Gypsy Lady (15 page)

Catherine, whirling about,
threw her arms around the old woman's shoulders and, hugging her close, cried
brokenly, "Oh Reina, I thought you no longer loved me!"

Feeling those strong, young
arms about her frail body moved Reina deeply, and gently she soothed,
"Nay, child, it was never that! I love you! But this game you play most
cease. It is dangerous I You
are
too young and lovely
to go unnoticed."

Deep inside, Catherine
admitted Reina was right, but
torn,
she cried
despairingly, "Must it be now, today?"

Sadly, Reina shrugged her
shoulders. "It will not grow easier, and I dislike forcing you. Perhaps not
today/, but soon Tamara must cease and Lady Catherine take her place for all
time."

The unhappiness Catherine
felt was plain to see on her expressive face. "Why must I be torn both
ways?" she cried.

"Is it so very hard,
little one? As Lady Catherine, you can do as much for us. You can still come to
see us. We would always welcome you. I would be wounded if you never
came."

"But never to feel
free, Reina, always to be hemmed in!"

"Child, none of as are
free to do as we like. And you must make a choice—either become a gypsy and
give
up all that being Lady Catherine Tremayne means or
stay- in your rightful role."

For a
few
minutes, Catherine stood staring down into the concerned face raised to hers.
Then she turned and walked to the door;
not
looking back, she said,
"I'm going for a ride. 3 can't decide today. You must give me time,
Reina!"

"Whatever you decide,
you must do it soon."

Reina's words buzzed around
in her brain as she
ran to
where
the
horses were tied. She tossed her head angrily as if to shake the unwelcome
thoughts that continued to plague her. The thoughts were not dispelled as she
groomed Sheba, tugging at Sheba's black mane as if the Arabian mare were the
cause of her problem. Usually, grooming Sheba was a happy, relaxed time. But
she felt tired and dispirited—crying always made her feel that way. Thank
goodness,
she
wasn't given to tears often! Gradually though, as
she brushed and combed Sheba's already satin black hide, a sense of acceptance
came over her.

Reina was right! She would
have to stop acting like a wild hoyden. Rachael said the same thing, and as for
the rest of the family, if they even suspected how much of her time was spent
with the gypsies, it would probably send them off in one combined swoon. A
smile flickered as she thought wickedly of Aunt Ceci's reaction in particular.

Well, if she was going to
stop living half the time at the camp, she might as well take advantage of
every second left to her and not spend it mooning about feeling sorry for
herself
. With this thought in mind, she untied Sheba, leaped
gracefully upon her back, and using only a halter rein cantered from the camp.

Out of sight of the camp,
Catherine left the dirt lane and, urging Sheba to greater speed, broke through
a small patch of woods. A large, open meadow lay on the other side. As soon as
her hoofs touched the spongy ground, Sheba tossed her head and, as if shot
from a
cannon, burst into a wild and seemingly uncontrolled
race across the wide meadow.

Catherine, a slim, bright
figure on the racing mare, exercised no guidance but let herself become in
spirit part of the running horse. She leaned forward, her cheek almost resting
on Sheba's outstretched neck; her hair, a long, black, flowing flag, mingled
with the mare's flying mane, until mane.
and
hair were
indistinguishable. She forgot herself in the feel of the moving body, while the
wind against her face whipped roses into her cheeks. She was lost—a nameless
thing that could only exist; her mind a peaceful blank; Reina, Lady Catherine,
and all the others blown away.

Aware only of the pounding,
sleek body under hers, she neither saw nor heard the rider who was fast overtaking
them. Suddenly another horse was thundering alongside Sheba, Catherine felt the
brush of the rider's leg as his horse closed the gap between them, and an arm
with muscles like steel snaked out and tightened about her small waist,
effortlessly lifting her from the back of her horse. Then she was thrown like a
sack of meal across the saddlebow of the other animal. Shock held her still,
her mind unable to comprehend what was happening. She lay limp, feeling the
blood rushing to her head. The bite of the saddle against her soft belly was
painful.

The
unknown rider gradually slowed his horse and rode
for the edge of the woods,
where a small creek flowed. Once there, he dismounted swiftly and again she
felt that steel arm around her as she was lifted none too gently from the
horse. Abruptly, the peaceful blankness left her, and the events of the morning
came rushing back as she stared at the big man in front of her. Jason Savage!
It would be him, she thought angrily.

"Are you all
right?" he asked in a low voice.

"Why shouldn't I
be?" she spat ungraciously.

The concern left his eyes,
and he said dryly, "I see fright hasn't robbed you of your quick
temper."

"Fright?" she
questioned impatiently.

A frown crossed his face,
and he said slowly, "Perhaps I'm mistaken, but it looked to me as if you
had lost control of your horse. I thought I was saving you from a
runaway."

"Playing the
gentleman?" she sneered. "It must be an unusual role for you."

Jason slowly relaxed back
against a tree, leaning his broad shoulders on the rough bark and crossing one
booted foot over the other. "You know, it will be a pleasure to tame you,
little one. Clive must have spoiled you rotten. Our relationship will be a
stormy one, but I think the pleasures will outweigh your fiery temper."

Rage held her glued to the
spot, and her eyes sparked purple fire as she glared at him. Nearly choking on
the angry words that came spilling from her lips, she said furiously,
"You stupid, bacon-brained boor! Do you really believe I'll become your
mistress, just because it pleases you?"

A slow smile began to curve
his mouth as he folded his arms across his chest and let his eyes roam lazily
over her body, lingering on the heaving breasts that pressed proudly against
the thin material of the blouse. Then sliding his gaze disturbingly down the
curved length of her body, he realized she wore little or nothing underneath
her outer clothes.

Abruptly he abandoned his
lazy pose and with the ease of a striking panther dragged her roughly into his
arms. She knew a momentary thrill of half fright, half excitement, before his
mouth fastened on hers in a long, demanding kiss that shattered forever her
naive, romantic notions about love between men and women. His lips were hard
and bruising, but the warmth and sensual pleasure as they moved knowingly on
hers drove all coherent thought from her stunned brain. Almost compulsively she
slid her trembling arms around his neck, her fingers unconsciously caressing
the black hair that grew low on his neck, and a strange, treacherous melting
feeling invaded her entire being until she clung to him, unable to think
clearly.

Crushed next to his muscled
length, she could feel his long legs pressed against hers, and as his kisses
became more passionate, his hands moving possessively down her back, cupping
her taut buttocks and pulling her unresisting body closer, she felt the
hardness of his desire rubbing intimately against her belly. Trapped in a web
of sensuous anticipation, they sank to the ground. Still locked in a tight
embrace, his lips forcing hers apart and his tongue exploring her virgin mouth,
she could do nothing to still the exquisite sensations that were racing through
her body. Gently, he undid her blouse, and his touch, as his hand slid along
her warm flesh, was like fire engulfing her. Then he reached and brushed her
firm breast teasingly. It was as if she
were
powerless
to stop him, and from somewhere deep within she knew she didn't want to stop
him, that she wanted him to go on—and on! And he did: his big body laying half
on hers, one leg thrown over her thighs; his mouth leaving a trail of fire as
he lowered his head, kissing the soft hollow at the base of her throat; and
finally, shockingly, kissing her naked breasts, his tongue burning her nipples
as they leaped to his lips. His mouth left her throbbing breast and possessed
her willing lips once more. Unthinkingly, she moved her body closer to him,
while his hand lay heavy on her belly, kneading the flesh gently before lifting
her skirt and touching her, suddenly, between the legs. A tingling, searing
flame exploded within her, driving her to thrust up her loins to press against
his exploring hand. Her soft moan of pleasure was lost as he ground his mouth
more hungrily on hers.

Somewhere from the hidden
recesses of her brain, danger signals were gradually interfering with the
almost paralyzing quality of his lovemaking, and Catherine began to push away
from him. But he only laughed deep in his throat and again reached under her
skirt, sliding one hand lingeringly up her smooth thigh—she was frighteningly
aware of how this meeting would end!

What had been faint warning
became pounding alarm. She struggled in earnest, desperate to break his hold.
This had to stop before it was too late! But it was only when Jason, becoming
aware of her attempt to escape, raised his head, and only then, when she saw
the raw, unleashed desire flaring in his eyes, that she was able to galvanize
herself into action. With a strength that caught both of them by surprise, she
flung herself from his arms and stood up, her bosom heaving as she stared down
at him. His face was tight with hungry passion as she faced him, her lips
bruised ruby from his demanding mouth, her eyes wide with frightening
awareness.

He lunged forward, and with
a cry of terror she eluded his grasp. Rising in one easy, lithe movement from
his prone position, and very conscious of the extremely noticeable bulge in
his tight-fitting breeches, his eyes narrowed and contemptuous, he snarled,
"How much? What price do you put on your favors? What will it cost me to
have you back in my arms and willing?
A carriage of your own?
A trip to London?
Paris?"

"Pa—Paris?" she
stammered, aghast that he should be agreeable to such a thing merely to lay a
wench he had just seen this morning. But Jason, taking her stuttered question
as a statement and reaching out for her, muttered, "Done! I'll take you
to Paris then."

Catherine danced nimbly
away from his hand, her only thought that he mustn't touch her again. He
mustn't be allowed to destroy her inhibitions, even if it angered him. She was
rattled,
more afraid of his kiss than any physical harm he
could do her. Jason leaped for her again, and this time his reaching hand
encountered naked steel. Cursing, he drew back sharply and looked unbelievingly
at the blood welling out of the deep slash across his palm; then with suddenly
cold eyes, he stared at the girl, a small knife clenched firmly in her hand.

Catherine, her heart
pounding frantically in her breast, had only used a blade once before, but she
was thankful that Manuel had taught her how to fight with one. It was her one
defense against this violently angry man who circled her like a hungry wolf.
Both were breathing heavily, and her apprehension grew with every movement he
made, for now the conflict between them had taken a dangerous and deadly turn.
Jason, his eyes green slits of icy rage, raked her slim body for a weakness,
but she held the small razor-sharp blade like she knew what she was about. His
strength was greater, yet that knife put her in the stronger position. But it
was an unequal contest, and Catherine knew it. Her only chance was to run, and
she took it. Spinning on her heels, she leapt and ran for her life, deeper into
the woods, praying desperately as she ran that he would allow her to escape.
But Jason had no intention of allowing her to escape so easily— he had a score
to settle with this teasing little bitch!

He moved like summer
lightning, and she hadn't run more than a few yards when his hands, like iron
talons, grasped both her arms from behind, pinning them uselessly at her
sides. She was lifted from the ground and held, kicking and twisting, helpless
against his heaving chest. He partially released her after a second and with
cruel ease twisted her arm behind her back, ignoring her scream of rage and
pain as he took the knife from her nerveless hand. Throwing the shining blade
violently into the dirt, he spun her around and ground out angrily, "You
little hellcat! You could have killed me with that little toy! What the hell
kind of game are you playing? I'm greatly tempted to treat you as you deserve
and break your pretty little neck!"

Catherine's temper
exploded, and the furious, boiling rage she now felt eclipsed the fear that had
dominated her earlier; blindly, she swung her hand and connected it,
open-palmed, hard against Jason's dark face. The sound of the slap was like the
crack of a bullet, and it startled both antagonists.

Then deliberately, his eyes
like green ice, he slowly raised his uninjured hand and intentionally,
viciously, struck her across one cheek. In an icy voice he said, "Don't
ever strike me again, my dear. I will put up with a great deal from you, but
that
I
will not tolerate!"

Fierce tears of pain and
humiliation sparkled like diamond drops in her eyes. The imprint of his hand
was a scarlet scar on her white cheek, and she bent her head trying to hide the
tears. But they fell down from her eyes onto one tightly clenched hand, which
she held to her mouth in a vain attempt to stop the trembling of her bottom
lip.

Abruptly, his anger drained
away, leaving him with a strange desire to comfort her. Gently he pulled her unresisting
body close to his, and an odd smile crossed his face as her soft hair tickled
his chin. He cradled her next to him, and his voice, kind with a thread of
something that could have been amusement running through it, said,
"Tamara, Tamara, what am I to do with you,
petite?
You smile so enticingly at me, you let me kiss you,
then
you spring a knife on me! And now I find my arms filled with a soft, warm
jeune fille."

Catherine, her head buried
against his broad chest, her nose pressed hard against his white shirt, raised
a tear-streaked face to gaze at him puzzled. Surely now that she was helpless,
he would continue his practiced lovemaking. But there was no passion in the
arms that held her so securely, and his eyes showed only mocking amusement as
they gazed down at her. He released her slowly, almost regretfully, and then
with one arm slung carelessly over her shoulders, he aimlessly began to walk
with her back to the meadow where their horses were peacefully grazing. He led
her to the creek, dipping his fine linen handkerchief into the icy water and
gently bathing the marks of tears from her face. He surprised her even further
by determinedly fastening her blouse. His unexpected change of manner
completely confused her, and she was intensely aware of a desire that he
remain
in this strangely soothing mood. What a changeable
creature he was, she thought, conveniently forgetting her own rapid reverses of
emotion.

A charming smile curving
his mouth, he set out with practiced ease to deliberately disarm her and
murmured softly,
"
Shall we start over,
chèrie?"

Before she could speak, he
bowed sweepingly in front of her startled eyes and coaxed, "May I present
myself, one Jason Savage from Louisiana, who finds your charms so heady they
chase all rational thoughts from his brain." And as a shy, encouraging
smile began to appear at the corner of her mouth, he was oddly aware of a queer
jump in the region of his heart. Taking note of her uncertain acceptance of
his playful speech, he gaily embroidered upon his theme. "I must
apologize for rushing you; but we are an impatient people, and such beauty as
yours drives a man to forget his manners. After seeing your lovely face, it is
understandable that I lost my head." A mocking gleam in his eyes, he said
soulfully, "We Americans are very deprived!"