A Forbidden Love (4 page)

The dark figure abruptly turned at the sound of her sob and hastened to her side.

“Get away from me,” she whispered raggedly.

The advancing
gajo
halted just short of the bed. “There is no cause for alarm.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re safe.”

Sabrina, as of yet, could not entirely see the man’s face, for he now had his back to the sun, a veil of shadows concealing much of his features. But she recognized his voice as belonging to one of the men who’d cornered her in the woods earlier that day. “My clothes?”

“Your chemise is drying in the adjacent bath.” He indicated the direction with a gesture of his hand.

She was trembling, her voice quivering. “You took what you wanted. Now let me go!”

Soul-racking sobs congested her lungs, and she tried in vain to halt the surge of humiliating tears. She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her weep. Of seeing her dignity cut down to pieces. But try as she might to stave off the torrent of tears, rage and disgrace took their hold, her efforts to cap the sorrow dashed.

“Good heavens, woman, I never touched you! I carried you back to the house, to be sure, but I never laid an inappropriate hand on you.”

She didn’t hear him anymore, the tears streaking her cheeks, her breathing noisy as she gulped in drafts of much-needed air. She was tainted, by a
gajo
, no less. Her innocence brutally taken away from her. How could she ever go home? How could she ever explain this to her father? To her future husband? Oh, God! She had no memory of the ravishment, but it must have been brutal, for her whole body thrummed with pain.

“You brute,” she sobbed and sputtered. “Just give me back my clothes!”

Muttering something under his breath, the
gajo
wove his fingers through his hair with a rough movement. “Stop with those tears. I give you my word of honor, as a gentleman, I have not mistreated you in any way, nor have I any intention of doing so in the future. I brought you here to recover. My sister removed your damp chemise so you wouldn’t catch sickness. As for your other belongings, they are right here.” He lifted her bag to prove his claim, then set it back on the floor at the foot of the bed.

The bout of misery that had swept over her only moments ago now dwindled. The tears still trickled down her face, but the suffocating sobs soon faded to occasional gulps of air.

Despite her grogginess and somewhat bleary vision, she managed to narrow her eyes to the shadowed figure hovering above her. “W-who are you?”

He sighed in apparent relief. “I am Anthony Kennington, Viscount Hastings, at your service.”

“Where are the other men?”

“I am not associated with the villains who attacked you.”

“But you were watching me from the woods.”

“Yes, well, I was rather bowled over to find a woman bathing in the stream. I’m not accustomed to the sight, you know?”

Sabrina steadied her irregular breathing and wiped away the moisture from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

It was then that Anthony pivoted and strode over to a dresser to remove a white kerchief. He returned to the bed and handed it to her, but she wouldn’t take it, so he just laid the silk cloth on the mattress beside her.

“Where am I?” she asked hesitantly.

“In my bedchamber.”

He had a soothing voice that broke through her mind’s governing chaos, but his choice of words brought her even more unease. A fretful notion came to her, that she would be swallowed up by the manor’s walls and imprisoned eternally for daring to enter the sacred confines, even if it wasn’t of her own accord. Unless otherwise invited by the lady of the house to give a palm or tarot card reading, she would never have ventured into such a home. And if anyone were to find her here, uninvited, she’d be tossed directly into the jail. Was this not taking the chains from her feet and placing them on her wrists instead? She may have eluded her attackers for the time being, but she now had to flee from the house before anyone else grew privy to her whereabouts.

Her eyes grew anxious. “I can’t stay here,” she asserted, momentarily overlooking the fact that she could barely move. “I have to leave.”

“With your head wound? Impossible. But you are safe here.”

So he kept insisting. But the thwack to her head hadn’t left her witless. How could she trust a
gajo
…a stranger not of gypsy blood? For all she knew, it was Anthony who had struck her.

Sabrina slowly reached for her head. Somewhere beneath the layers of bandages was a tremendous lump, the culprit of her miserable headache. “What happened to me?”

“You were attacked and struck your head on a rock.”

She didn’t remember any of the assault, only the events leading up to it, so she had little other choice but to accept his version of events—for now. Truthfully, so little of it made any sense to her. “Why am I here?”

“I am bound to tend to your injury.”

“You don’t know who I am.” Sniffing, she brushed away the last remnants of her tears. “A man like you doesn’t bother with a woman like me.”

“And who are you?”

Better she confess to him now and be done with it. To offset the inevitable wouldn’t do her any good.

Her voice dwindled to a bitter whisper. “A gypsy.”

“Yes, I already know that. I meant your name.”

But she ignored his last statement to demand, “You already know?”

He nodded. “And by the way,” he said softly, “a true gentleman comes to the aid of any woman in distress.”

Doubt rekindled. Blinking up at him, her sea-blue eyes swept over him in a thorough assessment. Anthony stood with his hands behind his back and one leg bent casually at the knee. His attire consisted of a white linen shirt, the cravat spilling over the top buttons of his butter-yellow waistcoat, and it was then she realized just how broad-chested he really was, for even without the padded coat he’d worn in the woods, his shoulders spanned a good yard or so in width. Long, wiry legs were draped in tight brown breeches and tucked into knee-high, black leather boots. He was certainly formidable, towering above her like that. And the distrust in her eyes must have been evident, for he slowly lowered himself to one knee, the shadows fading the closer he came, and smiled.

He had a friendly smile. One that helped lessen some of those formidable attributes. Certainly one she rarely, if ever, saw from a
gajo
. Most outsiders never bothered to look at her with anything other than disdain, but his kind expression seemed sincere. Or perhaps it was the head injury making her see such things. Benevolent bluebloods did not go about the woods aiding gypsies in distress, no matter what Anthony claimed. And yet, his simple gesture of affection was enough to bring some comfort to her tormented soul. To find solace in another being, even one not a gypsy, who offered her compassion rather than brutality, helped to lessen the burden on her heart.

The smile also softened his features. His eyes were attentive, tranquil. No hatred burned beneath the dark green pools. Wavy, tawny-gold hair tapered evenly to his collar, a stray curl dangling over his brow. He was handsome—for a
gajo
. And he was big. She suddenly understood his need for such a large bed. And she suddenly remembered that she was lying in
his
large bed.

She couldn’t stay here. Her life was no longer in peril, so there was no need to hide. If what Anthony said was true, then her attackers had no idea where she was, and that meant it was safe for her to return to her caravan. There was no trail left for the mongrels to follow and therefore no risk to her family’s well-being. Her only concern over the last few days was that her relentless aggressors would uncover her camp and harm, even kill, some of her people in order to capture her. Knowing her fellow gypsies would band together to protect her, she wasn’t willing to jeopardize anyone’s life. It’s why she’d left so abruptly, without a whisper of her intentions to anyone.

She knew her absence would cause her people much grief. How could it not? But she also knew her disappearance was the only reasonable choice. The men chasing after her were determined to find her, whatever the means. They had already proven that. Persistent as a pack of hounds, they’d not given up their pursuit of her in days, and would likely still be nipping at her heels had Anthony not interfered.

That brought another question to mind. Why had Anthony come to her aid? A man of his rank bothering to interfere on behalf of a gypsy? She’d never had a
gajo’s
help before and didn’t know what to make of the situation. From what she could remember, her attackers had been armed, and Anthony must have seen their swords as clearly as she had. Then why risk his welfare? He claimed it his duty, but Sabrina wasn’t so convinced, which left her all the more mystified.

“I have to go home,” she said again, her voice weak, and pressed the sheets to her chest once more, trying to sit up. “My family will be worried.”

But he nudged her back against the cushions. “You are in no condition to travel.”

Too lethargic to struggle, she didn’t protest, and tried instead to subdue the throbbing spasms in her head by remaining perfectly still.

A light rap at the door diverted both their attentions.

Sabrina’s eyes widened at the knocking intruder, but a reassuring gesture from Anthony put her skittish nerves at ease.

“Don’t fret,” he said. “It’s only my sister, Ashley. She’s here to help with your recovery.”

Another caring soul? Sabrina found it difficult to believe in such kindness, especially coming from a pair of aristocrats, and as profound an instinct to run as she had, she was just too sore and dizzy to move.

Anthony left her side to unlock the door.

The
gaji
hastened into the chamber, a large ceramic bowl, crammed to the brim with supplies, nestled between her hands.

“Anthony, I hope you realize how difficult it was to amass all this with no one the wiser, especially with so many bustling bodies below.”

“I appreciate this, Ash.” Bolting the door behind her, he instructed, “Set everything on the desk.”

The lady did as directed and began to arrange the articles on the table: a cloth, a bottle of liquor, small vials, a spoon.

Sabrina focused on the emerging ingredients, wondering what the duo were brewing.

When Anthony casually informed his sister that the patient was awake, Ashley whisked her head over her shoulder to stare at the bemused invalid, and Sabrina couldn’t help but notice how very much she resembled her brother, with that same ash-blond hair and those same deep green eyes. The woman was by no means as tall as her sibling, but she wasn’t short by any standards either, reaching a few inches past Anthony’s shoulders. She wore a pale peach frock, the waistline circling just under her breasts, and her hair was tucked beneath a ruffled white cap, a few carefully positioned curls draped by her ears.

“How do you feel?” inquired Ashley.

Sabrina remained quiet. Those weren’t the words she’d been prepared to hear. Rather,
get out of this house!
rang more sensible to her ears.

To curtail the stretching silence, Anthony responded on the patient’s behalf with a confident, “She’ll recover,” then strode into the adjacent bath, reemerging with a pitcher. He dispensed the water into the basin.

Her attention back to her brother, Ashley indicated to the bottle. “Pour in about two ounces of the brandy.”

With a soft clink, the glass stopper was plucked from the decanter and Anthony added what he estimated to be the correct amount of spirit.

Ashley gathered the utensil and measured two teaspoons from one of the smaller vials. As the fumes drifted over to where Sabrina lay, she detected the potent scent of vinegar and wrinkled her nose.

The
gaji
, as of yet, had not demanded she leave her brother’s bed, and little by little, Sabrina’s heartbeats returned to a somewhat steady pace.

“Now for the salt.” Ashley tended to the last ingredient before handing her brother the spoon. “Stir until the salt dissolves.”

And so Anthony swooshed around the bowl, as Ashley resealed all the bottles, and Sabrina closed her drowsy lids, abandoning the siblings to prepare their mysterious concoction at their leisure.

Chapter 4

W
ith a furtive glance, Ashley captured sight of the dozing gypsy, then looked back to her brother, whispering grimly, “You couldn’t avoid causing a scandal this
one
time?”

He raised a brow. “Did you expect me to leave her in the woods?”

“Well, of course not.” She lightly smacked his arm. “But the ball is in two days, the house is already in a state of uproar, and if our parents were to learn that a
gypsy
was now sleeping in their son’s bed, heads would roll, yours and mine among them.”

“Be easy, Ash. No one is going to lose their head.”

“Why did you bring her here?” she insisted in quiet reproof. “Why not take her to the local physician instead?”

“I have a duty to take care of the girl
and
keep her assailants at bay.”

“But to hide her in your room?”