skirts looked as though they had been made up of odd bits of bright fabric and contrasting braid. Despite the unmistakable curiosity flashing in their black eyes as they watched the visitors, not one moved to greet them.
“You seek help for your gree ?” a gruff voice demanded.
Carolyn’s view of the man’s approach had been blocked by Brandon’s left shoulder, so it seemed almost as though he had appeared out of thin air. He was of middle age, large and brawny, and he carried himself like a lord.
Brandon said casually, “I am looking for the Rom called Salas. I owe him money.”
“You owe my son roop or suhakie ?” the man demanded. “Silver or gold?” Then he shook his head, realizing that Brandon still did not understand him. “Little or much, and for what?”
“For a horse, a gree ,” Brandon said. He grinned. “Much to him, I think. He has my watch. I want it back.”
The big man smiled back, showing yellowing, crooked teeth, one blackened in front, before his gaze flicked briefly over Carolyn and back to Brandon. “You wish to sell your raiena , your lady? My son needs wife, and she is much pretty.”
“Well, as to that,” Brandon murmured, as though he were giving thought to the matter, “I should have to—”
“Brandon!” Carolyn dug him in the ribs with her elbow.
He grinned again. “Fact is, sir, she ain’t mine to sell. You’d have to talk to her—Ouch, Carolyn, quit that!”
But she didn’t answer him for the simple reason that her attention had been diverted by the sight of one of the most handsome young men she had ever laid eyes on. He walked up behind the older Romany, his dark eyes gleaming with interest as he looked her over, his teeth flashing white in a huge smile when he caught her gaze. Flushing, she looked away.
Brandon, too, had seen the younger man. “Ah, there you are Salas, old man. I’ve come to redeem my watch and to pay what I owe you for this nag.”
“A fine gree ,” the young man said. “He goes well for you?”
“Very well,” Brandon said, shifting Carolyn a bit in order to extract his purse from his waistcoat. “Here’s your money. Where’s my watch?”
The young man’s eyes sparkled with humor as he reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted a gold watch. “Salas has a better one than this. You may have it back.”
“Thank you.” Brandon grinned at him. “Think you could take a look at the lady’s nag there. Strained a fetlock on the trail. Daresay it needs a compress applied to it, soonest.”
The gypsy nodded and knelt to examine the injury. Carolyn saw that his hands were large but gentle as they moved swiftly over the leg. Now that he was not looking at her, she found it difficult to take her eyes from him. Muscles rippled beneath his coat, and his manner was as lordly as his father’s, his profile positively princely. Except for such trifling distinctions as the contrasting colors of their hair, skin, and eyes, he looked just as she had imagined Sir Bartholomew Lancelot must look.
When Salas turned toward them as he arose again, she noted the natural grace with which he moved, and a daring notion shot into her mind. She tried to suppress it, calling herself a fool, but it remained to tantalize her with possibilities. She had wanted to teach Sydney a much needed lesson. Was it possible that the opportunity had come to do just that?
IV
S ALAS’S VOICE INTERRUPTED CAROLYN’S reverie. “The gree should not walk farther today, lady,” he said. “We will keep him here, and you may return for him tomorrow.”
Brandon said, “I don’t know if—”
“Leave him,” Carolyn said, adding when the two gypsies looked at her in astonishment, “Shadow is mine, you see, and I should take it kindly if you would tend to him. My groom said your people have got magic in their fingers.”
“Magic in many limbs, pretty one,” Salas said, flashing her a wide, teasing smile. “I would be pleased to show you.”
“Thank
“You seek help for your gree ?” a gruff voice demanded.
Carolyn’s view of the man’s approach had been blocked by Brandon’s left shoulder, so it seemed almost as though he had appeared out of thin air. He was of middle age, large and brawny, and he carried himself like a lord.
Brandon said casually, “I am looking for the Rom called Salas. I owe him money.”
“You owe my son roop or suhakie ?” the man demanded. “Silver or gold?” Then he shook his head, realizing that Brandon still did not understand him. “Little or much, and for what?”
“For a horse, a gree ,” Brandon said. He grinned. “Much to him, I think. He has my watch. I want it back.”
The big man smiled back, showing yellowing, crooked teeth, one blackened in front, before his gaze flicked briefly over Carolyn and back to Brandon. “You wish to sell your raiena , your lady? My son needs wife, and she is much pretty.”
“Well, as to that,” Brandon murmured, as though he were giving thought to the matter, “I should have to—”
“Brandon!” Carolyn dug him in the ribs with her elbow.
He grinned again. “Fact is, sir, she ain’t mine to sell. You’d have to talk to her—Ouch, Carolyn, quit that!”
But she didn’t answer him for the simple reason that her attention had been diverted by the sight of one of the most handsome young men she had ever laid eyes on. He walked up behind the older Romany, his dark eyes gleaming with interest as he looked her over, his teeth flashing white in a huge smile when he caught her gaze. Flushing, she looked away.
Brandon, too, had seen the younger man. “Ah, there you are Salas, old man. I’ve come to redeem my watch and to pay what I owe you for this nag.”
“A fine gree ,” the young man said. “He goes well for you?”
“Very well,” Brandon said, shifting Carolyn a bit in order to extract his purse from his waistcoat. “Here’s your money. Where’s my watch?”
The young man’s eyes sparkled with humor as he reached into the pocket of his coat and extracted a gold watch. “Salas has a better one than this. You may have it back.”
“Thank you.” Brandon grinned at him. “Think you could take a look at the lady’s nag there. Strained a fetlock on the trail. Daresay it needs a compress applied to it, soonest.”
The gypsy nodded and knelt to examine the injury. Carolyn saw that his hands were large but gentle as they moved swiftly over the leg. Now that he was not looking at her, she found it difficult to take her eyes from him. Muscles rippled beneath his coat, and his manner was as lordly as his father’s, his profile positively princely. Except for such trifling distinctions as the contrasting colors of their hair, skin, and eyes, he looked just as she had imagined Sir Bartholomew Lancelot must look.
When Salas turned toward them as he arose again, she noted the natural grace with which he moved, and a daring notion shot into her mind. She tried to suppress it, calling herself a fool, but it remained to tantalize her with possibilities. She had wanted to teach Sydney a much needed lesson. Was it possible that the opportunity had come to do just that?
IV
S ALAS’S VOICE INTERRUPTED CAROLYN’S reverie. “The gree should not walk farther today, lady,” he said. “We will keep him here, and you may return for him tomorrow.”
Brandon said, “I don’t know if—”
“Leave him,” Carolyn said, adding when the two gypsies looked at her in astonishment, “Shadow is mine, you see, and I should take it kindly if you would tend to him. My groom said your people have got magic in their fingers.”
“Magic in many limbs, pretty one,” Salas said, flashing her a wide, teasing smile. “I would be pleased to show you.”
“Thank
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