The Untamable Rogue

by Cathy McAllister

  I worked with determination so that I could escape the bewildering proximity of the gypsy as quickly as possible. Who knew what else could happen if I stayed here any longer. He could act upon his threat and carry on there where he had last stopped. The thought alone made my blood heat and my sex pulsate expectantly – yet another reason to flee as quickly as possible from his domain.

  Suddenly I felt a hand on my arm and I froze immediately. With my breath held, I waited to see what would happen, whilst my thoughts wandered to our last confrontation and Ivo’s passionate kiss. Fear and arousal fought within me. I felt as if I were about to faint, I was so very giddy. I was filled with panic. I was not to allow that to happen again under any circumstances! I never again wanted to lose control in such a way.

  “No!” I gasped finally, as Ivo tried to pull me to him. “Please don’t!”

  “But you want it! You’re no different from the other women.”

  I looked at him aghast, then smacked him hard in the face. With his remark he had brought me back to reality and that had made it easier for me to react.

  “How dare you! Let me go at once!” I shouted at him. How could he speak to me as if I were a common whore.

  ‘Because you’re acting like one!’

  Ivo showed no expression as he held my arms and held them behind my back. He had far too much strength for me to be able to release myself from his grasp. He pressed his mouth hard against my lips. He was rough, just like the last time and his stubble scratched my sensitive skin. In desperation I tried to defend myself but his grasp was too firm.

  ‘Not again! This time he definitely won’t let me go, but will simply take what he wants.’

  This thought aroused me against my will and a sweet weakness overcame me. Contradictory emotions fought within me: fear and arousal, reason and curiosity.

  Suddenly he let go of me and his dark eyes sparkled dangerously.

  I swallowed. A tear came from my eye and rolled over my cheek.

  Ivo smiled cynically.

  “You’re nothing special. I can get one like you anywhere. Take your roots and go!”

  I felt as if I had been knocked for six. For the second time he was pushing me away from him. Nervously I sorted out my clothing and gathered up the rest of the roots, throwing them hastily into the basket. I forgot Grandmother Aneta’s instructions about filling the hole again and jumped up quickly, took hold of the basket and ran away. I did not look back. Never in my life had I felt so humiliated!

  *

  I ran. Tears of shame and anger filled my eyes and blurred my vision. A few times I nearly stumbled but I did not slow my speed until I got near Grandmother Aneta. I only hoped that the old woman would not notice anything different about me and would ask no questions. Right now I really did not feel like answering questions. I took a deep breath and tried to stop crying.

  Grandmother Aneta was still sitting where I had left her. She had laid her hands in her lap and closed her eyes. She sat so still that I thought for a horrible second that she was dead. But then she turned her head in my direction.

  “Is that you, Liz?!

  “Yes, grandmother,” I answered, and I was cross that my voice was trembling. The old woman would definitely realise that there was something wrong.

  “Do you have the roots, my child?” she asked, without any sign that she had noticed anything wrong with me.

  “Yes, I found them. It wasn’t hard.”

  “Good, my child. Let’s go back to the camp,” said Grandmother Aneta, getting up from where she had been sitting.

  *

  Lost in thought I walked next to Grandmother Aneta. The meeting with Ivo had really churned me up. I wanted to hate him for the way he had treated me but instead of that I felt a strange yearning that did not make sense. I wondered again what had made him into the man he was. Something must have led him to treat women like this. But if there was a soft core beneath the hard shell then it was very well hidden. Even his eyes were cold and unforgiving. The passion that I had briefly seen in them had nothing gentle about it. Even his caresses had something about them that was more punitive than loving.

  “Sometimes it’s worth taking on pain in order to achieve something that lies hidden,” said Grandmother Aneta suddenly.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked, my heart pounding. I had the feeling that the old woman knew exactly what had happened. She seemed to know even more about it than I did.

  “You know what I’m talking about. I know your destiny, my child. Have the courage to follow your heart and you will be richly rewarded – but the path is hard and stony. You will suffer and sometimes you will long more for this suffering than you appear to be able to bear, but in the end you will harvest a great deal.”

  “And what will I harvest?”

  “Love! – True and indestructible love. Not many people are granted that experience.”

  Chapter 10

  9th July 1888

  Ivo was thinking about Liz. He wanted to possess her. However hard he tried he could not get her out of his head. Never yet had he so yearned for a woman. He swore quietly and clenched his fists. He could not work out what was wrong with him, for this little grey mouse to have got under his skin like this, when he had already possessed much more beautiful women: women who submitted to him willingly. – Yes, but they were boring, too easy to get. This Liz was a challenge – innocent. She obviously came from a better class. He wondered what had driven her to disguise herself as a man and from whom or what she had fled. Neither his father nor his brother had told him anything, but even if they knew more they would not confide in him. He was always the outsider – the black sheep of the family, in fact of the whole clan. It did not particularly bother him – he preferred to be alone any way. One day he would put into action what had already occupied his head for a while. He just needed more money, but had already saved a considerable amount. When he had enough he would buy himself a passage on a ship to America – the land of unlimited possibilities where a simple man could achieve wealth; where ones’ origins played no role. The thought of a life as a wealthy man distracted Ivo from his unfulfilled desire. He leant against the trunk of the tree under which he was sitting and lit his pipe. Whilst he ruminated over his emigration his eyelids became heavy and the hand in which Ivo was holding his pipe slowly slid down and opened. The pipe fell onto the rough ground. Even before its glow was extinguished Ivo had fallen asleep.

  *

  Ivo was dreaming. He was standing on the deck of a ship crossing the Atlantic to America. She was standing alone at the railing, staring out to sea. He approached her and wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her but she – laughed. She was laughing at him.

  “You’re a failure! Do you really think you can make it work?” she asked, ridiculing him. “You’re scum, and once scum, always scum!”

  He grew angry and put his hands around her neck whilst she kept on laughing derisively until her features took on the form of those of another woman that he had once loved.

  ‘You are scum…scum…scum…’

  *

  He was filled with pain and anger when he awoke.

  Lavinia – that false snake. He had loved her, revered her, and she had betrayed him so shamefully. She had taught him to hate. He had learnt his lesson. All women were selfish, lying creatures. The best thing to do was to use them and afterwards waste no further thought on them. He was no longer the stupid boy who laid his heart at a woman’s feet. He had been stupid – naïve. But that was a long time ago. He would never love again; never again allow a woman into his heart. Love was something for poets and idiots. It was a lie – a lie that he would never fall for again.

  Chapter 11

  Iwandered aimlessly through the forest. Thick fog undulated over the leaf-covered ground and grasped at the hem of my skirt with ice-cold fingers. In the fog I had completely lost my bearings. The air was wet and cold. My hair clung damply to my face and I pushed away the irritating strands, irritated
by them. My heart beat wildly. I was being followed. Someone was behind me. I could hear his gasping breath. – Or was it my own. A tree root made me stumble and I fell to the ground. The impact winded me for a minute and I needed valuable seconds to catch my breath before I could, with trembling knees and grazed hands, pick myself up and keep on running. Branches hit me in the face and got caught in my hair. I felt as if evil was grabbing me from all sides with his ice-cold claws. It pulled at my hair, my clothes – my mind. I could hear an awful moaning and groaning. Was it the wind? Ghosts? A mad pursuer?

  Suddenly he was standing before me as if he had grown out of the ground. I wanted to scream but the scream literally stuck in my throat. A cynical smile lay upon his lips.

  “Why are you following me?” I asked, my voice trembling. He shook his head slowly.

  “My dear Liz. You’re twisting everything. Is it not more the case that you are following me? You snoop around my waggon and creep up upon me when I’m sleeping. – Do you want to play, Liz? – I’m the big, bad wolf and you’re the little lamb? – Booh!”

  He grabbed me by the arms. His grasp was tight, painful, and I tried to pull myself free.

  “Let me go!” I pleaded.

  He shook his head again.

  “Oh, Liz – Sweet – innocent Liz. You can’t challenge the evil wolf and then back down. We’ll play a game now. – According to my rules.”

  “No!” I declared. “I don’t want to!” In panic I tried to pull away from his grip, but his grip was too strong and merciless.

  “You are very disobedient, Liz!” he whispered threateningly.

  “No! Please leave me alone,” I begged, and tried again to free myself.

  “Just a little game, sweet Liz. You’ll like it,” he prophesied cynically.

  His grin was absolutely devilish and then his face suddenly changed, and out of the attractive, young Sinti came the fat grimace of my uncle. I screamed and screamed …

  … and awoke, bathed in sweat.

  *

  It was now a week since the confrontation with Ivo when collecting herbs and I had not seen him since then. However, he crept again and again into my thoughts and my dreams and although I really tried, I could not keep him out of my mind. I was glad that he was banned from the camp so that I did not have to keep on coming across him, which would have made the whole thing considerably much more difficult. But I kept on catching myself leaving the camp and wandering about the area, in the quiet hope of meeting him by chance. I did keep on trying to convince myself that it was not like this and that I did not want to meet him, but deep down inside I knew the uncomfortable truth. I wanted it: I wanted to play with fire in the knowledge that it would burn me – yes, I would possible die in it.

  Even now I was wandering through the forest by chancenot far from Ivo’s waggon. It had become cold and, shivering, I pulled my woollen shawl around me more tightly. It really was not the weather in which to be walking around outside. It was better for me to turn back. Decisively I turned around and went back in the direction of the camp. Suddenly the ground below my left foot gave way and I fell down. A sharp pain in my ankle made me scream out. It seemed that I had stepped into a rabbit burrow, the entrance to which had been covered with foliage. My foot was now hurting dreadfully and I was afraid that I had perhaps broken it. I clenched my teeth as I touched my ankle. I could not feel a break but the foot was hurting a great deal. It was already beginning to swell up and turn a light blue colour. It was definitely sprained. I swore quietly. That could only happen to me. What should I do now? It was still a good distance to the camp and it would be absolute torture with the injured ankle, if I could even make it that far. On the other hand I could hardly just sit here. I was already horribly cold. Somehow I had to make it back to the camp. With great difficulty I picked myself up and tried a few careful steps, but the pain in my foot was so strong that I had to give up after a few yards. There was not a chance that I would get back to the camp like this. Frustrated and close to tears I limped to a moss-covered stone and sat down, groaning with pain.

  ‘Damn it, Graham, you’ve really done this well!’

  I feverishly considered how I could resolve my situation. I was still too far away from the camp for anyone to be able to hear my shouting. Even Ivo’s waggon was too far away. Quite some time could pass before anyone would miss me at the camp and it was highly unlikely that I would be found quickly right here. To make matters worse it was also beginning to rain. If I were to stay out here any longer I would soon be completely soaked and would certainly catch cold. I had to get into the dry and warm as quickly as possible. I could not manage that distance with this foot, unless …

  Of course! A crutch! I needed a solid stick that I could support myself with. Why had that not occurred to me sooner? Supported by a crutch I could make it to the camp.

  I looked around the area until I spotted a large branch that had come from an old oak tree, probably blown down in a storm. It was long enough and looked solid. If I were to take off the side shoots it must work. With renewed courage I lifted myself up, clenching my teeth bravely, and limped over to the branch.

  It proved to be harder than I had expected to remove the side shoots and this task cost me two finger nails and a splinter in the palm of my hand, which I did not, however, notice in my eagerness. Finally I had freed the branch of its side shoots and I tested out my new walking aid. It did not work as well as I had hoped, but it was still better than without a crutch. Nevertheless I could only move awkwardly and had to keep on taking a break because limping with the crutch was exhausting me. The rain became stronger and stronger and it was ice-cold. Soon my hair was sticking to my face and my clothes were soaked through to my skin. My fingers began to get numb with cold and it was difficult to hold the stick. The forest floor was transforming into slippery mire because of the rain and it became more and more difficult to walk. Gradually the ground became too muddy and I slipped. The stick slipped from my fingers, which were frozen stiff, and I fell to the ground. In shock I screamed and landed painfully in the mud.

  *

  I tried desperately to get up again, but the pain and the utter cold in my soaked clothing robbed me of all my strength. Tears of despair and anger burned in my eyes. Frustrated, I hit the ground and mud splattered up, adding the finishing touch to my already ruined appearance. The mud was even sticking to my hair and every attempt to wipe the dirt off me made it even worse than before. Perhaps it was better if no one found me like this. I did not want to meet anyone in this state.

  Suddenly a wolf broke through the undergrowth and I screamed in shock. Then I realised my mistake and relief flooded through me. It was one of the dogs from the camp. No! It was Ben, Ivo’s dog. I recognised him by the white tip on his tail. Joyfully wagging his tail he came up to me and licked me on the cheek.

  “Stop that, you monster!” I scolded him, laughing and crying at the same time.

  At that moment Ivo stepped out of the thicket. His expression was miserable and not at all cheering for me, but at least I had now been found. My heart was beating a little faster at the sight of him, even if I could clearly see that he was not at all pleased to see me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked gruffly.

  “I … I’ve twisted my ankle. I can’t stand up,” I explained, my heart pounding.

  Sullenly Ivo crouched down and examined the foot concerned. I shuddered as his warm fingers touched my foot. In spite of his dismissive conduct and his miserable expression he was very careful and gentle whilst examining my ankle. I felt a little warmth return to my limbs.

  “Hm … it doesn’t seem to be broken. I’ll get you into the dry first, then we’ll take another look.”

  Effortlessly he picked me up and stomped with me through the rain. Exhausted and relieved, I leant against him. He was pleasantly warm and his strong arms gave me a sense of security, even if he was quietly grumbling and swearing to himself in his own language. It was probably quite good
that I could not understand his words. I could well imagine what they meant and they were undoubtedly not positive.

  I noticed that he did not take the path to the camp, but the shorter path to his waggon. The thought of being alone with him in his waggon filled me with tingling disquiet: the waggon was a far too intimate place. His personal things were there; it was the place where he slept, where, with one woman or another he had …

  At that thought the blood rushed to my head and I hoped that he would not notice. But I was worrying for absolutely nothing: Ivo was concentrating fully on the path before us. He had stopped swearing, but I could sense his anger and his unease. His heart was beating quickly and he seemed to be in a hurry. I doubted that it was concern about me that spurred him on to move so quickly – and not even the bad weather. It was more probable that he was keen to be rid of me as quickly as possible.

  *

  By the time we reached our destination and entered Ivo’s home I had almost forgotten my pain and the cold. I did not register the chattering of my teeth as Ivo put me down on a chair and fanned the fire in the little coal-burning stove. It had become intensely cold and it did not feel like summer right now. When the fire was burning Ivo put on a kettle of water. Furtively I looked around. The waggon was far more simply furnished than Grandmother Aneta’s. There was a bed, a table with two chairs, two chests and a small bookshelf. Above the oven hung a few kitchen utensils and on the wall opposite hung a hunting rifle. I looked back at Ivo – he was testing the temperature of the water in the kettle with his fingers, until he seemed satisfied, and he then took the water from the stove. He poured it into a bowl, took a cloth from one of the chests and came back to me.

  “You must get out of those wet things.” His voice was brusque, but I thought I could hear a hint of nervousness. “Will you manage that on your own?”