by Sharon Ihle
Then she sighed and said, “He means nothing to me. He never did, and he never will. If there is trouble with Hans, it will not come from me.”
“I speak not of Hans, but of the Gaje.”
Rayna whirled around. “Gant? That's ridiculous.”
“Do not lie to me.” Maria shook a small, stubby finger. “I watched your dance and know that you want him. You and this man must not make with the hanky-panky.”
Normally Rayna would have laughed at her mother’s colorful expression. This time, it was too close to the truth. With a shrug, she said, “He is not the first man I’ve wanted, and I doubt he will be the last. I don’t see a problem.”
“I do. I saw you as you danced, the way you worked him under your spell.”
Rayna turned away from the window. “You read too much into my dance. I dance for myself, and no one else.”
That wasn’t entirely true. She thought of the homeland, of Spain every time she danced, no matter the music. Even though she’d been just four years old when Barnum brought her to America, she’d never forgotten the wild rhythms, the gaiety, or the laughter. All of this, the happy times, she remembered when she danced. Never the other.
That came later when Rayna lay alone in her bed. Those were the times when she thought of her father’s betrayal, of his cruel and heartless abandonment. She’d been the product of a brief union between King Raymond and an English whore, a forbidden, unclean child who could never be accepted as his true child or even a member of his Gypsy tribe. When her father’s perfect Romany wife, Queen Persa, learned of Rayna’s existence, she’d banished her from their camp, pointed a long bony finger into her face, and hurled ageless Gypsy curses guaranteed to mark her for life. Because of those curses, Rayna would never know what it was to love or be loved, and even more painful, never know the joy of holding her own child in her arms.
“You want him,” Maria persisted. “And not just for the hanky-panky. You want from him what you can never have.”
Although she rarely felt ire toward this woman who took her in after her banishment, Rayna felt it now. “I know perfectly well what I can and cannot have. Why do you have to remind me so often?”
“Because I love you.” She lowered her head, trying, but not succeeding to hide her tears. “And because for you, this man is dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” She almost laughed. “I'm the one who brings danger to any man I choose. He will pay the price, not me.”
“This man is different,” Maria said, her voice nearly inaudible. “The Gaje will make you care, and you will suffer.”
Her heart going out to the only mother she’d ever known, Rayna crossed the room and sank down on her knees. Taking one of Maria’s tiny hands into her own, she said, “Don't worry about me. I never forget for one moment that loving a man will cause him pain or even death. And how many men would love me anyway? I can never bear a child?”
Maria’s only response was a teardrop that splashed down on her gnarled hand.
“Daia,” Rayna whispered the Romany word for mother. “We can be happy here. Don’t let your worries ruin that happiness. If you do, you’ll just make yourself sick.”
Maria finally looked up. “Ah, the sickness. What if I cannot control myself here? What if it comes over me again?”
“It won’t,” Rayna assured her, even though she didn’t quite believe it herself. “Everything will be fine, so please stop worrying.”
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Perhaps, but just to be safe, maybe I should work up a little spell.”
“Absolutely not.” A shudder ripped through Rayna as she recalled the results of Maria’s last attempt at black magic. It had gotten Rayna tossed in jail and almost cost her her life. “We can be happy without spells. Maybe it would ease your mind some if I were to take up with someone like, say, Hans Jahner?”
As Rayna had hoped, this sent Maria into a burst of laugher. When she caught her breath, she said, “That would surely ease my fears. This Hans chowderhead is a danger only to himself.”
Wrapping her arms around her belly, Maria then rolled over onto her back as another wave of giggles swept over her. Above her raucous laughter, the ships whistle blasted once, and then once again.
Knowing only that the blasts conveyed some kind of message, not what on this particular ship, Rayna went back to the window and peered out past the bright red paddlewheel. No one stirred and the only sound she could pick up was the soft slap of water bobbing against the ship’s stern.
Glancing back at her mother, she said, “I hope those whistles mean the captain is making ready to head up river. It would ruin everything if that farmer catches up with us and demands that we give him Sweetpea.”
Maria hopped off of the bed and tugged her wig down over her sparse crop of hair. Still laughing, she said, “I doubt he would come looking for him here. Besides, what farmer would come all this way for five dollars?”
Rayna thought she was probably right, but that didn’t keep an irritating feather of guilt from tickling her mind. When she and Maria were desperate, as they had been of late, they’d been known to sell Sweetpea to farmers along the way for whatever they could get. Then, after they’d gone about a mile or so down the road, far enough to be out of sight, Rayna would blow on a tiny whistle she carried for this purpose, a sound that only Sweetpea and probably a few dogs could hear. Even if the enterprising pig wound up penned, he’d never had any trouble escaping an enclosure, and he always scampered off to rejoin Rayna. Still, she wasn’t proud of this duplicity, and sincerely hoped they’d never have to resort to tricks of this nature again.
“I suppose you’re right about the farmer,” Rayna said. “We’re finally safe.”
“Safe, yes, and I am ready to explore this ship,” Maria announced. “Shall we go downstairs and see what the whistles are about?”
“Give me a minute to make myself more presentable.”
Rayna took the hairbrush off of their tiny dresser and dragged it through her thick locks. She intended to part it into three sections and form a single braid at the back of her head, and then put on a more modest blouse. As she was separating the first section of hair away from the bulk, someone rapped against their teakwood door.
Maria, who was already heading that way, said, “I’ll get it. Maybe it is your beau, za chowderhead.”
Both women were laughing as Maria opened the door. Gant, not Hans filled the hallway. Completely dressed, he wore the same pale blue shirt and Levis as before, but this time the shirt was buttoned and he’d donned a black leather hat trimmed with a snakeskin band.
“Ladies,” he said, tipping that hat. “I stopped by to let you know what the ship’s whistles mean. Two short blasts like you just heard is the signal for mealtimes. We’re taking supper down in the arena now. There’s just one other signal you need to make note of for now; three short and then two long means abandon ship.”
“Thank you,” Maria said stiffly. “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”
With a sweeping gesture, Gant said to her, “Why don’t you go on ahead? I have to speak to Rayna about a couple of things. We’ll be right behind you.”
Looking over her shoulder, Maria shot Rayna a worried glance.
“Go ahead,” Rayna insisted. “I’m sure we won’t be long.”
A clear warning flashing from her indigo eyes, Maria said, “Rom Romesa.” Then she waddled out of the room and down the hallway.
“What was that all about?” Gant asked as he strode into the cabin.
Although it meant much more, to them a renewal of the bond between mother and daughter, Rayna gave Gant the more literal translation. “Maria was speaking Romanae. Gajo Gajesa generally follows Rom Romesa. It simply means Gypsy with Gypsy, Gentile with Gentile. That was just her way of reminding me to be true to myself.”
“Then I’d say it’s a good thing I stopped by. The only thing you need to be true to while you’re working here is the Bailey Circus.”
Then, surprising Rayna w
ith his boldness, Gant kicked the door shut, trapping then both in the cabin.
Three
Gant’s very presence seemed to fill the cabin, making it feel even smaller. The stark white walls suddenly seemed painted in vibrant hues of strength, shadowed with a dark, raw sensuality and vivid splashes of danger. Had she so recently seen this room as clinical and sterile?
“I don’t trust you,” Gant said, skipping the pleasantries. “I just stopped by to let you know that and to make certain you understand that I’ll be watching you and your mother. Make one wrong move or cheat one customer, and you’re out. Do I make myself clear?”
Used to such accusations, Rayna didn’t exactly bristle, but she did show him her chin. “Perfectly, Boss.”
“Gant. Just Gant.”
“May I ask you, Just Gant, why you’ve decided that my mother and I are dishonest?”
He’d assumed that a warning would be enough, that he could deliver it and be on his way. Now that she’d confronted him, Gant wasn’t sure how to explain. He just knew that he was aware of the corrupt reputation that usually accompanied those of the Gypsy persuasion, and that these two probably were not exceptions. Had he been too quick to judge? As a man still trying to live down a certain reputation himself, he knew what it was like to try and bury a shadowed past—deserved or not.
“Let me explain a couple of things.” She didn’t object, so he went on. “I met the Bailey’s during the war, we became good friends, and decided after the war was over to go into business together. Mollie had this lifelong dream to own a circus and so we decided to give showboating a try.”
Gant glanced around the room, so fresh and white, the smell of paint lingering in the air, and smiled. “This steamship served the Confederates as a troop transport until it ran aground. It was pretty dilapidated when we came across it, but after spending most of last winter cleaning her up and making repairs, it looks like that dream is finally going to come true. Part of my job is looking out for the Bailey’s. That’s basis enough for me to be suspicious about you and your mother.”
“Not for me it isn’t. Our act is honest and I resent the fact that you seem to think otherwise.”
He almost fell for her indignant reaction. Almost, but as Gant stared into Rayna’s eyes, past the lush green color and exotic slant to what lay beneath, he saw the cunning there, the countenance of a desperado. It was a look he’d seen all too often, especially when he glimpsed himself in a mirror. She was hiding something, and one way or another, he would find out what it was. Then he would make damn sure that it didn’t happen here.
“Is that all?” Rayna asked. “Or haven’t you finished insulting me.”
He should have ended it right there, put her on notice, and walked out of the room. Instead, Gant said, “Not quite. What’s all this nonsense about you being a princess?”
Hips swaying, Rayna crossed the room to where he stood. “I never claimed to be a princess. Hans said that.”
Another issue to avoid, but Gant somehow doubted that he would. His eyes strayed to her throat, to the long, arched curve of skin too creamy and peach-like to be that of a true Gypsy, and then lower still to the swell of her breasts. He gruffly said, “Are you even a Gypsy, as you claim? You don’t look much like Maria.”
“I am half-Gypsy, daughter of King Raymond, if it’s any of your business. My natural mother was an Englishwoman. Is that a crime?”
The crime, Gant thought from out of nowhere, was Rayna’s dancing, of his and every man’s reaction to it. He didn’t know much about women, in fact, Mollie was the first real lady he’d ever known and even she didn’t quite fit society’s dictates over how a woman of her upbringing should behave. The rest of his experiences had been with the bawdy house variety, women who measured their love by the depths of a man’s pockets. This Gypsy, Gant suspected, fell somewhere between the two extremes, leaning toward the latter.
Reminded again of Hans, he said, “There’s no crime in having mixed blood, but there is one other thing I want to make clear. This is a small ship, and so far, everyone gets along just fine. I won’t stand for you teasing the men on board, dancing the way you do and carrying on as if you’re theirs for the taking. If it’s your intention to set the men against each other, then I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”
Gant wore his contempt for her the way other men wore their guns. It was all Rayna could do to keep her temper in check. More interested in keeping her job, she bit back her anger and said, “I don't mean to inflame men when I dance, but if it disturbs you that much, I won’t perform anymore.”
“That’s not up to me. Mollie makes those decisions.”
“Is this her decision, too, sending you here to insult me and to pry into matters that are none of your business?”
“I didn’t come here to insult you, and the only thing I’m interested in is keeping this circus on the up and up.”
“By questioning my heritage? What of you, Gaje? How would you like it if I were to question your pedigree?” She brushed her fingertips across his wide, strong jaw. “You have awfully dark skin for a Texan.”
“I never said I was a Texan.” He caught her by the wrist and hauled her up short. “But, like you, I do have mixed blood. My mother was half-Mexican and half-Apache. If that doesn’t frighten you, it should.”
It did. Rayna had learned long ago never to show fear, even if her shaking legs could barely hold her up. Fighting back the only way she knew how, she pulled her wrist from Gant’s grasp, and then withdrew her dagger from the depths of her apron.
While he hadn’t expected his remarks to reduce Rayna to helpless, frightened female, Gant didn’t figure on catching a glint of steel, a sparkle of light that seemed to blow him a kiss from the tip of a dagger. Taken completely aback, he surprised himself by laughing out loud.
Rayna might have taken umbrage over his reaction, but the sudden change in his expression dazzled her so, she couldn’t even work up a flicker of irritation. So far, except for a brief grin as he glanced around her room, she hadn’t seen anything but a frown or a scowl from this man, nothing close to the devastating smile she saw now. Gant’s entire face seemed to light up, softening the hard lines around his mouth. Even his eyes, which struck her as dark and brooding, were sparkling, erasing what she took as a haunted look.
The change in him making her feel more playful than threatened, Rayna twisted the blade of her knife as she said, “You think my dagger is funny? Would it still be so funny if I were to stick you with it?”
Still chuckling, he asked, “Do you stick all the men you argue with?”
Rayna shrugged. “Only the thousand or so I have robbed of their belongings. Do you have anything worth my trouble?”
“Maybe,” he said, his voice deeper than before. “Just maybe I do.”
Surprising her yet again, Gant pulled Rayna into his arms and held her tight. “Have you ever stuck a man for doing this?” he asked throatily.
“Not that I recall,” she said, wondering where this would lead, not caring.
He leaned into her, brushed her lips with his, and then brushed them again. “How about that? Would you stick a man for kissing you?”
“If that's what you consider a kiss,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I should stick you.”
“How about this?”
Knowing what he was set to do, in ways, not knowing at all, at the least, not thinking about it, Gant buried the fingers of one hand into the lush cloud of hair at the back of Rayna’s head, and then crushed his lips to hers. This was supposed to be a playful response to her teasing banter, a way of teaching her a lesson, he supposed, but Gant quickly realized that he was the student here, and that this was no game.
Rayna arched her spine to receive his kiss, and then quickly her responses became more animated, more primitive. Lost in her, in the sensual tide she washed over him, Gant was vaguely aware that the tip of her dagger was resting just below his ear. He didn’t care. He was beyond pain, reve
ling in a new world of pleasure above anything he’d ever imagined. She made him ache inside, feel raw with need, yet curiously soothed him at the same time. If this was her idea of a kiss, he found himself wondering, what must she be like in the dark beneath a blanket?
The savage blood inside Gant roared lustily at the idea, and then drove him further from reality. A woman like this probably wouldn’t require darkness or even a blanket. A woman like this would take him here and now, any way she could have him. The sudden image of Rayna standing naked and eager against the wall flashed in his mind. This was quickly replaced by a picture of himself driving into her, plunging the deaths of her softness with the kind of abandon he’d never known.
Some piece of the devil buried deep in his soul convinced Gant that Rayna wanted to be taken in precisely that manner, here and now. He turned with her in his arms, lips still fused to hers, and trapped her against the door. Intent on her, on the satiny feel of the soft, but oh, so supple swell of her unrestrained breasts melting so perfectly against his chest, at first Gant didn’t recognize the new sensation. Slowly, not eclipsing, but nudging aside the pleasure, he felt a sharp stab of pain toward the back of his neck. Then he realized that something warm was trickling down along his shoulder, beneath his shirt.
