Lord Stowe, on the other hand, might pay handsomely for the chance at revenge.
Marko reached for her face, cupping both her cheeks in his hands. She jerked back from his touch, trying to scream at him to release her, but the cloth muffled the sounds to gibberish. The fact that she looked foolish made her angry and she kicked out at him, the toe of her shoe colliding with the soft leather of his boot near the knee.
“Perhaps we should tie her feet as well,” the other man said with laughter tinting his tone. “A more unwilling bride I’ve never seen.”
“Easy, my love,” Marko said under his breath for her ears only. “You will not be harmed.”
It was then that she understood. A gypsy betrothal was usually short and often ended when the girl was taken from her bed and delivered to her future husband’s vardo . He had failed to kidnap her from the coach, so he was doing so now. Since she did not have family who would barter with him for the bride price, this was the most public declaration of his intention to wed her that he could make.
As if he saw the understanding dawn in her eyes, Marko turned and whistled for his horse. When he was mounted, the other men lifted her up, placing her in his arms.
“In two weeks, we meet again” he said to the men as he gathered the reins tightly. “Until then, safe travels, phralale ! ”
They echoed the blessing as Marko let the horse have its head, and the clearing disappeared as the green of the forest surrounded them.
Heedless of the drying mud on Marko’s shirt, Juliet turned her face into his chest, partly for protection from the low-hanging branches and partly for the sheer pleasure it gave her. She was uncomfortable, but she no longer cared. Marko’s heart beat strongly against her cheek, his arms held her secure and she wanted nothing more from life. They rode in silence for some time. After a while, she realized that they were not going to the gypsy camp.
When she raised her head, Marko looked down inquiringly, then exclaimed softly under his breath. “Nearly there, sweet. Then I’ll make it up to you.”
She relaxed against him again. When he pulled the horse to a stop, she saw a large vardo parked beside a slow-running stream. There was no sign of the others. He slid from the horse with her in his arms and strode to the wagon, opening the door and depositing her on her feet inside. Shutting the door behind them, he released her from the bonds, allowing her to take her first good breath of air. With gentle fingers, he rubbed at the marks left on her cheeks until her face felt nearly normal.
“Where is everyone else?” she asked to break the silence.
“Scattered to the four winds.” His gaze focused on her red lips. “If we were to capture a nobleman’s bride, we knew the tribe would have to disappear for a while. You and I will be well-hidden here for a few days, then we’ll start the journey to the meeting place.”
A slow blush started up her chest as she considered how she and Marko could spend several days alone. She half-turned from him, rubbing at her wrists to restore feeling to her hands. “You could have told me. I fret myself to stitches wondering how I was to bear my wedding night with Lord Stowe.”
“I sent Vadoma to alert you to the plan.”
“That old woman?” she scoffed with mock annoyance. “She scared me witless with her talk of paths and destiny. An inability to speak plainly seems to be a trait that is taught in your tribe from birth.”
He bent his dark head toward her, his breath warm against her nape. “Then let me speak pure truth now.” His hands grasped her gently by the shoulders and he turned her to face him. Placing one bent finger under her chin, he raised her face to his. He stood for a moment, looking down at her features as if seeing her for the first time. “I never want to sleep another night without you by my side or wake to another
Marko reached for her face, cupping both her cheeks in his hands. She jerked back from his touch, trying to scream at him to release her, but the cloth muffled the sounds to gibberish. The fact that she looked foolish made her angry and she kicked out at him, the toe of her shoe colliding with the soft leather of his boot near the knee.
“Perhaps we should tie her feet as well,” the other man said with laughter tinting his tone. “A more unwilling bride I’ve never seen.”
“Easy, my love,” Marko said under his breath for her ears only. “You will not be harmed.”
It was then that she understood. A gypsy betrothal was usually short and often ended when the girl was taken from her bed and delivered to her future husband’s vardo . He had failed to kidnap her from the coach, so he was doing so now. Since she did not have family who would barter with him for the bride price, this was the most public declaration of his intention to wed her that he could make.
As if he saw the understanding dawn in her eyes, Marko turned and whistled for his horse. When he was mounted, the other men lifted her up, placing her in his arms.
“In two weeks, we meet again” he said to the men as he gathered the reins tightly. “Until then, safe travels, phralale ! ”
They echoed the blessing as Marko let the horse have its head, and the clearing disappeared as the green of the forest surrounded them.
Heedless of the drying mud on Marko’s shirt, Juliet turned her face into his chest, partly for protection from the low-hanging branches and partly for the sheer pleasure it gave her. She was uncomfortable, but she no longer cared. Marko’s heart beat strongly against her cheek, his arms held her secure and she wanted nothing more from life. They rode in silence for some time. After a while, she realized that they were not going to the gypsy camp.
When she raised her head, Marko looked down inquiringly, then exclaimed softly under his breath. “Nearly there, sweet. Then I’ll make it up to you.”
She relaxed against him again. When he pulled the horse to a stop, she saw a large vardo parked beside a slow-running stream. There was no sign of the others. He slid from the horse with her in his arms and strode to the wagon, opening the door and depositing her on her feet inside. Shutting the door behind them, he released her from the bonds, allowing her to take her first good breath of air. With gentle fingers, he rubbed at the marks left on her cheeks until her face felt nearly normal.
“Where is everyone else?” she asked to break the silence.
“Scattered to the four winds.” His gaze focused on her red lips. “If we were to capture a nobleman’s bride, we knew the tribe would have to disappear for a while. You and I will be well-hidden here for a few days, then we’ll start the journey to the meeting place.”
A slow blush started up her chest as she considered how she and Marko could spend several days alone. She half-turned from him, rubbing at her wrists to restore feeling to her hands. “You could have told me. I fret myself to stitches wondering how I was to bear my wedding night with Lord Stowe.”
“I sent Vadoma to alert you to the plan.”
“That old woman?” she scoffed with mock annoyance. “She scared me witless with her talk of paths and destiny. An inability to speak plainly seems to be a trait that is taught in your tribe from birth.”
He bent his dark head toward her, his breath warm against her nape. “Then let me speak pure truth now.” His hands grasped her gently by the shoulders and he turned her to face him. Placing one bent finger under her chin, he raised her face to his. He stood for a moment, looking down at her features as if seeing her for the first time. “I never want to sleep another night without you by my side or wake to another
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