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“What is it?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“Ian, look.” She pointed to the approaching riders. “I fear something is afoot.”

He followed her worried gaze. A scowl drew his dark eyebrows together, his eyes troubled.

Tobar approached, his focus fixed on the horsemen as well. “We best make our way to the others.”

Ian thrust Vangie at him. “Keep her with you,” he ordered before running to Yoska’s campsite.

By the time she and Tobar reached the center of camp, most of the other Roma were assembled, their unease apparent in their quiet murmurs and the anxious gazes they darted, over and over again, to the approaching horsemen. Even Yoska appeared concerned, his perpetual smile absent and replaced by a grim expression.

Ian, now attired in his hunting coat, joined them as the first riders thundered into the travelers’ encampment. The Roma scattered lest they be trampled. Another group trailed the first at a more sedate pace.

Vangie recognized Gerard and another five men from Somersfield stables. Despite the seriousness of the moment, she bit her lip to keep from laughing aloud. Jasper, with a look of fierce concentration on his face, and his tongue between his teeth, clumsily drove an overflowing dog cart into the clearing.

Yoska and a handful of others, including Ian and Besnik, approached the newcomers. The gypsy king’s gaze met Ian’s, and he gave one curt nod.

Vangie inhaled sharply. Besnik had given his consent. The simple gesture implied much more. He’d proclaimed Ian one of them.

Yoska stepped forward. “Welcome to our humble camp, didkai,” he said cordially, though hardness edged his voice. “How can we be of service?”

A fleshy man spit, the nasty glob missing Yoska’s foot by a mere inch. The darkening of the bandolier’s swarthy skin was the only outer indication of his anger.

How dare he, the fiend!

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from objecting aloud. She sliced a glance toward Ian; the muscles in his jaw rippled. She swung her attention to Besnik. His face was impassive, but fury spewed from his black eyes. As his gaze slowly traveled the semi-circle, Nicu, Tobar, and several others dropped a hand to the knifes they wore at their waists.

She stiffened, fear coursing through her. No. They must not fight. The riders were armed. More than one sported a pistol in his hand. As was their custom when danger arose, the Romani women melted into the shadows along with their children.

“I’ve received several complaints you gypsies have been stealing poultry, livestock, and other goods,” the man sneered.

“That seems unlikely, Sir Doyle,” Ian countered.

Vangie glanced between the two men.

A droll smile touched Ian’s mouth, and his eyes held a dangerous gleam. “I’ve been here a fortnight and can personally attest that coins or goods have been exchanged for everything the Roma have acquired. Why, I’ve purchased some fine horseflesh from them myself.”

Sir Doyle belched and spit again. “A fortnight?”

His baleful glare flicked around the glen. “Why would you stay with the likes of them for that long?” Bending forward, he licked his full lips. “Is it true? The wenches spread their legs for a groat?” He narrowed his eyes before sitting straight again, his saddle creaking in protest. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. “Course, I’d be afraid of getting the clap.” He grabbed his crotch and shuddered theatrically, his beefy jowls waggling with the movement.

At his vulgar insinuation, rage whipped through her. Revolting cur. She leveled him a scathing glare. An offended growl rumbled through the Roma, but Besnik raised his hand, and the furor gradually abated.

“Guard your tongue, Doyle.” Ian spoke softly, but the threat in his voice permeated the air.

With a condescending, ill-considered smirk, Sir Doyle dared, “Say, didn’t you make an honest woman of a gypsy wench?”

Indignation coiling her muscles into tight, tense knots, Vangie went rigid, Oh, how she longed to skewer the hoggish lout. She brushed her fingers over her thigh. Where was her dagger? Had she left it on the table behind the vardo when she opened Yvette’s letter?

A course laugh erupted from the magistrate, and his cronies cackled their approval. He slapped his thigh and swung his gaze over the crowd. His attention riveted on her, and a lascivious gleam entered his watery eyes as a lewd sneer curled his fat lips.

Utterly repulsed, she glared in defiance.

“I might even consent to spend a few days with these vermin if I’d that to sink my wick into.” He nodded in her direction, then licked his fat mouth once more.

When Vangie stepped forward, the outraged gasps and furious murmurs ceased abruptly. She angled her head and eyed him from his sweat-rimmed hat to his grimy boots. With icy disdain she said, “Hell would freeze over and the devil would dance in heaven with Christ himself before that ever happened.” She made no attempt to hide her satisfied smile when red streaked across Sir Doyle’s flabby face.

He kicked his horse, advancing on her until he was only inches away. “Why you little—” He raised a foot.