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Authors: Tori Phillips
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get a fire started with that lot. The wood is damp,” she remarked. “There are dry logs inside the fortress at the guards’ hearth. We should go there to cook our dinner.” She averted her eyes from the scored earth.
Sandor didn’t blame her, but he needed to make quick work of the digging. Assuming a levity that he did not feel, he replied, “A true Gypsy can start a fire in a rainstorm.”
He busiedhimself with breaking up the sticks and arranging them in an orderly pile in the middle of the turned earth. Then he drew out his tinderbox from the ditty bag that hung on his belt. The spark from his flint ignited the kindling. He blew on it to encourage the fire’s life. As he predicted to Tonia, the flames responded. Soon a cheerful fire crackled in the depression, chasing the remnants of the morning’s chill.
While the wood burned down to hot coals, Sandor gutted and cleaned the fish on one of the nearby stones. Tonia watched him with a studied interest.
“Your hands are quick and sure with your knife,” she remarked with a light bitterness. “I am relieved that the warrant forbids you to shed my blood.”
Sandor didn’t look at her. He could never reveal the macabre duty he was instructed to perform after she was dead. He skewered the larger fish on a green wood twig and set it over the bed of coals. May the dogs eat the heart of the gadjo who had desired such a final indignity against so beautiful and gentle a woman.
One day, I vow I will avenge your death, sweet Tonia.
Chapter Five
T he afternoonpassed pleasantly enough for Tonia, as long as she didn’t think too much about the hole that her companion was digging. In the warmth generated by the sun and the man’s exertions, he had shed his jerkin and forearm dagger, and rolled his long, loose sleeves to his elbow. Sitting on her rock, Tonia couldn’t help but admire the play of his muscles that strained the unbleached muslin of his shirt and bulged against the leather breeches that molded around his legs like a second skin.
When he paused in his work, which was often, he sent her smiles that made her heart beat faster. What a difference between this man and the lordlings that had come a-wooing her—and her father’s fortune—at Snape Castle! Not one of her suitors had exuded half as much virility as this intriguing Gypsy—a man sent to kill her in the name of the King. Tonia had to keep reminding herself of that sobering fact, lest she fall completely under his spell.
Standing up, she shook out her skirts. It was a little late in the game for her to admire the comeliness of any man when she was within hours of meeting her Maker. Her thoughts should be centered on the promised delights of heaven, not the pleasures of the flesh on earth. Years ago, Tonia had forsworn men and marriage in search of the greater good—and because she had never found anyone in Northumberland with whom she could imagine making love. Her cheeks warmed at that candid admission. She shot a quick glance at the Gypsy, but he was bent over, prying yet another rock out of the hole. His position only served to emphasize the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips. Her flush deepened and she quickly turned away lest he notice her change in color.
Toniaprayed that he would uncover a boulder too large to dislodge. Then he would have to start on another hole—and buy her more time.
A scant twenty yards away, his beautiful silver-gray horse nosed among the brown grasses, searching for a tender shoot or two. Tonia forced her mind from its wanton musings as she sauntered over to the magnificent animal, so like his owner. Baxtalo lifted his head as she drew closer. His nostrils widened as he inhaled her scent.
“You are a pretty one,” Tonia crooned, keeping eye contact with the horse as she moved toward him. “So fine with such a broad chest and strong legs.” So like his owner.
The horse pricked his ears forward but did not shy away when Tonia touched his
Sandor didn’t blame her, but he needed to make quick work of the digging. Assuming a levity that he did not feel, he replied, “A true Gypsy can start a fire in a rainstorm.”
He busiedhimself with breaking up the sticks and arranging them in an orderly pile in the middle of the turned earth. Then he drew out his tinderbox from the ditty bag that hung on his belt. The spark from his flint ignited the kindling. He blew on it to encourage the fire’s life. As he predicted to Tonia, the flames responded. Soon a cheerful fire crackled in the depression, chasing the remnants of the morning’s chill.
While the wood burned down to hot coals, Sandor gutted and cleaned the fish on one of the nearby stones. Tonia watched him with a studied interest.
“Your hands are quick and sure with your knife,” she remarked with a light bitterness. “I am relieved that the warrant forbids you to shed my blood.”
Sandor didn’t look at her. He could never reveal the macabre duty he was instructed to perform after she was dead. He skewered the larger fish on a green wood twig and set it over the bed of coals. May the dogs eat the heart of the gadjo who had desired such a final indignity against so beautiful and gentle a woman.
One day, I vow I will avenge your death, sweet Tonia.
Chapter Five
T he afternoonpassed pleasantly enough for Tonia, as long as she didn’t think too much about the hole that her companion was digging. In the warmth generated by the sun and the man’s exertions, he had shed his jerkin and forearm dagger, and rolled his long, loose sleeves to his elbow. Sitting on her rock, Tonia couldn’t help but admire the play of his muscles that strained the unbleached muslin of his shirt and bulged against the leather breeches that molded around his legs like a second skin.
When he paused in his work, which was often, he sent her smiles that made her heart beat faster. What a difference between this man and the lordlings that had come a-wooing her—and her father’s fortune—at Snape Castle! Not one of her suitors had exuded half as much virility as this intriguing Gypsy—a man sent to kill her in the name of the King. Tonia had to keep reminding herself of that sobering fact, lest she fall completely under his spell.
Standing up, she shook out her skirts. It was a little late in the game for her to admire the comeliness of any man when she was within hours of meeting her Maker. Her thoughts should be centered on the promised delights of heaven, not the pleasures of the flesh on earth. Years ago, Tonia had forsworn men and marriage in search of the greater good—and because she had never found anyone in Northumberland with whom she could imagine making love. Her cheeks warmed at that candid admission. She shot a quick glance at the Gypsy, but he was bent over, prying yet another rock out of the hole. His position only served to emphasize the force of his thighs and the slimness of his hips. Her flush deepened and she quickly turned away lest he notice her change in color.
Toniaprayed that he would uncover a boulder too large to dislodge. Then he would have to start on another hole—and buy her more time.
A scant twenty yards away, his beautiful silver-gray horse nosed among the brown grasses, searching for a tender shoot or two. Tonia forced her mind from its wanton musings as she sauntered over to the magnificent animal, so like his owner. Baxtalo lifted his head as she drew closer. His nostrils widened as he inhaled her scent.
“You are a pretty one,” Tonia crooned, keeping eye contact with the horse as she moved toward him. “So fine with such a broad chest and strong legs.” So like his owner.
The horse pricked his ears forward but did not shy away when Tonia touched his
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