"Don't bother. I already mentioned that you won't be forgiven, didn't I?"
He gritted his teeth. "That's a blasted phrase that requests an explanation when delivered in that tone, not a request for forgiveness!"
"Is it indeed? When a simple 'what' would have gotten the point across without causing confusion? Another one of those subtle 'intricacies' understood only by you lordly types, I suppose?"
He rolled his eyes and said in a weary tone, "You are being obtuse, Anastasia."
She matched his tone and added a sigh. "And you are being dense, Lord Englishman, or have you not grasped yet that I have nothing further to say to you?"
He stiffened. "Very well, but before we part, I would like to know how you thought you could possibly convince me that I had married you."
"Convince you?" She laughed unpleasantly. "There is probably a paper in your coat pocket with our signatures on it, unless you managed to lose it last night. But then you could always ask the Reverend Biggs—I believe that was the name he supplied. You threatened to beat him to within an inch of his life if he didn't marry us, and poor man, he quite believed you. So do whatever needs doing to unmarry us. There will be no need to inform me when it is done, since I have no doubt whatsoever that you will see to it posthaste."
She was able to walk away from him again, because again, she'd rendered him quite beyond speech.
She wasn't going to cry. He was an insensitive beast, an arrogant wretch, and as he might put it, a "bloody" snob. But she wasn't going to cry. She had seen his confusion and wanted to help him. She had seen his pain and wanted to heal it. She had seen his emptiness and wanted to fill him with happiness instead. But she hadn't seen that he could be so foolish as to put the opinions of others before his own needs. She hadn't seen that he would sacrifice his own happiness because "it just wasn't done."
It was appalling, to have been so wrong about him, and worse, to let her own emotions take over. Her heart wasn't supposed to get so involved—yet. She shouldn't be devastated that he couldn't stand the thought of being married to her, when she'd known from the start that he felt that way—when he wasn't drunk. Drunk, he let his heart guide him. Drunk, nothing was going to stand in the way of what he wanted, certainly not his silly "it just wasn't done."
Anastasia entered the camp blindly, her mind too filled with misery to notice Nicolai until he caught her arm and painfully jerked her around to face him. His fingers would leave bruises. She was always left with bruises whenever he touched her.
"Where did you spend the night?" he demanded.
She should have been wise enough to lie, especially since he looked quite furious, but with her emotions in such turmoil already, it was defiance that reared its ugly head. Chin raised, she answered, "With my husband."
The slap was not unexpected. Even the brutality of it that sent her to the ground was no more than typical of Nicolai. Anastasia tossed her hair out of the way and glared up at him balefully.
"Perhaps you did not hear me correctly, Nico. I was with my husband, the Gajo I married last night, the Gajo who will see you end up in an English prison if you ever lay a hand on me again."
He looked suitably uncertain, as she had hoped he would. He even paled slightly at the mention of prison, since most Gypsies would rather die than be locked up for any length of time. Yet he still doubted her, and with good reason.
"You are promised to me!" he reminded her. "You would not dare marry another."
"Promised to you, but not by me, never by me. You were never my choice, Nico, nor would I have ever agreed to marry you. I would have chosen anyone other than you, whom we both know I hate. Yet I chose for love instead, yes, love, a concept you know nothing about!"
He would have hit her again if she weren't lying on the ground, out of his immediate reach. And they had gathered an audience, not close, but just about everyone in the camp was listening and watching, including his father—including Maria, who was approaching them as fast as her old bones allowed. She did not usually witness Anastasia's confrontations with Nicolai. This one had her enraged.
Nicolai saw her coming and stiffened. There wasn't a one among them, even his father, who wasn't just a little afraid of Maria. Her insights were too accurate, as were her curses. And she was their luck. You did not take chances with guaranteed luck.
Yet he was too furious to consider any of that for more than a moment, and raised a hand to ward her oil. "This does not concern you, old woman."
Her answer was to throw gold coins at him. Each one hit him squarely, each hit a different spot, each stung worse than it should have, coming from such a weak-armed throw.
"There is your bride-price," Maria spat contemptuously. "My granddaughter is now nothing to you, a stranger, and you will treat her as such, keeping your eyes off her, keeping your hands off her."
"You can't do this!" he growled.
"It is done. Even if she wanted you, I would not let you have her. You are not worthy of a dog, much less a woman. Your father is to be pitied, having such a son as you."
"Your words are worse than harsh, Maria," Ivan blustered, coming to stand next to them. "I understand anger prompts them, but—"
"Not anger, Ivan, but the unfortunate truth," Maria interrupted. "No one else dares to speak it to you, but I do. The dying know no fear."
He had heard enough before he joined them to pale at the significance of those last words. "No! We cannot lose you both."
"You have no choice this time. You cannot keep Anna when her heart leads her elsewhere. To try would bring no benefit, would instead bring disaster. But you have no one to blame but yourself, Ivan. Had you taught Nicolai better, had you curbed his cruel tendencies, she might have come to love him, instead of hating him."
Ivan was blushing furiously after that, yet he couldn't dispute such brutal truths, when Nicolai was indeed a disappointment to him. Yet their good fortune was at stake here, their incredibly long reign of luck, which he could not bear to see ended.
