“So,” Sidi said through the darkness, startling the blushing Kristiana, “he’s brought you back to us, has he?”
“Yes. Are you displeased he has?”
“No, child. Knowing you are safe makes my heart happy. But I fear much sorrow lies ahead for you. You must gird your forces, Kristiana, if you are to survive.”
“What is it you see?” she asked, coming to her feet and moving toward the cot. “Does it have to do with Balo?”
“Yes, but the events are unclear. The sleep has befogged my sight, but what is to come will test your strength of character. Fortify your heart and soul, Kristiana. And remember: Whatever happens, do not give up. Promise me you won’t yield to the despair that is to encompass you, child.”
No one can foretell the future… it is a waste of time and effort to worry over what is to be. Sidi’s words rolled through her head, and Kristiana was aware the woman had purposely denied her power—until now. To admit possessing the gift, Sidi must have been very disturbed by what she’d seen, felt—enough so to warn Kristiana about the premonition even though its precise meaning remained vague.
Sitting on the side of the cot, she took Sidi’s gnarled fingers into her hand. “I promise, whatever comes my way, I’ll face it bravely. I’ll never give up.”
“Good.” The woman’s free hand patted Kristiana’s. “Your happiness depends on it, child. Remember to be strong and to have faith.”
Although Kristiana wanted to question Sidi further, she had detected a weariness in the woman’s voice, along with a thickness in her speech. “How do you feel?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Eh, I have had better days. When these spells overtake me I rest, then I’m restored for a while. But I am an old woman, child, and I have not too many more days left.” She discerned how the girl’s hand tightened reflexively over her own. “Do not fret. It is part of life. We are born, we live, we die. When the long sleep finally comes I will welcome it. I have lived a good life, Kristiana—one filled with lush memories. I hold no fear of what lies ahead of me. Nor should you.”
Tears glistened in Kristiana’s eyes, and she fought to control them. Those whom she cared for most always seemed to leave her. Would Sidi be the next one to desert her through death? Praying it would not be so, she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I hold no fear of what is to come,” she said, her voice strained.
“That is good. Remember, fear weakens us. Now gather your pallet and spread it on the floor. We will travel through the night, so you might as well get some rest. I, too, need my sleep.” Sidi felt Kristiana’s uncertainty; she chuckled. “It will be a short sleep, child. That I promise.”
“Since you have given your word, I will allow you to rest,” Kristiana stated, then she rose from the cot. “Tomorrow I will have you tell me about your ‘lush memories.’ We can relive them together.”
“For once I will allow the past to come alive again. Until tomorrow, I bid you good night.”
As Kristiana lay on her pallet, the wagon’s sway rocking her to sleep, she thought again of Sidi’s words and wondered what terrible circumstances awaited her. Apparently the foreboding had something to do with Balo. But what could it be? Whatever loomed just beyond Kristiana’s horizon, Sidi said she must be strong, not give up, always have faith. Perplexed by it all, Kristiana hoped she would be able to keep her promise to the woman, enduring the hardships yet to come.
Deciding she’d think about it tomorrow, she rolled to her side and bit back a yawn. Heavy lids fell over emerald eyes, and as she slowly drifted into a state of dreams she was swathed in rich, warm light. Strangely, it was the same color as her handsome Gypsy’s golden gaze, and she was content to stay wrapped in its luscious glow the whole night through.
Shrouded by the night, the line of wagons cut a twisting path through the thick forest. Seated on the stallion, Logan rode close to his uncle’s vehicle. His cart, guided by a lad of two-and-ten, followed a short distance behind.
Focused on nothing in particular, golden eyes stared into the darkness from an emotionless face. Yet behind the impersonal mask Logan’s mind spun with a maelstrom of unrest, thoughts of Kristiana twirling through his head.
Why, then, did you come back for me? Her words spiraled through him, cutting deeper and deeper, like the threads of a sharp screw. He knew the reason but sought to deny it. And in doing so his mood grew as black as the moonless sky.
His anger flared, and he silently berated himself, calling himself a weakling and a fool. He was both where Kristiana was concerned, and the knowledge made him even more ireful, for if he didn’t temper his emotions for the girl, he was guaranteed to lose all. It was imperative that he keep to a straight course, Edward’s demise his mark. All else had to be set aside, even his masculine wants, which seemed to have taken precedence of late. Were he only a monk, Logan thought with a derisive snort, then all his troubles would be over.
Not having been one who willingly practiced celibacy, Logan was no stranger to a woman’s body or the physical joys it could bring. Punctuated by the dark mysteries that surrounded him as a Gypsy, coupled with his remarkable good looks, he had always been able to attract the fairer gender, a short but pleasurable alliance the result. There had been no emotion involved, and when the tryst had ended he had disappeared into the night, the young woman’s name soon forgotten. Yet this time he was the one who found himself captivated, and he could not easily forget her name. Kristiana. His heart tripped wildly as each syllable swirled around inside his head like an artist’s brush creating a vivid portrait of the woman herself.
Then, snarling, Logan sought to deny the meaning of the sentiment that had suddenly swelled alongside the vision. Swiftly he erased all thoughts of Kristiana from his mind, her soft beauty abruptly replaced by the vile countenance of Edward MacHugh. Hatred was one emotion he knew well, especially since he’d lived with it for much of his life. But its counterpart was far and away too new to him—so much so he refused to pronounce its name.
As the dark of night slowly progressed toward a new dawn Logan rode on in silence, his mind immersed in the planning of his eventual attack on Edward. Although tempted, not once did he let his thoughts stray to the green-eyed beauty who had captured his heart, nor would he admit she had.
Kristiana assisted a shaky Sidi from the interior of the wagon, then guided her to the edge of the blazing campfire, where a soft pallet had been laid for her.
“Thank you, my child,” the woman said once she’d folded her bent frame to the ground. Her hooked nose sniffed the air. “What delicious fare are we to enjoy this night?”
“A fat hare,” Kristiana returned. Using the hem of her tattered skirt to insulate her hand, she lifted the heavy lid from the iron pot. A mouth-watering aroma invaded Kristiana’s nostrils as it rose with the steam, and her stomach grumbled loudly, hungry for its first real meal in over two days. “It was a gift,” she said of the stewing rabbit. “There are some fresh vegetables as well.”
“A gift, you say?” Sidi inquired, her interest aroused. “Does its presenter have a name?”
“Perhaps,” Kristiana replied with a shrug, just then noticing her exposed leg. Immediately her eyes scanned the camp to see if anyone watched her. Since Sidi’s wagon was set apart from the others, she trusted that her uncovered limb had remained unobserved by any of the censorious bunch. Otherwise they would have descended upon her like a plague of locusts. Tempting fate, she stirred the simmering stew, the lid wrapped in the folds of her skirt. When it came to a choice between burning her hand or giving offense, she opted to protect herself. Their sensibilities be damned! “If the donor has a name, I am unaware of it,” she continued. “The hare was left on the step, as were the vegetables. I merely fashioned them all into a stew.” She stirred the mixture anew, then started to cover the pot.
“Leave the lid off,” Sidi ordered in haste.
Kristiana frowned. “Why?”
“There is a soft breeze, is there not?”
�
�Yes.”
“And it drifts toward the others?”
“Yes.”
“Well, once the aroma has found our benefactor’s nostrils, it may draw him to our campfire. Then we will discover his name.”
The lid clanked back into place. “It would serve us better, Sidi, were he to keep his distance. They are still angry with me,” she said of the company of Gypsies, “and should any of them spot him near me, it would only cause more trouble.”
“Balo is able to fend for himself,” Sidi returned with a chuckle. “And I can assure you that he cares little what the others think about his actions.” She heard a snort of disbelief erupt from the area where Kristiana stood. “He is his own man, child. A loner. Have you not seen that for yourself?”
“He is certainly different,” Kristiana admitted, her eyes catching sight of his handsome profile, his long, hard body reclining in its usual spot by the men’s campfire. “Even though he is unique—his own man, as it were—I would prefer he kept his distance.”
“Do you fear him?” Sidi asked, the wrinkles in her brow rising toward the band of silver left uncovered by the tattered scrap of material covering her head.
“No!” Kristiana stated without hesitation. It was not a lie, only a half-truth. “He would never cause me any physical harm. That is not part of his character.”
“You are right, child. He is not brutal—at least not to the feminine gender. But when he feels threatened he can be quite cold to the fairer sex. And you, Kristiana, do not speak the whole truth, for your insides quake whenever he is near. They vibrate like the trunk of a sturdy oak buffeted by a violent storm. You are enamored of him, and you fear his rejection should he discover the fact.”
Kristiana stared at the woman for a long, silent moment. Then, despite the verity of Sidi’s statement, she opened her mouth, seeking to deny the truth of it.
“To utter a falsehood will wither your tongue, child,” Sidi stated, her tone cautioning. “A pity, too, for you would not be able to enjoy the fine stew you have labored over half the evening through.” She chuckled, and the denial that had trembled on Kristiana’s lips died an instant death. “The truth is far sweeter to the taste, though sometimes it is hard for the ears to endure. Had you the courage to make known your feelings to Balo, you might discover your fear is for naught,” Sidi finished. “Now serve us up a hearty helping of that stew so we can replenish our bodies. There will be much celebration tonight, and I don’t want to miss a moment of the festivities.”
“Celebration?” Kristiana questioned, refusing to comment on her feelings or her fears. The lid was lifted and set aside. Kristiana ladled a large portion onto Sidi’s plate, handed it to the woman, then served herself. After the lid was replaced, she sat next to Sidi, her legs properly covered. “What do they have to celebrate?”
“Everything and anything,” Sidi said after swallowing her first bite. “Normally they celebrate life itself. But tonight they will celebrate their escape. Their pursuers have lost the trail. They are safe… and, thanks to Balo, so are you.”
“Yes,” Kristiana agreed, her eyes catching sight of him again. He had not moved from the fire. “Had he not come back for me, I would now be at Edward’s mercy.” She shuddered at the thought. “I owe him much,” she whispered of Balo, the image of her nemesis wiped from her mind. “Far more than I can ever repay.”
“Has he stated that you are obligated to repay him?”
“No.”
“And I doubt he will. His need to protect you comes from his heart, and he will seek nothing in return for his actions.” The lamenting strains of the lute floated through the air accompanied by the melancholy sound of men’s voices, and Sidi smiled. “Once they have finished with the songs that tell the story of our bleak past they will sing of happier times. Then they will dance. As soon as we finish our meal we’ll join the others.”
“I’ll lead you to them, but I refuse to remain at their fire,” Kristiana said, feeling frightened by the notion of coming face-to-face with the unfriendly lot. “With what has happened, they are not likely to tolerate my presence.”
“You will guide me to them, and you will stay with me,” Sidi stated firmly. “You are in my care. Where I go, you go. No one will utter a word questioning that fact, either, for they know they will answer to me.”
“But—”
“You will join me, child. Now, enough said.”
Fear swelled inside Kristiana at the thought of encountering the group anew. They abhorred her, despised her, and were it not for Sidi and Balo, they would surely rid themselves of her, probably in the same manner as the people of Stirling had attempted to do—by stoning her. She was an outcast, unwanted by the Scots as well as the Romany. Sighing, Kristiana tried to swallow her last bite of food. Briefly the tasteless fare stuck, only to slide painfully past the large knot that had formed in Kristiana’s throat. Why had fate suddenly caused such disorder in her life? She felt it very unfair that she had to suffer so.
True to Sidi’s words, the lamenting tones died away, and the lute strummed lightly, the men’s once-sad voices rising on a more joyous note. “Come,” the woman said, “it is time we join them.”
“But—”
“No protests,” Sidi admonished. “Now help me up.”
Kristiana assisted the woman from her pallet, then handed Sidi her staff. Her feet dragging, Kristiana guided the woman across the encampment. Once Sidi was situated where she’d asked to be positioned, her young charge stepped back into the shadows.
“Hiding behind my skirt will do you little good. They know you’re here,” Sidi said over her shoulder. “Were you to show some courage, you might gain their respect.”
“I have my doubts,” Kristiana grumbled, convinced Sidi’s words had been said with far greater ease than Kristiana could achieve. “They respect no one save their own kind. It is best I keep to myself.”
“As you wish,” Sidi stated, never turning the girl’s way. “But your fear is making you weak. Remember, your strength will help you survive.”
Kristiana pondered the woman’s statement and discovered she had to agree with Sidi. Yet she found herself in no mood to be the recipient of the group’s condemning stares, their hatred punctuated by ugly gestures. Her emotions were far too frayed to endure their hostilities. Not wanting any of them to see her running from the area, her body racked by sobs, rivers of tears streaming from her eyes, she opted to remain hidden in the shadows, where she quietly listened to the men’s songs, the words a mystery to her.
Before long the raised voices fell silent, and the pace of the lute jumped to a quicker mode. The married men sprang from where they sat, and as their rapid feet beat against the hard earth their hands clapped above their heads; shouts of pleasured laughter erupted from their lips. Soon the dancing group motioned for the younger men, who had been invited to sit at the men’s campfire, to join them.
Standing in the background, Kristiana watched as Balo’s long, sinewy body came into view, seemingly to mimic the frenzied movements the others displayed. Yet to Kristiana’s eye, his motions were more fluid and displayed a decided masculine grace. Her gaze riveted to her handsome Gypsy, she observed how the prominent muscles in his back and thighs flexed, then relaxed beneath his clothing. Fascinated by the man and his moves, she felt her heart skip a little faster, fire burned in her cheeks. Then, as Sidi thumped her staff against the ground, the women and children keeping time to the music with the beat of their hands, a surprised Kristiana found her own hands clapping rhythmically.
The music stopped, and whoops of laughter and applause filled the air. Then the music started anew, and the women and children were invited to dance beside the men. From the shadows Kristiana watched the merry group, bodies swaying, feet stamping, fingers snapping, and hands clapping. Smiles lit their dark eyes and swarthy faces, their white teeth reflecting the light of the campfire. Even Sidi joined in as best she could. Her foot tapped against the ground while her throaty laughter rose above
her. The group seemed one in their enjoyment.
Unwelcome in the circle of revelers, Kristiana kept her distance. As she watched, her eyes mainly on Balo, she discovered the joyous mood to be contagious. Of their own will her feet tentatively imitated his rhythmic steps; her body swayed to the music, awkwardly at first, then with more confidence. Alone in the shadows Kristiana celebrated with the others.
The fast-strumming lute changed to a more leisurely pace, and several of the dancers left the circle to refresh themselves with a cup of dark ale or a cool drink of water. The disruption momentarily ended Kristiana’s dance, but when she felt certain no eyes were upon her she began her movements anew.
Kristiana moved more slowly to the less strenuous beat. Eyelids drifted shut, closing out the world around her, and she reveled in the feeling of being one unto herself. Caught in the pleasure of the moment, she allowed her inhibitions to flee. Her lithe body swayed provocatively as slender arms rose above her head, gracefully undulating like meadow grass caressed by a light summer’s breeze. She basked in her newfound freedom for a long time, then green eyes fluttered open to view her surroundings again. At once they met those of molten gold.
Noting her Gypsy stood only a few yards away, intently watching her, a startled Kristiana felt herself stiffen; her movements ceased. A flame of red abruptly streaked her cheeks as embarrassment blazed through her. On a whimper she wished she could vanish.
“Don’t stop, goddess,” he imparted, the husky tone of his voice floating across the small span that separated them to vibrate through her. “Dance for me, Kristiana. Dance for me alone.”
Mesmerized by his hot, golden gaze, which beseeched her to comply, Kristiana melted inside. But as her breath came to her in shallow wisps of air, her heart skipping wildly, she found she could deny him nothing. Slowly, tentatively, her body began to sway anew. Slim arms that ached to hold him snaked above her head while soft hands gestured for him to come hither. Her eyes locked with his, and this new Kristiana performed her dance of love.
Deeper Than Roses Page 13
