Page 83
Ian wasn’t sure which statement shocked him more.
The camp resumed its activities, though an unmistakable aura of heaviness loomed over it now. He wandered to the maple trees situated some distance behind Madam Caruthers’ vardo. The Roma left him to himself, whether as an act of courtesy or pointed ostracism was unclear.
He relaxed against a trunk, alternating his attention between the camp and the wagon. What was happening inside? Was Vangie seriously injured? Surely Madam Caruthers would’ve told him if that was the case. Unless his wife had told her Lucinda’s lies, and Madam Caruthers believed them.
God’s blood. He should’ve sent for a physician the moment he arrived. He straightened, intending to pound on the wagon door until he had an answer. Patience, wisdom whispered in his ear. He slumped against the tree. He’d yet to master that virtue.
Dusk settled over the clearing, the smells of the evening meal permeating the temperate air, and his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since breaking his fast early this morning. He shifted his stance away from the gypsies and stared blindly at the strip of water meandering along the shallow embankment.
So much had transpired since this morning.
He’d awoken with his arms wrapped around his incredible wife. His heart brimming with unfamiliar happiness, he’d slipped from their tousled bed. Standing nude, he’d been content to stare at her for several minutes.
A slow smile had bent his mouth.
She slept soundly, curled on her side and lips parted. Every few minutes, she made a soft noise in her throat. Did she dream of the vigorous night they’d spent together? Exploring each other’s bodies, reaching untold degrees of ecstasy, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before?
He’d tried to introduce her to lovemaking gradually. “Sweeting, I don’t want you to be shocked or disgusted.”
“Pish, posh, Ian. God created this glorious gift for husband and wives.” She said while climbing to lie atop him. “I don’t understand why people whisper about it like it’s something wicked or sinful.” Peering into his eyes, a naughty glimmer in hers, she said, “I expect you to teach me everything you know.”
She proved to be a very apt pupil, completely uninhibited and eager to try whatever provocative idea he suggested. He hardened at the sensual memories, a smile hovering on his mouth.
“My lord?”
Ian swiveled to face Madam Caruthers. Engrossed in his musings, he hadn’t heard her approach. In the deepening dusk, he searched her countenance. She appeared drained. Defeated. Was that sorrow etched on her face and mirrored in her eyes?
“Vangie? Is she all right? Was she badly injured when the horse tossed her? Should we send for a physician?” He cursed inwardly. Why hadn’t he insisted someone go for a leech immediately?
“She suffered some bruised ribs—”
“So it’s nothing serious? There’s no need for alarm?” Ian released his breath in a whoosh.
“My lord.” Madam Caruthers laid her hand on his arm. “Sadly, she lost the babe.”
Ian gawked, his mind gone blank, not comprehending her words. He refused to believe what he’d heard. Shaking his head, he tried to dislodge the buzzing in his ears. “The babe? There was a baby?” he rasped, barely able to form the words. “She didn’t tell me.” Agony tore him asunder, stinging tears pooling in his eyes. He whispered hoarsely, “Why didn’t she tell me?”
Bright tears shimmered in her sympathy-filled gaze. “Zora didn’t know she was with child.” She lifted a shoulder and looked heavenward. “It happens sometimes. Especially with the first.”
Ian’s head reeled. Disbelief, fear, and absolute rage toward Lucinda buffeted him. And then…complete and utter devastation for his beloved wife. “I want to see her.”
Vangie’s grandmother tilted her head and studied him for a long, disquieting moment. What did she seek? Her lips curved into a sad, half-smile. “I thought you would.” Slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, she led him to her vardo. “My lord?”
“Please, call me Ian. After all, we are family now.”
“Ian, Zora—Vangie—is desolate. She needs time to heal, physically and emotionally.” She peered into his eyes, the evening shadows making it impossible to read her expression. “Please, permit her that. Don’t make any decision right now, no matter what she says.”
Surprised by her vehemence, he gave a slow nod.
She squeezed his arm. “Promise me, Ian.”
In the darkness, she hadn’t seen his curt nod. “I promise, Madam Caruthers,” he answered solemnly.
“As you said, we’re familia now, Ian. Please, call me Simone.”
“I give you my word, Simone. I’ll be patient with my wife.”Even if it killed him, he’d be patient and understanding.
“I’ll allow you some privacy then.” With a graceful angling of her head and a swirl of her colorful skirts, she strolled to a nearby wagon. A fire burned merrily before it, and Ailsa sat near the dancing flames talking animatedly to Besnik.
