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The unholy, animalistic fear permeating Vangie’s voice raised the hair on Ian’s nape. He wheeled around, sidestepping a horse’s thrashing hooves. Astonishment etched the rider’s face. He pitched from his saddle, so close, his lifeless fingers brushed Ian’s chest.

Sunk to the hilt, Vangie’s dagger protruded from his back.

Holy Mother of God.

Twice she had killed to protect him. Where was she? He whirled around. She stood tight-lipped and sagging between Ailsa and Besnik. Terror lingered in her sapphire eyes. Her mouth worked, but no sound emerged. She was in shock. The remaining marauders pounded from the clearing like the cowards they were as Ian bolted to her.

He embraced his shaking wife and held her firmly against his chest. “Shh, sweetheart.”

His gaze met Yoska’s and Besnik’s in turn. Both men’s mouths were twisted into grim lines, and fury simmered in their guarded gazes. Blood dripped from a gash in Yoska’s lip, and bright reddish-blue fingerprints marked Besnik’s neck.

“This,” Ian’s gaze prowled the clearing, “wasn’t random, was it?”

“Niks.” Yoska shook his shaggy head while wiping at the scarlet dripping down his chin.

The fury faded from Besnik’s eyes, replaced by a kind of defeated weariness. “We’ve not been so blatantly attacked before, though a small kor or two is not unusual.”

Ian surveyed the ravaged camp. He’d wager Somersfield that Lucinda and Doyle had orchestrated this. The attack reeked of the magistrate’s greed and treachery, and it was just like him to send his henchmen to do his dirty work while he kept out of harm’s way. “I fear, my friends, I may have brought this upon you,” Ian said.

“How so?” Yoska asked.

Vangie trembled in his arms, pressing closer to him. Ian cast a swift glance at her bowed head. He met Yoska’s probing gaze and gave a slight negative shake of his head.

The gypsy inclined his.

Good. He understood. Ian wanted to keep his concerns from Vangie, at least for now.

Yoska’s dark gaze searched the shadows. “Here are our tikna’s.” He waved at them. “Come, it is safe now.”

With trepidation, the Romani women and children hiding in the woods crept into the encampment, grief and bewilderment stamped on their faces.

Simone bustled forward toting a large basket, and Jasper tagged behind her, lugging an equally cumbersome satchel. “Zora, I need your help.”

Puri Daj’s voice roused Vangie from her fear-laced stupor. Ian held her in a tight embrace, and she tipped her head to look at him. “I must help tend the wounded.”

He relaxed his arms, but worry shone in his eyes. “Are you able?”

She nodded, giving him a wobbly smile.

He cupped her face against his chest and rested his cheek on the crown of her head. “Thank you. Once again, you saved me from certain death.”

Vangie closed her eyes and breathed his scent. Yes, she’d killed to protect him; her husband, her lover, and God willing, the father of her children. Bitter tears pricked behind her eyelids. No, she’d not think of it. Later, she would grieve and ask God for forgiveness for killing again. But at present she focused on her joy.

Ian is alive.

“You cannot discharge your obligations so easily,” she mumbled against his shirt. When he didn’t respond, she plastered a pleasant smile on her face and tilted her head upward.

He frowned at her, his bewilderment endearing.

“You promised me a dozen children.”

His quick-silver eyes deepened to charcoal. “I did indeed.” He kissed her nose as he released her. “You’ve tear streaks…” He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

Scrubbing at her damp face, Vangie surveyed the encampment. Eight raiders lay in the dirt. Two were unconscious thanks to Ian’s sound right hook and Ailsa’s questionable skill with the branch. Were the others dead?

The sobs and cries of Romani women filled the clearing. How many Roma were hurt? Dead? Her stomach churned.

“Zora,” Puri Daj called. “Come.” Grandmother knelt beside Nicu. His arm lay at an odd angle and lacerations marred his face and chest. Weeping loudly Eldra cradled his head in her lap, dabbing at his wounds with her skirt.