Read Online Gypsy Jewel by Patricia McAllister - Free Book Online Page A

the urge to toy with a lock of golden-blonde hair, or to capture her sweetly curved lips beneath his own.
    Dear God, he was as smitten with this wild-eyed wench as none other before, and he didn’t rightly know what to do about it. English lords simply didn’t keep company with gypsy girls. Not that he wouldn’t mind right now, but he had a mission to complete, and he’d best keep his mind strictly on that.
    “I choose not to marry,” April announced proudly, daring him to dispute it with a flash of her green eyes.
    “Why not? I should think it would be advisable for a young girl of your ah — er — obvious charms to have a protector.”
    “Men!” she sniffed her opinion of them, for a fleeting moment reminding Damien of his own mother. He stifled the urge to laugh. Her brow was puckered in obvious upset. “They only want one thing from women.”
    “Ah.” He nodded grimly in understanding. April wondered if Damien might be contemplating such a thing himself.
    “I’ll get my clothes,” he said at last, after a long silence during which they simply looked at one another.
    April rose and turned the other way while Damien got up and donned his clothes. He dressed swiftly with his back to her, anxious to find out more about the young woman who intrigued him so. Like a schoolboy with his first crush, he wanted to know her name, her history and everything else about her.
    His heart pounding with anticipation, Damien turned to face her again. The rustle of trees in the breeze was all that greeted him. Silent as a cat, she had disappeared.
    Except for the imprint where their bodies had lain together in the soft grass, it was as if she never existed.
     
    L ATER THAT AFTERNON D AMIEN arrived at a clearing surrounded by towering oaks, the site where the gypsies he sought had laid out their summer camp. Clustered wagons kept the smaller domestic animals in place, and here and there horses were scattered all among the trees. He guessed there were about thirty or forty in the band. The large size of the group suited him well, since he would be able to blend in more easily.
    As he drove his wagon into camp, children and dogs came running, making a wild uproar of excitement. The earl was surrounded the moment he stepped down from his wagon, and a surge of curious gypsy hands reached out to him.
    Damien sought for any sign of the lovely blonde from the forest, but these folk were all dark. He was startled when one particularly hard-looking older wench with dyed red hair licked her full lips at him in invitation. None of the men appeared to mind this, so perhaps the woman needed a husband, but Damien quickly sidestepped her wet kiss.
    From amid the ruckus a large Slav finally pushed his way thorough, going directly up to Damien and speaking in romani .
    “Who are you?”
    Not intimidated by the husky growl, Damien introduced himself to the Rom Baro , the leader of the Lowara.
    Built like a tree trunk, with muscle to spare, the middle-aged Jingo would have intimidated a lesser man. But Damien looked past the brute strength to note that the king’s dark eyes held intelligence and kindly curiosity. Their brief exchange proved the earl correct. Jingo was a friendly man, but he was also cautious. Damien respected the request to have his wagon searched, and he presented his careful tale.
    At last the king seemed satisfied, or, Damien thought, perhaps a little weary of all the noise. Jingo ordered the others to disband, and then invited Damien to his tent to talk.
    “You have come far, if you have come from France,” the gypsy king began as he gestured to a comfortable mound of pillows where visitors could recline.
    “Have you been to my country?” Damien asked politely as he sat down and leaned back, crossing his ankles in imitation of Jingo. He knew enough to reflect the king’s habits with his own, lest he arouse suspicion. He also did not refuse the drink that was offered him.
    “I have heard of it,” Jingo replied.