jumped down from the wagon and took a step toward the other women. Gilen grabbed her elbow. “Stay,” he said softly. “Dance here—just for me.”
For a long moment he held her gaze. Then, pulling away from him, she began to dance.
Hands above her head, arms arched and gracefully swirling, she dipped and swayed to the wild call of the fiddles, the clamor of the crowd clapping. The shawl slipped from her shoulders and she shrugged it off and kicked it free. Gilen caught his breath as, eyes closed, breasts straining against the cotton of her blouse, hips undulating in sinuous rhythm, she became one with the passionate beat of the music.
He scarcely heard the roars and cheers of the men, the clink of the coins they tossed at the gypsy girls by the fire. His entire being focused on the violet-eyed temptress dancing for him alone.
At last the music ended. The girl finished with a final flourish of outstretched arms, her neck arched and her head back. Without thought or conscious volition, Gilen pulled her pliant body in his arms, brushed the gossamer veil aside and kissed her.
No doubt shock immobilized her for an instant, and then for the briefest moment her clenched fists pushed at his chest. But as he moved his mouth over hers, just nuzzling at first, then adding the gentle entreaty of lips and tongue, her resistance dissolved and she swayed against him, opening to his persistent advance.
Exhilaration flooded him when he captured her tongue and she moaned deep in her throat, her slack fingers clenching at his shoulders and her nipples peaking against his chest. He pulled her closer still, voracious, starving to taste every surface of her tongue and every contour of her mouth, his ears throbbing to the hammer of her heartbeat against his own.
So lost to reality was he, there was no predicting how much further he might have gone had not a sudden jerk at his shoulder loosened his grip on her. Before he could reestablish his hold, strong arms seized him and dragged him away.
“No! Forbidden!” the outraged gypsy lord screamed in his face.
Thrown off balance, Gilen staggered a little before righting himself. The blast of cool air rushing into the void left by the loss of her passionate body and the cold fury of the man before him finally doused his overheated senses, making Gilen realize where he was and what he’d been doing. The girl stood where he’d been forced to release her, one trembling hand holding the veil to her face.
For a moment, Gilen thought the gypsy lord would strike him. However, apparently deciding that attempting to mill down an aristocrat would bring him more trouble than satisfaction, the leader stepped back.
“Go!” he shouted at Gilen, gesturing out of the camp. “All, go!” He motioned again, encompassing this time the entire crowd. “Evening is over.”
At a sweep of his arm, the gypsy women slipped back toward the wagons. A line of grim-faced gypsy men, hands poised over the knives at their waists, advanced to stand beside him.
With a few muttered oaths, the milling group retreated from the fire toward the enclosure that contained their horses. When Gilen turned from the leader to catch one last glimpse of his gypsy enchantress, she was gone.
He looked back at the gypsy lord, who stood with feet planted, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes radiating menace.
Obviously he had overstepped the bounds. Giving the man a deep bow by way of apology, Gilen turned and walked away with the others.
“Well done, brother,” Alden threw at him as Gilen caught up with their group.
“S-sorry if I put a premature end to the night’s activities,” Gilen replied, still rattled by the intensity of the reactions he had just experienced.
“’Twas the close of the evening anyway,” Chase replied. “They always finish it with the wenches dancing. Though I must say, you’re lucky you cut so commanding a figure. Had one of the farm lads touched a woman, I swear that heathen would have knocked him down and carved out his eyeballs.”
“You were right after all, Gil,” Alden said with a grin. “You nearly did end up with a gypsy’s knife in your ribs. Next time, I shall be more careful what I wish for.”
Though he’d gone back with Alden and his friends for a convivial evening of cards—winning yet more from his hapless host, as he took himself up to bed, Gilen still could not shake from his mind the image of the gypsy girl’s veiled face…or the feel of her in his arms, her honeyed lips yielding to his.
With so enchanting a body wedded to so keen a wit, what a mistress she would make! His blood heated anew at the thought. He’d give a king’s ransom indeed to claim her. Perhaps he should return to the gypsy encampment in the morning, make an attempt to discover the correct protocols so he might negotiate an agreement with the gypsy lord. Given the strength of the attraction between them, confirmed beyond doubt in her kiss, he felt sure if her leader approved, his gypsy enchantress would eagerly accept his offer.
Then he recalled something she’d said, something about being beaten by her master if he deprived her of her winnings. Had the gypsy leader been ready to turn the visitors out of camp, or had he thrown them out because of Gilen’s rash action? If the latter, would the loss of revenue that might have been earned during the remainder of the evening be blamed on the girl?
Remorse with an uneasy layer of worry stabbed at him. What if the leader chastised an innocent maid for his transgression? Although he could not imagine ever striking a woman, apparently beating was not an uncommon punishment among the gypsy clan. And if that slender wisp of a girl were punished, it would be his fault.
The very thought of it made him ill.
He sat straight up in bed, but a moment’s reflection was enough for him to realize he could do nothing further tonight. Tomorrow at first light, however, he would ride to the gypsy encampment to offer more gold, and his formal apologies.
Having made that resolve, he still found sleep elusive. What slumber he managed was disturbed alternately by heated dreams of a dark-haired vixen writhing under him and horrific images of her writhing under the lash. He awoke early and unrefreshed, his mind seized by a combination of eagerness and anxiety.
Gilen made short work of shaving and dressing, and after tossing down a mug of ale brought by his astonished valet, headed for the stable. The sleepy-eyed groom who wandered out goggled at him as he saddled Raven.
The stallion was happy enough to set off at a run. Gilen’s spirits rose too, the exhilaration of a gallop heightening his anticipation.
Slowing the stallion as he rounded the last bend, Gilen rode into the clearing where the gypsy lads had corralled the horses and reined in, looking toward the river.
Where a semicircle of wagons had stood last night, a blazing fire at their center, there now remained only a pile of barely smoking embers. Consternation slammed him in the chest.
During the night as he slept, dreaming of a violet-eyed vixen, the gypsy band had departed.
Chapter Four
Next day, dressed in their own clothes and delivered by Davi to the edge of town at about the hour the mail coach would be arriving, Gwennor and Parry found a hackney to take them to the home of her stepmother’s aunt, Lady Alice. After identifying themselves to her butler Mercer, they were led to a small back parlor to await
