by Sarah Price
Her impatience to feel his touch frustrated her. “Can't it wait?”
“I will meet you there, my beautiful romni.”
Disappointed, Sahara watched as Nicolae walked away. He disappeared into the crowd. Sighing, Sahara turned around, heading for their tent. After living with the gypsies for a little under two months, Sahara recognized the tent she shared with Nicolae easily. Several tents illuminated a soft, orange glow from lanterns hanging inside. A shadow moved. Sahara watched for a second, seeing the silhouette of one woman seated next to
another. Most probably it was Bossa, telling some town woman her fortune. Shaking her head, Sahara pulled her own tent flap back and walked into the darkness. She took two steps in then leaned over as she groped on the top of the oak chest for matches. Inside it, she kept the black dress she had made as well as a black skirt and turquoise shirt. Her fingers closed around the matches. Quickly, she lit the lantern, shaking the match out. Before she could turn around, she felt warm breath in her ear. Smiling, she started to turn around. “Nicolae, you're...”
Emilian put his finger to her lips, signaling her silent. “You are surprised?”
Sahara nodded, her eyes wide and frightened. If Nicolae came back and saw Emilian there, he'd kill him for sure. Even married women were never to be left alone in the company of another man. The scandal could destroy her reputation. “What are you doing here?”
“I came for you.”
Sahara frowned, suspecting his reasons. She hadn't thought of Emilian since their last encounter, almost three weeks before. She could smell the rakiya on his breath as he ran a finger down her bare arm. His fingers careless brushed against her breast and he smiled again. Sahara glanced at the tent flap. Wherever Nicolae had gone, he would return soon. “I don't think you should be here, Emilian. You know what would happen if Nicolae walked in.” She'd hate to ruin Nicolae's good mood.
Bitterly, Emilian spat out, “E Martya to Nicolae!”
Without thinking, Sahara raised her hand and slapped Emilian's cheek. His words had angered her tremendously. “How dare you call the angel of death on Nicolae or anyone else! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
Emilian ignored the stinging in his cheek. “You belong to me. You are mine, S'hara!”
“I belong to no man, Emilian. Not even Nicolae. But he is my husband!” She hesitated. “I do not know what passed between you and your brother…I probably never will. But, I will tell you this, I will not allow you to create a turmoil in my life. “
For a moment, he stared at her, stunned. She could see the pain in his bloodshot eyes. Lowering his head in defeat, Emilian shut his eyes. “I see, S'hara.”
“I think it best if you leave now.” Her heart pounded as she waited for Emilian to leave, fearful that Nicolae would return to witness his brother alone with his wife.
Stripping her clothes off her tired body, Sahara pushed Emilian out of her mind. She brushed the dust off the black skirt she had been given along with the red blouse in Fargo. Folding them, she laid the neat pile inside the chest on top of her other clothing. She shivered in the cool night air, rubbing her arms as she hurried over to the feather mattress she shared with Nicolae. The thick blankets scratched her sun-baked skin. Her fingertips, dry from washing clothes that afternoon in a nearby stream, clutched the blanket around her. She listened intently to the sounds of the night...the music, laughter, singing, and lovers slipping into the darkness. But she didn't hear Nicolae coming. She sighed, rolling onto her back. Impatiently, she kicked the blanket off her legs, letting the cool night air slowly put her to sleep.
It was his warm breath upon her neck that awoke her. His one hand groped for her breast as he sank down next to her on the soft mattress. His passion had built up since he had left her, especially after his father had scolded him for allowing Sahara to turn him soft. They had argued for a while but Sahara's request for Locke to wed Finny had been approved reluctantly when Nicolae had pointed out that her intended was the brutal Greggor. “S'hara, make love to me tonight,” he whispered softly. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as he kissed her softly.
She smiled as he stroked her. Lifting her arms around his neck, she kissed him back. Pulling away, Sahara tugged sleepily at his clothing. Nicolae dispersed of them, leaving them in a pile on the ground. When he took Sahara into his arms again, he felt her run her hands over his bare back, still warm from the fires. Her fingers pulled at his hair, wanting him as much as he wanted her. He could feel her passion beneath him as he traced his lips along her shoulder. She grabbed at him, pressing closer as his hands explore every inch of her body. When he finally laid her back into the soft mattress, Sahara held her arms out for him to join her.
Nicolae kneeled above her, staring down at her in the darkness. Her hair fanned across the pillows. Her dark eyes met his gaze. Her outstretched arm gently brushed against his arm. The coolness of her touch aroused him even more. His hand closed over hers, raising it to his lips. Tenderly, he kissed her fingertips. “I want to be close to you, S'hara,” he murmured, his voice deep and husky. He dropped her hand, moving forward to press her legs apart. He could sense her own excitement as he pulled her to him, gently easing into her. She trembled beneath his touch, clawing at him to hold her as tightly as he could. But Nicolae held her down on the mattress as he stared down into her tanned face, slowly moving inside her. He lifted her hips higher to meet his. She gasped softly, turning her head to the side as she bit her lip. She could hear Nicolae breathing heavier. A soft smile escaped onto her lips when he finally groaned, his passion shaking her into joyful shivers of pleasure.
Nicolae pulled Sahara into his arms. She clung to him, her cheek against his sweaty shoulder. Shutting her eyes, she sighed as she felt Nicolae 's chest rise and fall rapidly. He rocked her back and forth, his one hand pressed against the back of her neck. “Ay S'hara...” He kissed the top of her head. “You've cast a spell on me.” Her fingers traced a cool line along his muscular arm. She could feel his skin quiver under her touch. Nicolae pulled away, staring into her face, illuminated from the distant glow of the campfires that seeped through the canvas tent. “Maybe it is true you are making me soft as the Rom Baro says. But no man can ever blame me for falling in love with you, S'hara.” He didn't receive a reply as he leaned forward and kissed her mouth with all his passion and love.
Sahara laid in his arms later, his head resting on her stomach. She stroked his hair, listening to him sleep. His arm was tossed protectively across her waist. Her thoughts wandered as she stared restlessly into the darkness. He had told her that he loved her. For once in her life, she felt loved. A wave of happiness came over her. Staring at the top of the tent, she listened to the gypsy music. It filled her blood with fire and her heart swelled. She closed her eyes, feeling Nicolae next to her and, the music fading into her dreams, she finally drifted asleep.
Amaya was not blind to the sudden interest that the Rom Baro had taken in her. At first, she thought it would be fleeting. But as the weeks went on, she noticed him watching her from afar. She pretended that she did not know but it was increasingly difficult. He would seek her out during the day and insist that she sat next to him by the fires. When the kumpania traveled, his horse seemed to linger near the wagon in which she rode.
She was not the only one who noticed his attention. The rest of the kumpania whispered behind her back. But she could imagine what they said. How could the Rom Baro fall for such a woman? After all, she was polluted, a woman with a child but no husband. It was almost unheard of in the gypsy culture, and certainly not common among the children of the leaders. If her own father had not been a Rom Baro, she would have been mahrimed and shunned from the community.
During the days when they were camped, she would care for the Rom Baro’s sons as well as her child, Sahara. She took care of the Rom Baro’s tent as well. But at night, she retreated to the wagon in which she had been assigned. It was small and dark but it wa
s safe. She would sleep at night with the infant in her arms. If nothing else, she realized, they were indeed safe. And the Rom Baro’s extra attention helped to insure that would continue.
Chapter Thirteen
Locke stood protectively in front of Finny, facing Greggor with a knife in his hand. Finny clung to Locke's arm, her terrified eyes pleading with Greggor to leave them alone. The diklo had Greggor’s attention when he saw Finny walk up the road, two steps behind Locke. Only married women wore the diklo and only married women walked behind a man. Furious, Greggor had grabbed at Finny, ripping the diklo off her head and throwing it to the ground. How dare she marry another, he screamed, cursing them both out loud, not caring who overheard him. Now, everyone watched with silent breath as the blade of Locke's knife caught a glimmer of the sun. Waving the knife slowly back and forth, Locke beckoned to Greggor with his free hand. “Finny is my bori, Greggor. You have no say in the matter now.”
Rage burned Greggor's insides as he faced the humiliating situation. For the Rom Baro to secretly give his promised bride away was an insult. “She is rightfully mine. From birth, she was mine!” He tried to step forward but Locke's skillful knife flashed at his cheek, barely brushing his skin. A thin trickle of blood dripped to the ground. The crowd gasped as Greggor jumped back, ignoring the pain. “This cannot happen. It is against the gypsy way! Against tradition! Where is the Rom Baro?” He looked around wildly, his eyes glazed over as he sought the blank faces of the shocked crowd. Greggor's eyes caught sight of Sahara, standing nearby with a smug look on her face. Quickly, Greggor lunged at Sahara, grabbing her by the front of her black dress. “This is your doing! You devious, lying gadjo! Breaking traditions, bringing in gadjo ways! You are responsible!”
Sahara tried to shove Greggor away, suddenly frightened by the murderous glare in his eyes. Aware of the other gypsies waiting for her reaction, Sahara pressed her lips together. “Get your filthy hands off me, you stinking Guniareshti!” The crowd murmured to each other, shocked by Sahara's words. To be accused of associating with the Guniareshti kumpanya, a dirty gypsy tribe, was one of the lowest insults.
Greggor began to shake, his face turning red from further humiliation. The future Rom Baro's romni had called him a garbage eater in front of his entire vista. His people. Greggor could not let that go unpunished. Curling his hand into a tight fist, Greggor raised his arm as if to strike her. She lifted her chin defiantly, waiting for him to retaliate to her verbal blow. But someone grabbed Greggor from behind, throwing him to the ground. Sahara blinked, staring at the cloud of dust. As the dust cleared, she saw two men wrestling in the dirt. The crowd drew away, mumbling among themselves about Emilian's surprise appearance to defend Sahara.
Sahara gathered her wits about her. Emilian was going to kill Greggor if she didn't intercept. Jumping forward, Sahara grabbed at Emilian's arm. With all her strength, she tried to hold him back from punching the almost unconscious Greggor in the face. “Stop! You'll kill him!”
Emilian tried to free his arm. But he met Sahara's frightened eyes. He had placed fear into her, something he had vowed he would never do. Ashamed, Emilian lowered his eyes and nodded his head once. “You are right. He will never touch you again, romni.” Emilian rose above the limp body and spat on the ground. Greggor stared at Emilian through his swollen eyes. Emilian flared his nostrils. “You are dirt, Greggor. As undeserving as I of a wife! Now that she has married another, live with the punishment. I curse you with mahrime forever!”
Sahara gasped as her heart fluttered inside her chest. “You can't do that! Only the Rom Baro and Nicolae can!” When Nicolae heard how Emilian had cursed Greggor with mahrime, he would be furious. Not even Waller had been cursed for his assault on the town girl. “Take it back! Take it back now before it's too late!” She glanced around, already noticing the other gypsies walking away, shunning the mahrimed Greggor. Once it was said, Sahara realized, no one could take it back. Not even Emilian. “My God,” she whispered. “Do you realize what you have done?” She stared at Greggor. His eyes were large and frightened. In his lifetime, only one other man had been cursed with mahrime forever…the man standing before him.
Emilian ignored Greggor and reached out to tilt Sahara's chin up. When her eyes met his, he nodded. “No man will ever harm you, S'hara.”
Quickly, Sahara stepped away from his touch. Hadn't he listened to her that night last week? Hadn't he understood? Or had her refusal sparked his interest even more? Her eyes darted back and forth, scared someone might overhear their words. “But it isn't your place to protect me, Emilian! It's Nicolae's.”
“He does a good job, yes?” The tone in his voice was sarcastic. “Protects you well, S'hara, wouldn't you say?”
“He would never harm me, Emilian. He loves me.”
“And I do not?”
Had his simple emotions turned into an obsession? Sahara shut her eyes, shaking her head. “Don't.”
“What about you? Do you love Nicolae?”
She didn’t respond to his question, too aware of the people staring at them. She knew that everything would be reported back to Nicolae and Rom Baro. The intensity of the situation hit her. Nicolae must not find Emilian there when he learned the news about the mahrime. “You must leave. If Nicolae comes back and finds you lingering around camp, he'll kill you.”
“I would kill him first.” But he did not argue anymore. Without another word, Emilian turned around and walked away. Sahara watched his back as he disappeared around the side of a tent. Exhaling heavily, she walked toward the cooking fires, her head hung low. Certainly Nicolae would blame her. He blamed her for everything Emilian did. The entire kumpania had witnessed Emilian jump to her rescue. Nicolae would accuse her of encouraging an inappropriate relationship with Emilian. Sahara shuddered, already feeling the pain of his anger.
Sitting down beside the fire, Sahara held her head in her hands. The other women worked around her, mumbling amongst themselves, not completely understanding the gadjo gypsy's anguish. Duda hesitated before gently touching Sahara's shoulder, offering her a drink of spring water. Graciously, Sahara reached up to take the wooden ladle from the old woman. Sahara let the cool water slide down her throat. It soothed her fear for the moment. Handing it back to Duda, Sahara smiled her appreciation. No one else bothered her, leaving her alone to sort her thoughts.
An hour passed before Sahara heard the distant pounding of horse hooves. The other women began to chatter to each other, rushing around as they waited for the men to ride over the grassy knoll. Sahara shut her eyes, clasping her sweaty hands in her lap as she anticipated Nicolae's reaction. She rocked herself back and forth, listening to the women run to greet the men. She could hear them laughing, inspecting the new horses the men had bargained for. Then there was silence. Someone must have told the Rom Baro and Nicolae. Certainly he knew by now. Sahara held her breath, waiting for what seemed an eternity. No one spoke. The warmth vanished from her face as a shadow blocked the sun. Quickly she opened her eyes, half surprised to see Nicolae looming over her. His legs were spread apart, his hands curled into fist on his hips. A gentle summer breeze clung his open white blouse to his tanned chest. A leather thong held his hair back from falling in his face.
“What have we here, S'hara? You do not come to greet your husband? Perhaps you have something to say to me?”
She could tell by the mockery in his voice that he knew. Her heart began to pound, causing the vein in her neck to throb. “I...” She didn't know what to say. “I didn't do anything, Nicolae. I swear.”
Before Sahara finished her sentence, Nicolae reached down and snatched Sahara to her feet. To her surprise, he wrapped his arms around her. Immediately, Sahara tried to free herself, struggling in his arms. His arms tightened around her waist, lifting her in the air. Swinging her around, Nicolae's laughter rang throughout the camp. When he finally set her on the ground, he nuzzled at her neck. “My crazy S'hara! So frightened, yes?” He looked into her eyes. Confusion stared back at him. “
You always think I will be angry with you? Why is that, my bori?”
Shocked, Sahara stumbled over her words. “But Emilian and Greggor...”
Nicolae touched his finger to her lip. “That is my father's problem, yes? He is the Rom Baro.” He smiled and reached into his trouser pocket. “I have a present for you, S'hara. For being such a good girl, yes?” He stepped back, holding out a shiny gold headband. In the center, it dipped into a V with a black opal in the shape of a dewdrop hanging from it. Carefully, he placed the cool gem against her forehead, hooking the ends
together and laying it against the back of her head. “It matches your eyes. Now you are a real gypsy, yes? A husband, a kumpania, and jewels.” Nicolae laughed to himself, in an unusually jovial mood. He leaned forward, softly kissing her forehead above the opal. “You like, yes?”
Sahara frowned, raising her fingers to the opal. It was cool under her touch. She traced the headband, wondering why Nicolae was so happy. “Where did you find this?”
“You have not answered my question, S'hara.”
She bit her tongue, forcing the suspicions back into her throat. Instead of accusing him of stealing or cheating, she smiled pleasantly. “I would love anything you gave to me.”
Sahara kissed his cheek. “It was very thoughtful of you to remember me while you were out horse trading.” Or stealing, she thought. Her eyes moved past his shoulder toward the crowd of gypsies around the new horses. “And a beautiful lot they are too.”
Nicolae stroked her cheek with his hand. He stared at the beautiful jewel against her Indian brown skin. The jewel was gorgeous. The woman wearing it before Nicolae had managed to steal it hadn't looked half as beautiful as Sahara. He had seen the black teardrop against the rich Easterner's pale skin and known. Sahara must have it. “Not as beautiful as you, my bori.”
