Читать книгу Claiming the Forbidden Bride - Gayle Wilson - Страница 12

Rhys opened his eyes to sunlight. The first thing he realized was that it didn’t hurt his head. The second was that it allowed him to get a much better look at his surroundings than he had been able to before.

He knew, because the Gypsy girl had told him, that he was in her caravan. Her home on wheels.

This morning, a section of wall in the part where he lay had been propped open to allow both light and fresh air inside. The slightly medicinal scent he’d been aware of last night had been replaced by the crispness of the English countryside in autumn.

He drew a deep, savouring breath of it into his lungs. As he did, he identified other smells, familiar from his campaigning days. Wood smoke. Fresh meat turning on a spit somewhere.

The sounds were the same as well, he realized. A low hum of conversation. The occasional masculine laugh.

A movement at the periphery of his vision caused him to turn his head. The little girl he’d seen yesterday was again standing at his bedside.

This time her lips immediately curved into a smile, which he couldn’t have resisted responding to, even if he’d been so inclined. She raised her hand and, holding it directly in front of his face, moved two of her fingers up and down.

Puzzled, he shook his head, attempting to soften the denial with another smile. She repeated the motion, cocking her head to the side when she was through, as if waiting for his response.

Again Rhys shook his head, relieved that the movement, which yesterday would have produced blinding pain, didn’t bother him at all this morning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he confessed.

Once more the child made the gesture, clearly frustrated with his lack of understanding.

‘I’m sorry, little one.’ he began.

Apparently, she’d had enough. She turned, disappearing from his field of vision.

Alone again, Rhys raised his eyes to the opening at the end of the caravan. The beech leaves were molten gold in the morning sun. As they swayed in the wind, they cast dappled patterns of light and shade onto the walls of the caravan, reminding him of the countryside he’d ridden through after he’d left Buxton. And, he realized, that was the last thing he did remember.

I fear you’ve fallen among the Rom, the woman had told him. But she’d given him no explanation of how that had occurred. Or of how he’d been injured.

No matter how hard he tried, searching his memory for answers, he could remember almost nothing after he left the inn. All he knew was that he’d been thoroughly enjoying his first taste of freedom since he’d returned to England.

It was possible he’d been attacked by robbers. If so, he had no memory of it. Still, being set upon by highwaymen would explain the blow to the head, so that version of events seemed logical. Whether the Gypsies had been his attackers or his rescuers, however—

‘Angel said you were awake. How do you feel?’

The woman who’d given him the medicine last night was back. Today the kerchief had been replaced by two gold combs, which glittered among her midnight curls as if bejewelled.

The shawl that had covered her shoulders had also disappeared. The cap-sleeved blouse she wore would offer little protection against the morning’s chill, but the white fabric flattered the smooth tan of her shoulders.

Despite its décolleté, something he was suddenly extremely aware of, the garment was no more revealing than the gowns he’d seen at the country party his sister-in-law had dragged him to. Merely the fashion, he told himself. Still, he hadn’t reacted to those rounded white shoulders in quite the same way his body was responding to these.

‘Angel?’ The question was a form of self-defence, since he was certain of the source of her information.

‘Her name’s Angeline, but… ‘The woman shrugged, the movement again drawing his eyes to the beginning curve of her breasts, visible above the low neckline.

Rhys raised his eyes, smiling into hers. ‘I’m afraid she wasn’t very pleased with me.’

‘Really? She seemed excited you’re awake.’

‘She kept doing something with her fingers. I think she expected me to be able to figure out what it was, but.’ He shook his head.

‘Can you show me?’

Feeling foolish for having brought it up, Rhys repeated the gesture the child had made.

The woman laughed. ‘She wanted you to come with her. And since she is, I’m afraid, too accustomed to having her own way, I’m sure she thought you wouldn’t hesitate to oblige.’

‘I should have tried. If she’d told me what she wanted.’

‘Angel doesn’t speak. Nor does she hear what we say.’

‘She’s deaf,’ Rhys spoke the sudden realization aloud, and then wondered at his own stupidity in not understanding the situation sooner. ‘Forgive me. You must think me very slow.’

‘I think you’ve had a severe blow to the head. It’s to be expected that things seem strange. As all of thiscertainly must.’ One slender hand gestured at their surroundings.

‘You said last night I’d “fallen in” with your people. I’m afraid I can’t remember how that happened.’

Her eyes widened slightly. ‘Nothing?’

‘Very little beyond setting out from the inn at Buxton. I assume that was yesterday morning. Unless, that is, I’ve enjoyed your hospitality longer than I’m aware.’ His voice rose questioningly on the last.

‘Then…you don’t remember Angel at all?’

‘She was here once before when I woke up. That must have been…last night?’

‘Do you remember being brought here?’

‘I thought—’ Rhys hesitated, for some reason reluctant to confess that during that journey he had imagined he was back in Spain.’Perhaps,’he amended.’Parts of it.’

Even as he said that, it seemed he did remember. They’d put him on a cart of some kind. And the ground they’d pulled the conveyance over had been very uneven.

Rough enough, he thought with an unexpected clarity, that he’d been more than willing to sink back into the unconsciousness their painful ministrations had pulled him from.

‘What about my horse?’Another memory that had suddenly risen to the surface of his consciousness.

‘A gelded bay with a star on his forehead?’

‘That’s it. He’s my brother’s, actually. I should hate to lose him.’

Rhys had had several mounts shot out from under him in Iberia. More than enough to teach him not to become attached to any of them. Still the bay had been responsive, seeming as pleased with the freedom of their journey as Rhys had been.

‘One of the men found him this morning. Don’t worry. He’ll be ready for you when you’re well enough to ride.’

‘When do you think that will be?’ Right now, he couldn’t imagine sitting on a horse, but given the crowded conditions of her “home,” he also couldn’t imagine imposing on her any longer than was absolutely necessary.

‘I’m a healer, not a fortune-teller, my lord,’ she said with a smile. ‘I can send for my grandmother if you’d like to make inquiries about your future.’

‘I’m no lord.’ Rhys wasn’t sure why it was suddenly so important that she understand that.

‘All English gentlemen are lords to us.’ The smile tugged at the corners of her lips again. ‘We discovered long ago that a little flattery goes a long way. Especially when your livelihood depends upon the goodwill of those with whom you conduct business.’

‘And what kind of business do you conduct?’

Her chin tilted upward fractionally. ‘Assuredly not the kind you’re thinking of. As I told you, I have some small skill with herbs and potions. I can set bones and sew flesh so that the limbs involved are still usable. My grandmother can tell you what your future holds, ifyou’re foolish enough to desire that information. As for the others.’ She made that expressive movement with her shoulders again.’We’re blacksmiths, tinkers, leather workers, basket weavers, woodworkers. Craftsmen of all kinds. And we buy and sell all manner of things.’

The Rom were known for all those things. And for many others as well. For centuries every type of roguery—from cheating at games of chance to stealing children from their beds—had been laid at their door.

With that thought, the image of the little girl’s wide blue eyes surrounded by colourless lashes was in his mind’s eye. How did a child like Angeline come to be in a Gypsy camp? Rhys didn’t believe for a moment that Angel was her daughter.

That was, however, a subject he couldn’t afford to pursue. Not while he was flat on his back and at the mercy of these people. At least one of whom very much wanted him gone.

He wondered what this woman’s relationship was with the man who’d ordered her to get him out of camp. Was he the tribal leader? Her father? Husband? Lover?

The last two choices were more distasteful to him than they should be. Despite his attraction to her, the worlds they occupied were separated by an abyss of custom and prejudice. The Gypsy had taken care of him, for which he would always be grateful. As for the other.

The sooner he could leave, the better it would befor all concerned. The woman who had tended to him could once more have her home back. Whoever had demanded she get rid of him would be satisfied. And more important, Rhys would be on his way once more to his godfather’s house.

With the memory of his journey’s purpose, he realized that unless he sent word to Keddinton that he’d been delayed, his godfather was apt to sound the alarm, which would send Edward rushing into the countryside to find him. It was lucky he hadn’t been more exact in his letter about the date of his arrival. Perhaps if he sent Keddinton a message now, he could forestall the humiliation of his family’s search.

‘Some of you have occasion to travel outside this camp?’

‘Of course,’ Despite her ready agreement, the woman seemed puzzled by his question.

‘I was hoping someone could take a letter to my godfather, Viscount Keddinton. His home is Warrenford Park. NearWargrave. He’s expecting me. If I don’t show up there soon, he may institute a hue and cry.’

Although Rhys had attempted to phrase the possible consequence of his non-arrival lightheartedly, the woman’s face changed. Only then did he realize that his presence might represent a danger to the Rom. And on reflection, he had no doubt his brother and even Keddinton would assume the worst if he were discovered to be convalescing in a Gypsy encampment.

‘Of course,’ she said evenly.’I’ll bring you something with which to write your message and see that it’s delivered as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you. My arrangements were not so exact as to cause immediate concern, but I think it best we forestall any unnecessary worry.’

‘Of course,’ she said again, but her eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He had finally escaped his family’s solicitous care of him. Now he must concentrate on regaining his strength in order to escape the possibility of further humiliation. Not all of which, he admitted ruefully, involved his family.

‘How is he?’ Magda asked.

‘Stronger.’ Nadya dipped a ladle into the pot of porridge that hung over the fire near her grandmother’s caravan. She had already put the writing materials she’d promised the Englishman in the pocket of her apron. ‘He doesn’t remember what happened with Angel or how he came to be here.’

‘He doesn’t remember saving her?’

‘No. And I’m not sure it’s to our advantage to tell him.’

‘As it stands now, he believes he’s beholden to you. Magda had immediately grasped her dilemma.’If you tell him what he did for your daughter, the shoe is on the other foot.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And yet you feel like a cheat for not telling him.’

Nadya looked up at the old woman, marvellingagain at how easily she was able to read her thoughts. ‘He deserves my gratitude, Mami. If he hadn’t been there…’A tightness in her throat prevented her from finishing the thought.

‘It wasn’t only that he was there, chavi. According to the girl, he put his life at risk to save Angel.’

‘I know. And for a child he didn’t know. A child who was nothing to him.’

‘An English child. One of his own kind,’ Magda reminded her.’If your daughter had looked like you, chavi, I wonder if he would have gone into the water to rescue her.’

Nadya couldn’t argue with what her grandmother was suggesting. She had lived her entire life with the kind of unthinking prejudice that held her people to be less worthy of every measure of respect accorded to the fairer-skinned population among whom they lived.

‘What do you think?’ Magda asked.

‘About what?’Without meeting her grandmother’s eyes, Nadya wiped the rim of the bowl she’d just filled with the edge of her apron.

‘Do you think he would have done that for another child? For Tara? Or Racine?’

‘How should I know what the gaujo would do? All I know is what he did.’

‘And that’s enough for you?’

‘It’s enough for today,’ Nadya said as she straightened.

‘And for tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow he’ll be gone, and I won’t have to wonder about him ever again.’

The dark, far-seeing eyes of her grandmother held on hers. Then the thin lips, surrounded by their network of fine lines lifted, curving at the corners.’There are lies more believable than the truth, chavi. The one you just told isn’t one of them.’

‘Your old sayings may work with the gadje, Mami, who are willing to believe anything you tell them. You’ve forgotten who you’re talking to. Besides, Stephano has decreed I have to get rid of the Englishman before he returns.’

‘When have you ever worried about obeying Stephano’s orders? Except when they track with your own desires.’

‘Then isn’t it convenient that in this case they do? Go peddle your fortunes to the villagers. We shall need their shillings come winter.’

‘Before it, if we keep feeding strangers.’ One dark brow rose in challenge, but the old woman’s grin widened.

And when Nadya turned to take the gaujo’s breakfast to him, she, too, was smiling.

As she rounded the corner of her vardo, she discovered the Englishman dressed and sitting on its high seat. Flat on his back, he had sent her normally unflappable senses reeling. Upright, he proved to be even more of a threat to them.

Much the worse for its recent immersion as well as for the now-mended mutilation she’d performed on it, the lawn shirt was stretched across a pair of broad shoulders. She had removed his cravat when she undressed him. He hadn’t bothered to replace it today, so that the strong brown column of his neck was visible at the open throat.

‘Out for the sun?’ She shaded her eyes with her free hand to look up at it.

‘I thought it was past time I was up.’

‘Then you’ve discovered the answer to your question.’

‘My question?’

‘About when you’ll be well enough to ride.’

His lips flattened, but he didn’t respond to her teasing. She waited a moment, unsure what had just happened, and then held the bowl she carried up to him.

‘Do English lords eat porridge?’

‘I’m sure they do.’The green eyes again held a trace of amusement.

‘Do you?’

‘I have been known to partake of porridge. When I was lucky enough to have it at hand.’

‘Then…’ She lifted the bowl a little higher.

He hesitated a moment before he reached down to take her offering. ‘I’ll be more than happy to pay you for whatever you’ve expended on my care. If you’ll provide me with—’

She wasn’t sure what he saw in her face, but whatever it was stopped him in mid-sentence. ‘It’s porridge,’she said. ‘We’ve plenty of it. And no matter what you’ve heard, we aren’t accustomed to charging our guests for their food.’

‘I’m hardly a guest.’

According to his lights, he was right. He didn’t remember what he’d done to earn her gratitude, and she had thus far, for her own selfish reasons, chosen not to tell him. But it was past time for the truth.

‘You are my guest. An honoured one. For as long as you wish to stay.’

‘That’s very kind, but—’

‘You saved my daughter’s life,’ she interrupted. ‘At considerable risk to your own.’

‘Your daughter? Angel?’

‘She’d fallen into a stream, and you rescued her. I’m not sure when or how you struck your head, but it was in the course of that rescue.’

‘She told you that? I thought.’

‘The girl who was supposed to be watching her witnessed it all. You still don’t remember?’

A furrow appeared between his brows as if he were trying to. Finally he shook his head.

‘None of it. I remember riding out that morning, revelling in the freedom of being in the saddle, and then… I remember being placed on a cart. At least I think I do. That may have been something else—’ Again he hesitated.

‘Something else?’

It seemed the Englishman, too, had things he’d chosen not to reveal, but she couldn’t imagine what. If he remembered the rescue, then in his situation, it would be to his advantage to lay claim to his heroic actions.

‘Another memory, perhaps. I remember thinking at the time that I was being carried from the field. And then. then I thought I must have dreamed it.’

‘The field? A battlefield? You were a soldier?’

‘Better or worse than being a lord? ‘The amusement was back.

‘From my perspective? I suppose that would depend on whether or not you were a wealthy soldier.’

‘Another disappointment, I’m afraid. All the wealthy soldiers were lords. It takes a great deal of money to buy a commission these days.’ He spooned a bite of the porridge, blowing on it before he put it into his mouth.

‘Ah, well,’ she comforted as she watched him, ‘I suppose you’ll just have to share porridge with the rest of us then.’

‘And very good porridge it is, too. Thank you.’ He lifted the spoon in a small salute before he used it to secure another bite. ‘For this and everything else.’

‘I believe the weight of debt is still rather heavily in your favour, my lord. If porridge and a few decoctions can make payments on that balance, perhaps one day it may be paid in full.’

‘Consider it paid already. If what you say is true, then I’m glad I was at hand when your Angeline needed a rescuer.’ He looked up from the bowl, the green eyes serious now. ‘And very glad you were at hand when I needed one.’

‘At no risk to myself.’

His gaze left hers to survey the compound. Despite the fact that the normal morning activities were ongoing, more than one pair of eyes had been focused on the two of them.

The Englishman smiled and nodded a greeting to those who seemed interested in their conversation. As he did, most had the grace to turn their attentions back to the daily tasks at hand.

Andrash, who had helped carry the Englishman back to camp, lifted a hand in response. The ex-soldier responded in kind before he looked down at her.

‘At no cost to yourself?’

She laughed. ‘If you’re imagining that my position here is in jeopardy because I choose to take you in, you’re mistaken.’

‘At least one person objected rather strongly to your kindness. And, although I have no way to verify his claim, he said he had the authority to enforce his displeasure.’

He meant Stephano, Nadya realized. Given their proximity to the caravan when her half-brother had issued his ultimatum, she shouldn’t be surprised to find that her patient overheard them.

‘Is that why you’re up? Because you felt…threatened?’

‘I’m up because I felt well enough to try.’

‘And well enough to succeed, it seems. Congratulations.’

‘You may hold your applause until I can do more than sit in the sun.’

‘Granted, your bay will prove more of a challenge.’

‘My brother’s bay,’ he corrected softly.

There was some issue there. A rivalry? Or simple envy of the firstborn’s rights under English law?

‘Shall I ask Andrash to bring the gelding?’ She turned her head, seeking the smith, who had apparently found occupation in another area of the camp while they’d been talking.

‘Maybe I’ll check on him. Later, I think.’ He held the half-empty bowl down to her.

Although she noted the slight tremor in his fingers, she didn’t comment on it. ‘At your convenience, my lord. I assure you your brother’s horse will be here and well tended when you are ready for him.’

‘If you insist on a title, then major will do.’

‘Aren’t majors’ commissions purchased?’ she teased.

‘It happens mine was awarded. My previous ranks were purchased, however. By benefactors,’ he added when she cocked her head as if to challenge his denial of wealth. ‘My brother and my godfather, actually.’

‘That reminds me.’ She fished the paper and pencil stub out of her pocket, holding them up to him. As he took them, his fingers brushed hers. ‘So, Major…?’

‘Morgan. Rhys Morgan.’

‘How do you do, Major Morgan.’ She lowered her head as she had seen the ladies in the village do.

‘Better than yesterday, thank you.’

‘And not so well as tomorrow. That I can promise you. Don’t be impatient.’

He nodded, his eyes on hers.

After a moment, she deliberately broke the contact between them by looking down at the bowl he’d handed her. ‘We can do better than this for dinner.’

He shook his head. ‘You’d be surprised how grateful one can be for porridge.’

For some reason she believed him. Of course, as a soldier, he had undoubtedly known deprivation.

Now, however, he was back in England, where his kind wanted for nothing. Except, perhaps, the favours of a well-placed benefactor. Or of a Gypsy girl.

‘You didn’t tell me your name.’

Surprised, her eyes came up, as she debated whether or not to tell him the truth. And then, deciding that it couldn’t possibly matter if he knew, she did. ‘My name is Nadya Argentari.’

‘Your servant, Miss Argentari.’ He repeated her earlier gesture, making rather more of it than she had.

‘Somehow I doubt that, my lord.’

‘Major,’ he corrected again.

‘Major Morgan. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients who seem to still be in need of my skills this morning.’

‘But none, I assure you, who will be more grateful for them.’

‘No matter your denial, I see that you are indeed a milord.’

‘A simple soldier, ma’am, I assure you. And quite willingly at your service.’

He inclined his head slightly. Despite all her strictures to the contrary, Nadya found her senses once more stirred.

Like a schoolgirl taken with the first handsome gentleman she encounters.

Or at least the first she had encountered in a very long time, Nadya admitted. And, she reiterated, this time strictly to herself, the sooner he is gone, the better it will be for everyone concerned.

Especially for me.