and carved a symbol into the side of the new keg.
“Now,” Sidi said, “I will teach you which keg is to be used for what purpose.”
Under the older woman’s tutelage Kristiana learned that the water in each keg had a specific use and needed to be drawn from a specific part of the stream.
The first container held water used for drinking and cooking and had to be taken from the farthest point upstream, for it was the purest. Working her way downstream, she was to fill the second keg for use in washing the eating utensils and personal bathing. Descending the stream’s edge again, she needed to fill the middle three kegs for the horses. At the next decline, the final two kegs were filled and used for washing their clothing. Then Sidi informed Kristiana that women who were with child and those who had their monthly flow used the farthest point downstream to wash their clothing.
“At those times a woman is considered the most polluted,” she explained. “When your flow comes we will find you another keg.”
Kristiana felt herself redden with embarrassment, and although she had said nothing to Sidi, she heard the woman’s soft laughter.
“Do not be embarrassed, Kristiana. The way of the Rom is a simple one, and what is natural is accepted. Understand, though, there exists a strict code of cleanliness that must be followed, especially by a woman.”
“I will take great care in doing so,” she promised, for she feared another of Rupa’s attacks.
“Good. Now memorize each symbol and each keg’s proper placement, then go fill the first two so we might bathe and eat.”
Fearing she would come upon Balo and Liza again, Kristiana nevertheless obeyed Sidi’s instructions. Toting the first keg, she wound down the path, her heart jumping wildly as she did so. When she reached the bottom she was relieved to find the couple had left. Had they gone off alone? she wondered, then she chastised herself for even caring.
When the first two kegs were filled—two trips needed in order to do so—Kristiana closeted herself in Sidi’s wagon. There she bathed and groomed herself, cleaning her teeth with a coarse salt. Her hair freshly plaited, she then prepared her and Sidi’s breakfast. But to Kristiana’s dismay, what had promised to be a rich, creamy potage of oats became a thin, watery gruel instead. Sidi ate the unappetizing fare without complaint, but Kristiana, who could hardly choke it down, promised herself she would do better on the morrow.
After Kristiana had washed and dried their bowls, making sure she used the correct water to do so, she gazed at the heavy iron pot that hung over the hot coals. Knowing it had to be cleaned, she grabbed the handle and seared her hand. The pot fell, landing only inches from her toes.
Tears of pain gathered in her eyes as she tried to soothe the burn with her tongue. Then, fearing Rupa might descend upon her anew because of her mistake, Kristiana glanced toward the woman’s wagon.
From afar she could see Balo standing beside the vehicle, but Rupa was nowhere to be seen. Had he been watching her? she wondered, her heart skipping a little with the thought. His face was shadowed, the sun at his back, and before Kristiana could tell whether or not his gaze was upon her, he pushed his shoulder from the side of the wagon where it rested. Angling his back to her, he strode away and joined his uncle, who tended to one of the horses at the rear of his wagon.
Her troubled gaze turned back to the pot, and Kristiana sighed. Fighting back the new tears that threatened to spill from her eyes, she covered her injured hand with a portion of her skirt. Then, imitating the servants who tended the cooking fires at Harcourt Castle, she lifted the heavy pot by its curved handle and carted it over to the edge of the woods. Dumping the uneaten fare, she lugged it back to the campfire, where she scrubbed it with a vengeance. She rinsed it, dried it, and stored it in its proper place.
Now, as she viewed the empty kegs lining the side of Sidi’s wagon, she decided she had best fill them. Unused to such heavy tasks because, as a baron’s daughter, she had been pampered and waited upon at every turn, Kristiana loathed the thought of having to make five separate treks down to the stream and back. If only she could carry two at a time, she would reduce her work almost by half. But she knew that once filled, the kegs would be far too heavy for her to handle alone.
Resolved to the fact that the work needed to be done, she placed her hand on the first keg designated for the horses. At the same time a shadow fell across her, blocking out the warmth of sunlight; a darkly bronzed hand settled over hers. Startled, Kristiana turned questioning eyes to its owner. To her surprise, they were met by a mesmeric gaze of gold.
4
Magnetic amber orbs surveyed those of soft emerald for what seemed an eternity. Captivated by their golden glow, Kristiana found she could not look away. His callused palm rested over her hand, exuding a fiery warmth. The heat radiated up her arm, filling her with a vibrant energy; a feeling of breathlessness overcame her.
“I’ll fill these,” Logan stated finally. “Go finish your other tasks.”
The deep timbre of his voice vibrated through Kristiana, and her heart abruptly tripped over itself, eliciting an odd tingling sensation from deep within her. As she gazed up at her handsome Gypsy, his eyes still intently possessing hers, she discovered her words of gratitude had suspended themselves somewhere in the confines of her throat.
His eyes never leaving hers, he pulled the empty cask from its bindings. “We’ll be leaving soon.”
With the keg freed, Kristiana’s hand had slipped from beneath Logan’s. At the loss of his warm, gentle touch she felt drained of life. Her soul was an empty void.
Caught in the magic of Kristiana’s entrancing gaze, its emerald lights pleading for something he couldn’t quite fathom, Logan felt his whole body tremble with want. Then he remembered his vow. “Smother the fire,” he ordered in a brusque tone. His suddenly hard gaze released hers. “Afterward, secure Sidi’s belongings inside the wagon so nothing is damaged during the journey.”
Her own voice still refusing to be heard, a startled Kristiana watched as he loosened a second cask; then, almost as quickly as he had appeared, the man she knew as Balo faded from view, his effortless strides having carried him toward the path leading down to the stream.
Confused by the swift changes in his disposition, Kristiana longed to know the real Balo. One moment he would purposely shun her; the next, he would come to her immediate aid. But once he’d assisted her his demeanor
would fast turn to one of derision, as it had earlier, when he’d saved her from the children’s vexing play at the stream. After the kegs were filled, she feared he would react in the same manner as he had then. The warmth and concern that she sensed in the gentle tone of his voice only moments before had already grown chilled, his mood distant. Not wanting to have her frail emotions shattered anew, Kristiana extinguished the campfire, then sought the protection of Sidi’s wagon.
“Hiding in here will not change anything, child,” Sidi said from a darkened corner, surprising Kristiana. “Although Balo may be concealed from your eyes, the memory of him still lives in your heart. And so will the words that have passed through his lips. Whether they were spoken softly and sweetly or with harshness and anger, you will not forget them.”
Kristiana gazed through the shadows, eventually spotting Sidi. The woman obviously possessed “the sight.” How else could she know the troubled thoughts rolling through Kristiana’s head?
“What you say is true, Sidi,” Kristiana replied after a long, silent moment. “I cannot change what has already transpired between Balo and myself, but by staying far away from him I can prevent any hew memories being cast in with the old. He has changed, Sidi. And I don’t like the man he has become. Have I done something… said something to make him look upon me in the same manner as the others do?”
“Eh, Balo is nothing like the others. He allows his past to rule his present, and in turn, it will mandate his future. Unlike him, the Rom live for today, for that is all anyone has. To us the past is dead, the same as our ancestors. No one can change what has already happened, and like those who have gone before us, the days of yore should be forgotten.” Sadly Sidi shook her head. “But Balo will not forget, and because of it he is very troubled. An evil one dwells inside him, and until he rids himself of the mulo Balo will not rest, nor will he find his happiness.”
Deeper Than Roses Page 7
