As Sidi’s words spun through her head Kristiana remembered how Rupa had called her a mulo. She blinked, wondering if she had heard correctly. “He’s possessed by a . . . a demon?” she asked, wanting confirmation.
“Aye,” Sidi replied, “but his demon is not from the Serpent’s realm, so you have no need to hasten off to a priest, seeking his protection. No, the evil one that dwells inside Balo is of his own making. And if he is not careful, it will destroy him and everyone he loves.”
Confused, Kristiana frowned. Her mouth opened to question Sidi further about Balo’s inner demon when a young man appeared at the doorway. He spoke to Sidi in Romani. Then, upon hearing the woman’s response, he disappeared, his footsteps carrying him toward the front of the wagon.
“It is time we move,” she told Kristiana. “The others are already leaving the camp. Make haste and secure the cups and bowls in the hutch, then come outside.” Sidi felt the girl’s hesitation. “You cannot hide in here day and night, child. Be brave and face what troubles you. Your fear and sadness will not leave you until you do.”
Kristiana watched as Sidi slowly moved to the door. Her staff thumped along the wooden boards, her gold-coin necklace jangling with each step; then the woman vanished down the four steps, leaving Kristiana to ponder her words.
As she placed the loose implements in the hutch Kristiana wondered how she could possibly conquer her fears, ease her heartaches. In such a short time her world had turned itself upside down, and she was unable to understand why. She was alone, frightened, constantly faced with the unknown, and no one seemed to care. Perhaps it would be better if she were to follow the path to the stream, climb the hillside opposite it, and cast herself from the pinnacle to land on the jagged rocks below, her sorrow and suffering immediately ended.
Kristiana Rosamond Harcourt! You’ll do no such thing. You are my heir… my only hope of preserving what was once mine. I taught you bravery, daughter, not cowardice. Now face your adversity and be the victor.
Bracing herself against the hutch, Kristiana trembled through and through as she met the vision of her dead sire. “Father?” she whispered, not believing her eyes. Tentatively she reached out to him, but the vapory image had no substance. A look of encouragement crossed the kindly spirit’s face, then abruptly it disappeared.
Kristiana stared into the shadows, puzzling over whether she had seen Robert Harcourt or not. A new vision rose before her, and Kristiana saw herself as a small child seated on her pony. The remembered lilt of her father’s voice rolled through her mind: “That’s my brave lass. Take the reins and show the wee beast who is master.”
Kristiana recalled how she’d nearly fallen from her trotting mount more than once, but upon hearing her sire’s shouts of encouragement she’d held fast and had managed to stay astride. All through her formative years and well into young womanhood he had been her champion, always telling her she was strong, capable of doing anything to which she set her mind. Cowardice had never been a word with which Kristiana had associated herself, and she would not hold hands with the term now!
No longer shaken by what had transpired, but filled with what she hoped was a lasting serenity, Kristiana dismissed all thoughts of ending her own life and exited the wagon. As she rounded the corner her eyes immediately caught sight of Balo. Soft words flowed from his lips as he coaxed and soothed an old mare he hitched to Sidi’s wagon, and Kristiana wished he would be as kind to her.
Soon the chestnut horse stood harnessed next to its companion, a black gelding. Together their tails swung in a madding arc, scattering a collection of insects that persistently winged around their rumps. Over the steeds’ backs a sun-kissed gaze momentarily met eyes of luminescent green. Devoid of emotion, those of gold turned away.
Her gaze was still centered on the tall Gypsy, who busied himself with straightening the reins. Kristiana was very much aware that Balo had transformed himself into the cold man she detested. Readily and easily he froze her heart, caring little he did so.
During the interlude her step had hesitated, but only briefly, for a determination had risen inside her. She would ignore him, cast him from her thoughts, treat him in the same manner in which he treated her. After all, she was Kristiana Rosamond Harcourt, daughter and heir of Baron Robert Harcourt, Lord of Parliament, and no man would tread upon her and not expect to be repaid in kind.
She gathered her courage and tore her gaze from her former protector, marching toward the wagon’s front. As she passed the section where the kegs were secured she noted all were back in their proper places, waterstained lids sealing their tops. Better he had labored with the task than she, the peasant swine! At the condemnation her bare foot came down on a pointed stone. Gritting her teeth, Kristiana limped the few remaining feet to the fore of the wagon, her silent words about being repaid in kind echoing through her head.
A loud thud sounded behind her, followed by a firm click. Kristiana turned to see the young man who had made his appearance earlier coming toward her. Deciding he had apparently secured the steps and closed the small doors at the rear of the wagon, she opened her mouth to express her appreciation, but he brushed past her as though she didn’t exist. Then he climbed up to the driving board, settling in next to a dozing Sidi.
Frowning, Kristiana gazed the long way up at him. Concluding she had best take her position on the seat beside him, she placed her foot on the wooden mount, hoping to drag herself up without exerting too much effort. Instantly a guttural tirade in Romani descended upon her head, and Kristiana fell back from the wagon.
Hearing the angry rebuke, Logan, who still straightened the leads, lashed out with a succession of harsh words of his own, immediately silencing the young man. His long strides carried him to Kristiana’s side, and he glared up at the one he knew as Kore, a swarthy lad with a caustic tongue. Caught in a contest of wills, Kore’s dark eyes clashed with Logan’s, but after a long, tense moment Kore’s slowly turned away, granting Logan the victory.
Like a whip the leather leads were tossed at Kore, the young man ducking as he caught them. At a quick slap of the reins Sidi’s wagon joined the others leaving Kristiana behind. Turning to her, Logan moved a step hearer. “The horses cannot bear another ounce of weight,” he explained. “It will be a struggle for them as it is. You will have to walk.”
As she stared up at his splendid face his clean masculine aroma, mixed with the scent of horses and leather, filled her nostrils, and Kristiana felt overpowered by the Gypsy’s closeness. She stepped away from him. “If that is what is expected of me, I will not argue the point,” she stated in a dismissive tone. She then turned on her heel and stalked off, swiftly taking her position beside Sidi’s wagon.
An eyebrow arched as Logan stared after her. His admiring gaze studied her determined step and the proud set of her head; then he viewed the long, satiny braid as it swung back and forth across her softly squared shoulders, ending at the provocative sway of her slim hips. Unable to tear his eyes from her, he was now thankful she had marched off before he had foolishly offered her a ride in his cart. Although he had vowed to keep her at bay, forget her existence, he could not help coming to her aid whenever she was in trouble or needed his assistance. The whole night through he had chased her through his dreams, wanting her, needing her, desiring that she be his. And when the sun had arisen only a few hours ago he had awakened as weary as when he’d bedded down. Even now, as he watched her, his body ached from the unfulfilled promises of his sleep. His loins stirred, his arms yearned to hold her, his lips desired to taste hers as playful tongues mated in wild abandon. By the saints, he wanted to lay her in a soft bed of grass and…
On a low growl Logan turned on his heel and strode to his awaiting cart. His thoughts should be on Edward MacHugh’s demise, he reminded himself, and not on bedding the tempting little vixen! Knowing he had to cleanse the young beauty from his mind, Logan set himself to repeating his vow. But as he guided the mare along the narrow trail, centuries-old oaks canopying the
rutted dirt path, he found that time and again his gaze strayed toward Kristiana, hungrily watching her graceful body as she walked only a few yards ahead of him. His anger with himself, coupled with his growing agony, spiraled with each passing moment, then he saw his chance. A small meadow opened up just ahead and to the left, and Logan urged his mare forward.
A startled Kristiana almost fell against Sidi’s wagon as the cart sped past her. Wide-eyed, she watched as the thing wobbled across the mossy clearing, then bumped over a rut to settle back onto the trail. The conveyance slowed when it caught up with the wagon ahead of it. Fuming, she glared at the Gypsy rogue who had nearly run her over. Although she could not see him, she pictured him nonetheless and belittled herself for not having carved him up when she’d had the chance. Oh, if she only held the dagger now, she thought, the blackguard would soon regret it!
Dust from the cart’s wheels finally met her nose, and Kristiana sneezed. But she soon learned it would not be the last sneeze of the day, for Sidi’s wagon traced the path of the others, falling at the rear of the line.
The sun rose high in the cloudless sky. Although the band of wanderers tried to stay hidden in the wood, there were times when the caravan had to move out over a barren stretch of land. The heat beat down on Kristiana’s back, and she grew tired, hungry, and thirsty, but she refused to murmur an objection concerning her plight. She would rest when the others rested, eat when they ate, quench her thirst when they quenched theirs—which, she presently learned, was when they stopped to water the horses. As the sun peaked, then started its downward descent, she soon understood there would be no midday meal, which added to her misery. Her stomach grumbled in protest of the fact, and her energy soon ebbed.
Traveling uphill and down, over stones and fallen twigs, through mud and across hardened clay, Kristiana’s bare feet bore the worst of it all. Blisters formed on her heels and soles while pointed pebbles tore into her flesh. The watery bubbles filled to capacity and burst; dirt caked itself to the oozing wounds. Nausea rippled through her as the pain became almost unbearable, but her pride refused to allow her to speak out, and she continually trod onward.
Several times she stumbled and fell, then slowly struggled to her bleeding and bruised feet. On the last such occasion Kristiana sat in the middle of the path and drew a ragged breath. With shaky fingers she wiped the perspiration from her brow. It would have been far easier to sit there and permit the wandering band to travel on without her. Since Sidi’s wagon was the last of many, no one would know she had been left behind. Nor would they care, she thought, viewing the horde of women and children walking ahead of her. As they traipsed alongside their wagons, growing ever farther away from her, they seemed unaffected by their day-long trek.
The sun had lowered considerably, sinking ever closer toward the craggy hills, fixed in the near distance. Estimating it was only a few hours until sunset, Kristiana weakly pulled herself to her feet. She wavered, then limped off toward Sidi’s swaying wagon. At a quick hobbling gait she caught up to it and wrapped her hand in the bindings securing the kegs, whereupon she allowed the great, lumbering vehicle to pull her onward. Before long she saw the lead wagons veer off the main path, heading deep into the wood.
As Sidi’s wagon made the turn Kristiana let loose of the bindings and ambled down the incline on her own. Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she stepped upon a multitude of broken twigs in her path. At last the woods opened up into a large clearing. Relief flowed through Kristiana when she realized this was their new camp.
The conveyance drew to a stop near the edge of the wood, and the abrasive young man who drove it jumped from his seat. Once he had helped a tired Sidi from her perch he stalked off across the encampment.
“Contentious Shav,” Sidi commented once Kristiana had reached her side. “Kore wants to become a man, so he seeks a wife, but the one he desires wants naught to do with him. It is just as well, for his parents are negotiating with another family, hoping for a more promising match. And because of it, Kore has become extremely temperamental, for he does not wish to marry a girl he doesn’t know.”
“Is he required to marry the one they choose?” Why she had asked, Kristiana was unable to say, for arranged marriages were commonplace in her world as well.
“No, but he will bring disgrace upon his family and himself if he refuses the match once the girl’s family has accepted the terms. Among the Rom, very seldom is a marriage made in love.”
“And the girl he desires—who is she?”
“Liza,” Sidi replied. “All the Shav are eager for her hand, but Liza has eyes for only one.”
“Balo,” Kristiana whispered, feeling a slight pain near her heart.
“Yes, Balo,” Sidi replied. “Liza’s father has refused many young men because his daughter hopes to catch the one who has the eyes of gold, but he will not marry her.”
“How do you know?”
“She does not stir his desires. That is how I know.”
Kristiana frowned. Perhaps Sidi did not possess “the sight,” as Kristiana had thought The two times she had observed Balo and Liza together the man had appeared to be insatiably fascinated with the sloe-eyed beauty, to the point of melting at the Gypsy girl’s feet! The notion of his doing so made Kristiana think of her own feet and how she wished she could relieve them of her weight, slight as it was.
“Come, it is time we build a fire and prepare our evening meal,” Sidi stated, her sightless eyes on Kristiana. “Lower the steps and open the doors for me, then go into the wood, toward the stream”—she jerked her head in the direction of the water’s flow—“and gather some fallen branches. If you follow the brook, down a ways, you might find the relief you seek. And remember, child, not all is as it appears.”
As Kristiana followed Sidi to the back of the wagon she grasped that the woman’s last words were in reference to Balo and Liza. She amazed her, but still Kristiana refused to believe Sidi was right about the handsome couple. Actions told all, to Kristiana’s way of thinking, and Balo’s performances with Liza testified of his male attraction to the girl.
Suddenly angered that she had given the couple more than a second’s consideration, Kristiana dismissed them from her thoughts and saw to Sidi’s immediate needs. Once the woman was comfortably situated in her wagon Kristiana decided it was time she sought her own comfort. Exiting the vehicle so she could head to the stream and bathe her throbbing feet, she spied Balo sauntering across the level encampment, his mare beside him. She blinked, for she realized he came toward her. Certain he planned to tend to Sidi’s horses along with his own, Kristiana struck a course for the stream. The less contact she had with the man the better!
Reaching the brook’s edge, Kristiana gazed longingly at the clear, cool flow. Had not a group of men gathered to water their horses, she would have immediately plunged into the inviting liquid to ease her pain. Although she was at the spot designated for bathing, she feared their acidic tongues, so she wended her way past the lot, taking care not to slip in front of or between any of them. Senseless rules, she thought, wincing as she stepped on a sharp stone hidden under some fallen leaves.
Downstream, far from prying eyes, where Kristiana was sure she’d not draw a reprimand from anyone for using the water, she hiked up her skirt and sat down on the grassy embankment under a draping willow. Slowly she eased her feet into the rippling stream; her breath hissed between her teeth, for the water was as cold as ice. Closing her eyes, she lay back on the soft, fragrant carpet. There, resting on blades of green dotted with tiny wildflowers, she prayed her feet would soon grow numb. Her eyes opened, and she stared at the leafy fronds above her as they floated on the gentle breeze, lazily lifting and falling. In a moment her eyelids drooped, and Kristiana slept.
As the sun sank behind the distant hills an apprehensive Logan traversed the stream’s edge, hoping to find Kristiana before nightfall. Just ahead of him, under a willow, patches of bright color gained his attention. Slowing his step, he moved toward t
he tree, then paused.
Relief coursed through him as golden eyes caught sight of the sleeping Kristiana. Then, as he regarded her languorous pose, another emotion erupted inside him, and Logan felt as though he were reliving one of his dreams from the night past. Fighting down his masculine urges, he closed his eyes and drew the evening air deep into his lungs. He released his trapped breath slowly, and his eyes opened; then, on silent feet, he moved toward her.
His desire checked, Logan remembered the raw panic that had initially invaded him and decided that if he felt anything at all for her, it should be riotous anger! With the horses watered and fed, he had returned the pair to Sidi’s wagon only to hear the woman’s anxious call. Upon learning that Kristiana had been gone for nearly an hour he had feared she might have come upon a wild boar or a pack of ravenous wolves while gathering the firewood, and he’d hastily gone in search of her, simply to find her thus.
His jaw set, Logan pulled aside a sinking willow branch, its length nearly touching the ground. Quietly he stepped inside an arbor of green, its canopy having protected Kristiana as she slept. Determined to punish her for the scare she had given him, he thought to turn her over his knee and switch her bottom. But viewing her more closely, he felt his fury fade; a gentle smile replaced his dark scowl. She looked like a young child, he thought, noting how the fan of her long lashes brushed the delicate skin beneath her eyes, porcelain, blue-veined lids hiding her green gaze. Her gentle breath whispered between softly parted lips—lips he longed to taste. In sleep she seemed at peace with the world.
Slowly Logan’s eyes moved to the curve of her neck, to watch the steady pulse as it beat in an unhurried rhythm; then they trailed the length of braid that draped itself over one breast. The threadbare tunic covering the perfect globes revealed almost as much as it concealed, and Logan’s eyes lingered longingly. The torture became too great, and his gaze dropped to her hands, lying in limp repose against her midriff. The hem of her tattered, multicolored skirt ended at mid-thigh. He studied the blush of her skin, and his fingers ached to touch its silken texture. Then he noticed the bluish tint rising above her ankles. Cursing vividly, he dropped to his knees and whipped her feet from the icy water.
Deeper Than Roses Page 8
