Chapter Sixteen
Ezra’s family had not gone far. By asking questions of passersby and riding swiftly in between, Gervaise managed to reach their latest camp on the edge of the Bassenthwaite Lake, just as night began to fall.
The dogs stood up, growling, hackles rising as Gervaise reined in. Jeremiah, walking past the fire with a mug in his hand, paused and stared at him. Matthew, his fiddle idle on his lap, seized it and jumped to his feet.
“Da!” Jeremiah called.
Gervaise dismounted, his heart beating hard because he was about to see her again. His throat ached with all the things he needed to say to her.
Ezra emerged from one of the tents and froze.
“It’s him again,” Jeremiah said, unnecessarily.
Recovering, Ezra walked toward him. “Come, my lord, you are welcome. To what do we owe the honor?”
“My stupidity,” Gervaise said wryly. “May I see her?”
Ezra frowned. “Who?”
“Dawn.” Gervaise strove to maintain his well-cultivated patience.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “She’s not here. What have you done?”
Gervaise’s blood ran cold. “Like you, I took her for granted and she bolted. I knew she would come here to you. Damn it, I followed her here. A brewer’s cart dropped her at the crossroads only a couple of miles back. She should have been here by now.”
“At the crossroads?” Ezra repeated. For some reason, his frown had smoothed and his face lightened.
Gervaise had no time to find out the significance of the crossroads. He turned back to the horse and set his foot in the stirrup.
“No, wait. I know where she is. Jerry, you and Matthew go and bring her home. Kindly,” he added, warning clear in his voice.
This was by no means good enough for Gervaise, who mounted anyhow. Ezra grasped the bridle before he could follow Jerry and Matthew, already loping out of the camp as instructed.
“It’s best,” Ezra said sharply. “Consider her pride. She won’t drop in here at night, looking desperate for protection and somewhere to stay. She would rather swan in bright and cheerful with the new day. So, she’s gone to the hut to sleep. We come here every year and when they were little, she and Aurora used to play at keeping house in that hut. We even let them sleep there once with the dogs to guard them.”
All Gervaise’s instincts were to get to her as soon as possible, but something in Ezra’s face and voice stayed him. This man, for all intents and purposes, was Dawn’s father.
“She won’t come home for you,” Ezra said bluntly. “Even if you had not quarreled. And I won’t have you sleep there with her.”
Gervaise couldn’t prevent his jaw from dropping. “You have had her sleep under my roof for weeks.”
“That was different,” Ezra said with dignity. “Your territory, your rules. I knew you’d return her to me as pure as when you found her.”
“No, you didn’t,” Gervaise growled. “And I have no intention of returning her.”
“Well, that’s one of the things we need to discuss. Before she arrives.”
*
Dawn saw the smoke from the camp fires as she had trudged along the road and knew she had been right. Her family was camped in their usual place. She veered off the road, toward the cliff and there, where it had always been, was the tiny shepherd’s hut. When she had been a child, it had seemed the perfect house and had filled her with a strange longing for a different life from the one she knew. The intensity of her game had been such that even Aurora had joined in.
It still looked the same, though on closer inspection, the roof had a hole in it. If it rained, she was in for an even more uncomfortable night. But having walked all of last night and travelled all day in bumpy carts and by foot, she thought she was tired enough to sleep like the dead. And in the morning, she would go home.
She wanted to be with them. She did. She would not think of that other life, only half-glimpsed, half-understood. He wasn’t romantic, according to his mother at least, but she could not help hoping he would think of her sometimes.
Could he really be happy with Miss Farnborough or someone else like her?
Now that she was away from the castle, it was too easy to imagine that his own mother was wrong about him. After all, Lady Brathwaite had her own agenda. It could be that Dawn truly understood him better. At least she could laugh at herself for thinking so. She loved an illusion, not the reality. She had only ever been a distraction to him, but she had those idyllic weeks to sustain her until her own life felt real once more.
One thing would never change. She could not live as Eleanor in the shadow of Braithwaite Castle.
Trying to clear her mind, she carried out the dry wood she had left in the hut on her last visit and built a fire as close to the door as she dared. Then she swept the floor, using the broom that she and Aurora had made years ago. She sat, gazing into the flames for a little, letting the fire warm the hut as far as it could while her eyes kept trying to close. After a while, as darkness fell, she retreated inside, closed the door, and lay down on the floor.
Exhausted, she fell almost instantly asleep.
She woke to the crunch of footsteps outside the hut. Her heart thudding, she sat up, clutching the blanket close. Who would come here in the middle of the night? Was she in danger?
“Dawn?” a voice whispered.
Stupidly, her heart leapt, along with the ridiculous hope that the voice belonged to Gervaise. It couldn’t of course, but still… Whoever it was knew her name. It was, at least, a friend.
She rose and opened the door. The fire had died and gone out, but two men held a lantern, blinding her for a moment, until she recognized her brother. The pain of inevitable disappointment clashed with the pleasure of reunion and she walked with a sob into his outstretched arms.
“What’re you doing here, silly chit?” he said gently. “Come on to the camp with us. We’ll have a party to celebrate. Been looking for an excuse.”
She hiccupped a laugh and gave in without a fight. Fortunately, neither he nor Matthew asked awkward questions, merely brought her up to date on the family’s doings and Aurora’s certainty that the baby had smiled.
“You talk different,” Jerry said once in an accusing sort of voice.
For once she did not rise to the bait, merely smiled. “It will fade in time, like everything else, and all will be as it was before.”
“Then there is hope for me?” Matthew murmured eagerly.
“No,” she said bluntly. “There never was for you and me.”
In no time, it seemed, they had reached the familiar campsite at the edge of the lake. It was beautiful in summer and in winter snow. Even now, surrounded by dirty slush, with hardly any snow left on the ground, the beauty of the long, river-lake and the rising white-topped hills, soothed her wounded heart.
The dogs hurled themselves at her with joy and, laughing, she let herself be pushed to the ground to play with them and be thoroughly licked. Then Ezra stood there, bending to pull her to her feet and into his arms.
Over his shoulder, she saw Aurora and the baby. Her sister wore an enigmatic smile, as she often did around Dawn, but she came toward her with her free arm held out. Sliding free of Ezra, she hugged Aurora and smiled down at the peacefully sleeping baby whose form looked tiny inside his massive, warm wrappings.
“Oh, he’s grown!” Dawn exclaimed.
“Are you well?” Aurora demanded, peering into her face. “Are you strong? Tell me what you want, for—”
“Dawn,” Ezra interrupted, and Dawn pulled away from her sister, turning back to face her father. Her heart dived into her stomach, for beside him stood the Earl of Braithwaite.
You came, you came, a joyful voice repeated in her head, over and over, while she anxiously scanned his tall, handsome figure for signs of injury or distress. There were none, save for the mud-spatters on his clothes and the turbulence in his eyes which belied the veiled expression of his face.
Aloud, she said carelessly, “What are you doing here? I told you not to look for me.”
“Oh, I didn’t,” he replied. “I came to visit Ezra. He has invited me to a party.”
Their eyes locked. She raised one shaking hand to push the tangled hair from her face. What was happening here?
“Aurora, help her dress,” Ezra said. “Iris will take the baby.”
Still dazed, Dawn allowed herself to be dragged away toward the barn. Once, because she couldn’t help it, she twisted around to look back at Gervaise. He was watching her, too. A smile, at once reassuring and teasing, broke over his face and she wanted to weep. Why did that smile always vanquish her?
The barn was warm and busy. A brazier burned in the middle and lanterns glowed along the walls.
When she was a child, they had often slept there over the summer, while the men had worked for the farmer. Then, the farmer had built a new barn and let them stay there when they wished, in winter, too, with his animals, grain and hay safely stored elsewhere. Her aunts and cousins all came to greet her. The older children who were still awake ran to hug her. Their warmth flooded her with affection and gratitude, and yet there was a strange unreality about this situation. Only last night she had lived in a castle with aristocrats for companions and footmen to serve her. Tonight, she was to dance in a barn with gypsies. She knew which of these situations should seem unreal. But of course, it was the Earl of Braithwaite’s presence which was wrong.
Aurora led her up to the hayloft which had been partitioned with haphazard screens made of bright blankets. Aurora had set up her tent for her family, which looked cozy and appealing with its bright cushions and blankets.
“This is handsome,” Aurora remarked, when she had peeled off Dawn’s old cloak to reveal the sable-lined cloak beneath. “Did he give you it?”
Dawn nodded. “At least I can give it back, now.”
Aurora paused and grasped Dawn by the shoulders. “Dawnie, don’t you know what this party is for?”
Dawn stared at her, bewildered, until Aurora flung away from her, and rummaged inside her trunk. She emerged with a bundle of red silk which she shook out, displaying a familiar gown. It was the dress Aurora had been married in, and before that, so had Aurora’s mother and grandmother.
Dawn’s heart jolted into her throat. “What…what has Da…He can’t do this, Aurora! Not to an earl!”
“Your earl sounded perfectly agreeable.”
The world was tilting ever further out of her control. Perhaps she was dreaming. She made one more stab at reality. “That’s silly. Earls don’t marry gypsies.”
“Apparently this one does. He followed you here to do it, Dawn.” Aurora dropped the gown on the cushions. “What happened? Did he debauch you? Hurt you?”
Dawn blinked. “He never touched me.” She refocused her gaze on Aurora’s face. “I own I wanted him to. But nothing is ever that simple, is it?”
“If you don’t want this, I’ll smuggle you out till he’s gone. You can leave Da to me.”
“Want it?” The words burst from Dawn. “He doesn’t mean it. He can’t.”
Aurora frowned. “You mean he won’t recognize our marriage ceremony? He’ll use it to have his way with you and then leave you?”
“He won’t see it like that. To him, it’s a way for us to be together that dishonors neither of us. And leaves him free to marry Miss Farnborough.”
“Who is Miss Farnborough?” Aurora asked, puzzled.
Dawn waved one dismissive hand. “She doesn’t matter. She can easily be substituted for some other vapid female with the right blood and upbringing.”
Aurora took her hand and tugged to make her sit on the cushions. “What do you want, little sister?” she asked bluntly.
Emotion rushed on Dawn, closing her throat, depriving her of breath. The dreams she had once harbored were foolish, could never come true. The great eternal love she had once foretold for him was not with her. But maybe, just maybe, she could have a little of him forever.
“Make me beautiful, Aurora,” she whispered. “For one night, or maybe two, he will be mine.”
*
This was not quite how Gervaise had planned their reunion. He had meant to find her, sweep her into his arms, and take her home to his castle. And marry her. Only Ezra had chosen this moment of all others to discover paternal concern. After thrusting Dawn at him on their first meeting, now he would not let her go without marriage.
This part did not trouble Gervaise. But he had not counted on being separated from her almost as soon as they’d set eyes on each other. He needed to speak to her alone, to find out what she wanted, if she loved him. But he couldn’t get near her. The women not attending Dawn were setting up a table for feasting. The whole camp was in motion, deploying wall torches and braziers in the barn, which they decorated with bright blankets and cushions. It all seemed to have one aim—to keep him from his bride. And Gervaise, who could slice through any opposition in his own world, from unruly mobs, to political opponents and his own opinionated mother, found himself curiously helpless. He did not want this to happen without Dawn’s consent.
And yet, when they finally brought her down from the loft, all coherent thought ended.
He could not breathe.
A stunning red gown of no particular era shone in the torchlight, contrasting with her pale, yet glowing skin. Bracelets adorned her arms, gold and semi-precious stone necklaces were wound around her slender neck. Her hair was piled high on her head, held with Spanish combs and allowed to tumble loose down her nape and back. Her shoulders were bare, the neckline of the gown plunging to reveal just enough of her breasts to drive any man wild.
She was magnificent, maddeningly beautiful, and that was before he even looked into her eyes. Large and brilliant green, they met his boldly. He read no hostility there, now, only temptation.
He swallowed, barely able to drag his gaze free when Ezra commanded his attention. Ezra stood before him, splendid in a heavily embroidered shirt. Gervaise, properly aware of very little except Dawn standing so close to him that they almost touched, thought that Aurora and Jerry stood behind them. The rest of the family, including the older children, encircled them, watching avidly. Incense, sweet and heady, filled his nostrils.
Ezra began to speak, but in Romany. Gervaise didn’t mind. He had no real interest in the words. Only when Ezra took a wicked looking dagger from Aurora and took Dawn’s hand, did Gervaise react, flinging his arm across Dawn to protect her.
“Be still,” she said, low. “It’s part of the ceremony.”
Confused, Gervaise dropped his arm and watched in horror as Ezra made a swift, shallow cut in her palm. A moment later, his own hand was seized, cut and joined with Dawn’s. There was an instant when he glimpsed their blood mingling, and in spite of himself, as Ezra wrapped a long piece of embroidered linen around their joined hands, he was moved. Far more than the giving of a ring, this united them. Their lifeblood was one. And abruptly, his desire returned with a vengeance.
Barely aware of the rest of the ceremony, he knew only that he did not wish to be unbound from Dawn. When Ezra eventually untied the linen and released them, he handed the slightly blood-stained cloth to Gervaise, who stuffed it in his pocket.
“And now you are married,” Ezra said in English. “Man and wife. Let us celebrate. Matthew!”
The fiddler, looking morose but no longer hostile, began to play a merry dance that made even Gervaise’s feet tap on the floor. He ached to be alone with his bride and no longer simply to talk.
She took his hand, smiling as she pulled away, stretching his arm before she spun back against him. Her soft curves touched in all the right places. Her eyes devoured him.
“Are we really married?” he asked hoarsely.
“By our laws. Come, we have to drink a toast.”
Ezra presented him with a small, silver goblet. Gervaise drank impatiently, anxious to get the ritual over. Rough spirit burned his tongue and his throat. Ezra took the goblet from him and handed it to Dawn. Gervaise could not take his gaze off her luscious lips as they closed over the cup and she drank from the same place.
Again, everyone cheered over the music.
“Can we go now?” Gervaise breathed in her ear as she handed the cup back to Ezra.
“Go where?”
“Home. Bed. Anywhere we can be alone.”
“Now you are impatient?” she teased.
“I’ve always been impatient. Now, I can no longer bear it.”
“Then you must dance with me,” she said huskily, trailing one fingernail down his chest to his waist. His breath caught with sheer lust, and she smiled. “As you once promised. Persuade me.” Her finger veered left toward the embroidered linen half-spilling from his pocket. With one tug, she pulled it free and, seizing his hand, she spun away, drawing her with him.
And then, she began to dance, and nothing in the world had ever been so alluring, so provocative, so beautiful.
*
For Dawn, there was only Gervaise. Separated from his own world, he was fully hers for this night at least. He should have looked incongruous and stiff in his English gentleman’s clothing among the colorful gypsies in festival garb, and yet he didn’t. He didn’t even pull away or retreat in embarrassment when she began to dance around him, drawing him with her, tempting him. He caught her to him, spinning together as though they were waltzing, and let her pull away again. For a few minutes, while he grew used to the tones and rhythms, they simply danced, and it was fun to be with him, to see the veneer of his civilization slide slowly away. Neither of them paid any attention to their watchers, clapping in rhythm and cheering them on.
Gradually, subtly, Matthew began to change his music to that of a courtship dance. Now, she danced blatantly to tempt Gervaise, drawing him in and pulling away as soon as their bodies touched. And then, instead of simply swishing the linen in her hand, she threw it over his head, and slid it down to his waist, and he smiled, his eyes gleaming and hot because she had captured him.
Laughing, she threw her head back, tugging him nearer and then backing away to Matthew’s seductive, insistent rhythm. Each time she dragged him closer, she let him stay there just a little longer before she danced away. And each time, it was harder to leave him, for her body ached and throbbed. Every brush of her breasts against his chest aroused her further. She loved to tease him and she loved to touch him. She adored the heat in his eyes, his quickened breath, the unashamed hardness which skimmed against her. She could do this all night until he begged her to take him to bed.
She drew him close once more, her eyes locked on his. The lust she read there was intense enough to frighten her. For the first time she began to wonder what she was unleashing, and if she could possibly handle it. But his hips moved against hers more intimately than ever before and her legs began to tremble. Hastily, she stepped back, but his hands grasped her wrists, preventing her.
He jerked the linen from her fingers, threw it over her head and worked it slowly down her body. Then he yanked it hard and she gasped as she was hauled against his hips, and the hardness between his thighs. Now, she, once the captor, was the captive. New, wondrous excitement rushed through her.
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. He leaned over her and his every movement caressed her breasts, and the melting heat at the juncture of her thighs. Before everyone, he lowered his head the last few inches and fastened his mouth to hers.
She was lost and she was won.
“Now,” he whispered against her lips. “Now.”
She had no excuse to misunderstand him, for his arm replaced the linen at her waist and he hurried her with him through the crowd of her family, who made way for them, laughing and spilled into their own dance.
At the loft ladder, he released her, his clouded eyes urging her up. She climbed with trembling legs, and by the time she turned to help him, he was already beside her, his arm back around her as though he could not bear the slightest distance between them. Wordlessly, she led him to the far end of the loft, behind the screens the women had prepared, to the bed of blankets and cushions over fresh straw.
As the veiling blanket fell back into place behind them, he took her into his arms and kissed her again, sweeping her hard against him. His lips left hers, dropping hot, intense kisses on her jaw and throat and the swell of her breasts until she moaned. It seemed he understood only too well how to unlace her gown, for when he tugged it once, it fell around her feet and she stood before him totally naked.
She had no time for embarrassment, only for an instant of fierce triumph as she read his awed delight, and then he pushed against her and they fell together onto the cushions. His weight ground into her. His hands devoured her, stroking everywhere until he discovered the secret of her own fevered lust. With a groan, as if he couldn’t help it, he pushed inside her.
She moaned, holding him, scrabbling at his clothes, but their urgency was too great and he took her while still half-dressed. Nevertheless, he loved her with the care and tenderness a virgin needed. Only at the end, when she cried out her astonished joy, did he lose his control utterly. His wilder strokes intensified her pleasure and as he found his release, she wrapped him in her arms and wept from sheer happiness.