Gypsy Bond

by Lindy Corbin

  Her brother lurched to his feet and brushed by her without a word, though his expression promised retribution. Silence held the room for a few moments as if the other man needed to marshal his thoughts. He watched her with a brooding stare that unnerved her.

  Finally, she forced herself to speak. “Spare yourself further trouble. I will never marry.”

  Carefully setting his glass down on the mantel behind him, he stepped across the room, stopping close beside her. Juliet struggled not to flinch as he reached to wrap a reddish-brown curl around his finger then smoothed it over her shoulder. His fingers brushed against her bare skin near her collarbone, lingering for long seconds. It was an intolerable intimacy. He would never have dared touch her in normal circumstances. She wondered if this show of disrespect was how she was to be treated the rest of her life.

  “That would be a crime against nature,” he said slowly, “one that I can’t allow.”

  “You would force me to wed as James wants to do?”

  His dry chuckle surprised her and she turned her head, noting that his smile was not as pleasant as the tone of his voice. “Of course not, but do consider. Your gypsy lover has left you again. You might even now be breeding. What will you do if that occurs?”

  She wanted to tell him that it was unlikely, given that Marko had pulled out at the peak of their passion, but she knew there was always the possibility. For a moment, she ached with the desire that it should be so, that she could hold a child of Marko’s in her arms. It would be some small piece of him that she could love as she endured the lonely years to come.

  The truth must have shown on her face for he laughed in soft triumph. “So you want children.” He shrugged and let his fingers drift lazily down her upper arm. “And I need an heir. We can be of great use to each other.”

  Gooseflesh was raised where his hand had traveled down her skin. “I – I don’t believe we will suit,” Juliet said through clenched teeth. Something about the man set her senses on alert.

  “I believe you’re wrong about that.” His gaze was hooded as he studied her face. He raised his hand to brush the back of his fingers against her lips.

  She turned her head away from his touch as he leaned in close. His breath was warm against her cheek.

  “I know much about pleasing a woman. In time, you will welcome me into your bed.”

  The thought of accepting another man into her body so soon after loving Marko repelled her. She couldn’t fathom ever considering it.

  He stepped back as if sensing the rising level of her distress. “You brother is right about one thing; you are unlikely to receive another offer. Let us decide this thing now. We’ll be married as soon as the bans have been read.”

  He had a point, one never far from her thoughts. Marko had released her and returned to the dark-haired beauty who shared his bed. Shouldn’t she move on as he had? It seemed weak and somewhat cowardly to sit and pine for him, condemning herself to a lifetime of being alone. Lord Stowe offered another solution, the very one that Marko wished for her.

  She raised her hands to press her fingers against her eyes. She was so tired, but time was short. She must think. She must act. Or lose this chance forever. In desperation, she tried another tactic. “It isn’t fair to you, to be burdened with a woman who loves another and could be carrying his child.”

  “I long for nothing more than the compensations you can offer.”

  The words were polite but the tone conveyed his meaning only too clearly. Instinctively, she recoiled, then forced herself to consider the matter with her brain and not her emotions. As Reginald Stowe’s wife she would have wealth and a position in society. With what she knew of his reputation, it was unlikely that he would be a faithful husband, but once he had given her children, she would not care that he spent his nights elsewhere. It was not the relationship she had hoped for, but it was no better or worse than ones that young women of her acquaintance entered into every day.

  After years of enduring sneers and snubs, she would finally have a home of her own. She could escape the prison of living under James’ thumb and create some measure of a normal life. She could move on.

  Without Marko.

  Swallowing hard, she held out her hand to the man before her. “I accept your proposal.”

  Chapter 4

  Juliet stared out the window of the milliner’s shop, her gaze drawn across the street to a group of dark-skinned children playing with a stray dog. She’d seen for herself that gypsy children were raised by the entire tribe, scolded and petted equally by all adults. Though she’d heard rumors that the children were allowed to wander through the village alone, she suspected that there was someone nearby, guarding them closely.

  They led a different life, one that she had once longed to be a part of. Now, she watched from the outside edge of their circle, much as she did her own society. The mere fact that she was betrothed to Lord Stowe had not restored her reputation or brought her friends calling. It would take time for them to accept her into their sphere again. Perhaps tomorrow, after the wedding, when she was settled at Stowe Hall, she would begin to see a change.

  She clung to that thought as a drowning man would a life line, repeating it over and over. After the wedding. After the wedding. It was how she had made it through these last weeks and how she would make it down the aisle tomorrow.

  “Miss Bailey.” The shop girl curtsied politely and held out the package on which she’d been waiting. In it was the fine silk shift and short stays that she’d ordered to wear with her wedding gown. The dress itself would be delivered to the house later today. Even now, the seamstress was setting the beautiful loops of tiny pearls that Reginald had provided. It had all been such a rush, for which she was thankful. No time to think. No time to regret the choice made.

  Stepping into the street, she turned left, her head down, watching for puddles. The last few days had been wet, a good omen for the farmers but bad for her fabric shoes. Around the ruffled edge of her bonnet, she saw someone emerge from the dry goods merchant as she passed, and she sidestepped neatly to avoid bumping into the woman. When a hand closed around her wrist, she gasped in surprise.

  “Calm yourself, dear,” a frail but familiar voice said near her ear. “It is just I, Vadoma.”

  Juliet turned her head and met the clear direct gaze of the elderly woman. In the daylight, she appeared older than Juliet had first assumed, and Juliet was reminded again of her resemblance to the witch in the book of fairy tales. The thought shamed her and to cover her discomfort, she spoke warmly. “I hope I see you well today.”

  “My old bones ache in this damp climate, and my thoughts turn dark with foreboding.”

  A shudder of disquiet passed across Juliet’s skin, but she pasted on a semblance of a smile. “Wish me well. I am to marry tomorrow.” The words were forced and a bit too loud, but with luck, the old woman would not think anything amiss. Above all, she did not want Marko to suspect that she was dissatisfied with the engagement.

  “I wish you all the happiness in the world,” the other woman said, though her black eyes had narrowed with a fierce frown that drew her brows together. Her grip on Juliet’s wrist tightened, and she tugged her down so that their faces were close. A harsh whisper filled her ear. “There are at least two paths to an end. The correct one to choose is clear to those who seek it.”

  Juliet yanked her arm from the woman’s grasp and straightened, more disturbed by her tone and the attitude of grave sincerity than by the words. “Thank you,” she managed to mumble before dropping a quick curtsy and hurrying away.

  The walk home seemed to take forever as she mulled over the strangeness of the woman’s remarks. There was no sense to be made of the mutterings about paths, but then Vadoma had said much the same thing when telling her fortune in the vardo. Nothing so simple as the expected listing of marriages and number of children had been offered. Life, it seemed, was to be complicated for her. As Juliet entered the house, her maid scurried to take her packages
and help her to change.

  The young girl clucked disapprovingly when she saw the mud that caked the hem of Juliet’s skirt. “You should have sent me to run the errand, miss. You’re lucky you didn’t get a wetting. Such weather. I hear tell it’s going to rain again tonight.”

  Shutting the door to Juliet’s bedroom behind them, she rambled on, unconcerned by her mistress’ lack of response. “My Ma tells me that the children be wanting to wait by the side of the road to see your wedding gown as you ride to church, but they weren’t sure which way you would travel.” The girl’s voice was muffled as she bent to remove Juliet’s shoes. She clucked in displeasure at the mud then laid them near the fire to dry before returning to start on the buttons on the back of Juliet’s dress. “I hear the south road to the village is nigh impassable in a carriage. We thought you might be forced to take the cart road that comes out north of the church, but if it rains again tonight, they fear that the creek will cover the road.”

  There was a buzzing in Juliet’s ears as she forgot to breathe.

  There are always two paths to an end.

  From the manor house, there were two roads that led to the village. One was a smaller, less traveled path often used by the wagons that hauled hay and grains from the fields in the fall. The other led to the main road, through the village and on toward London. There was an expectant pause, and Juliet realized the maid was waiting on an answer. “I had thought to take the main road,” she responded slowly, “but I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “That’s what we all thought, of course, but you never know what’s in a person’s mind. What a shame if it rains on your wedding day. I suppose you’ll have to ride with the top up on the barouche after all, so it won’t matter which way you go.”

  “Perhaps my brother will send someone early tomorrow to survey the route and we can decide then.”

  The correct one to choose is clear to those who seek it.

  Finished with the buttons, the girl turned Juliet around to pull the sleeves down her arms. “Here now,” she said, a concerned frown edging her brow. “Are you all right? Did you get a chill on the walk?”

  Bustling to the armoire, she pulled out a heavy velvet dressing gown and draped it over Juliet’s shoulders. “Have a seat by the fire, miss, and I’ll pop right back up with a pot of tea.”

  Juliet didn’t bother to protest that she didn’t want tea. The maid’s task accomplished the end that she did want; to be left alone with her thoughts.

  Seeing the children in the village and speaking with Vadoma had brought things to a head. It was long past time to admit that the wedding had been a ruse. She’d agreed to it in the idiotic hope that when Marko learned of her plans, he would be jealous and demand that she honor their vows. She had waited patiently, just as she had for the past four years, but no miracle had occurred, nothing had changed. Vadoma had not been surprised by her news. If the old woman knew, the tribe knew. Marko knew. He was letting her go, just as he claimed he would.

  As she sat staring into the fire in the hearth, rain began to drum against the windows. It was a bad omen, she’d been told, for it to rain on a wedding day.

  Omens. Destiny. Fate. She no longer believed in any of them. All were total rubbish, fabricated by the weak of heart to explain why they had not the resolve to face the hard choices in life.

  One forged one’s own path in the world and stuck to it by sheer strength of will. Staying on that path, as Vadoma had predicted, was often difficult, but it was the only course to true happiness.

  ~~~

  The rain did not stop.

  By morning, it was clear that an open carriage would not do for the bride’s trip to the church. Lord Stowe sent a coach, complete with gleaming brass details and his family’s crest on the door. The donning of the wedding gown took longer than Juliet had expected and by the time it was finished, her brother was pounding on the door to her room.

  “Hurry along, Juliet,” he shouted. “Reginald will think you’ve changed your mind.”

  “Almost done,” she called loudly. The last thing she wanted today was for him to hover around the bride’s skirts. “Just the veil to pin on. Please wait by the coach.”

  She sighed with relief as she heard his boots clumping down the stairs. Her hands slowed at the task of placing the last of the hair pins. Finished, she turned slowly around the room, taking in the familiar curtains at the window and the chair by the fireplace. She had expected to feel some unhappiness at leaving her childhood home, but instead she felt a small measure of relief. Straightening her shoulders, she turned toward the door.

  It was time to follow her path.

  ~~~

  Marko sat on his horse under the steady dripping of the oak trees, cursing the foul English weather in every language he knew. He needed to maintain agility and so wore no cloak to shed the rain. Soaked to the skin, cold and in a raging temper, it seemed to him the carriage would never make its appearance.

  When it finally rounded the corner, he was relieved to note there was only a driver and one rider who had dropped some distance behind, most likely to avoid being splashed by the wheels. His grip on the reins tightened, his muscles tensed in readiness. At the right moment, he kicked his horse into motion. He broke through the trees with a loud yell, the battle cry cutting through the cool morning air.

  The horse between the shafts of the coach reared in terror. The driver sawed at the reins, desperately trying to control the animal.

  “Here now!” Marko heard someone shout. “What’s this?”

  James. He’d recognize the man’s voice anywhere. That last conversation with him had haunted him for years. Rather than deterring him, it strengthened his resolve. The man might have won once, but this time, he was determined to be the victor.

  Riding his horse to the side of the coach he stood tall in the stirrups and grasped the hand rail, swinging himself up beside the driver. The man was younger than he’d expected, little more than a youth and he felt a moment’s compunction. “If you dismount now,” he said with lethal intent, “I won’t be forced to throw you from the carriage.”

  The man’s eyes widened in terror and he scrambled across the seat, tripping in his haste to get down from the vehicle and landing on all fours in the mud. Grabbing for the dropped reins, Marko whacked them across the horse’s back with a loud snap. The animal bolted.

  The coach bumped along the rutted track with his horse running beside. Behind him, he heard James shout and give chase. Cursing the horse, he reached for the whip in its holder and snapped it over the animal’s head. Picking up a little speed, the carriage slid in the slick mud as it rounded a curve. He ducked, narrowly avoiding being knocked from his seat by a low-hanging limb. Straightening their course, he glanced behind to see James closing in.

  One wheel sank into a particularly deep hole, nearly jerking the reins from his hands and rattling his teeth together. Marko spared a moment to hope that Juliet was holding on tightly and was unharmed. Stealing the bride was one thing, but breaking bones in the process was something she was unlikely to forgive quickly.

  A crack sounded behind him and the whoosh of a pistol ball sounded close by his ear. His thoughts blanked for a moment, unable to believe what had happened before a blaze ignited in his head.

  James was shooting at him. Shooting at Juliet.

  Fear and an unholy anger worked together to give him the strength to bring the frightened horse to a standstill. Crouching beside the seat, he waited for James to ride beside the carriage. When the other man was close enough, he leaped. He hit him in the chest and knocked him to the ground. They landed in a tangle of limbs and thrashing fists.

  “Are you insane?” Marko demanded as he dodged a blow aimed at his temple. “You shot at your sister.”

  James grunted as a punch landed across his ribs. “Not her. You.”

  Marko grasped the front of the other man’s jacket and jerked him to his feet. “You fool, you could have injured her.”

 
“Better that than have her in the hands of a dirty gypsy.”

  He’d heard the derogatory term so often that he barely regarded it. He bobbed and weaved as James continued to lash out at him with wild, untutored swings. Skipping back a few steps, he caught his breath. “Perhaps we should let her decide.”

  “Perhaps you should go to hell, you coward. Stand up and fight!”

  James lunged at him and Marko stepped into the attack, bringing his fist up to connect with the man’s chin with a sound thwack. Shock crossed James’ features as he fell backward into the mud. He sat up, shaking his head as if to check that all was still intact. He shot Marko a belligerent glare. “She’s betrothed to Reginald. You will let us pass.”

  Marko had to admit to a measure of respect for the man. Even lying in the mud, he demanded that his will be followed. A Rom, however, knew no master and recognized no other’s authority. Rubbing the knuckles which would be bruised tomorrow, he considered how best to handle James. As much as he’d like to send him to perdition, Juliet was unlikely to want to cut all ties with her family.

  He held his hands out to his sides in a gesture of openness. “If that is her desire, then it will be so.” Reaching a hand down to James, he added with calm assurance. “I will escort her to the church myself and deliver her into the arms of Lord Stowe, if she but asks me to.”

  The other man ignored his hand, pushing himself up without assistance. “She will.”

  Overlooking his curt tone, Marko turned and strode to the carriage. Twisting the handle, he jerked open the door. Inside, a woman cowered into the corner, her face hidden by a thick bridal veil.

  “Oh my gawd,” she shrieked. “Lord help us, a heathen!”

  Marko fell back a step in the face of such noisy female hysteria.

  “What the devil?” James moved to stand beside him. His expression blanked as he stared into the interior of the carriage. “That’s not Juliet.”

  Marko tried, but he couldn’t restrain the guffaw that shook him. He clutched his middle and bent over, trying to contain the combination of laughter and relief.