Page 6 of Tempted
Ram hauled himself to his feet and stretched. “No such thing—ye won fair and square. I wish ye joy of her. Well, I’m off.”
Gavin Douglas looked puzzled. “I thought ye were tae bring the horses down from the mountains tomorrow.”
“I leave at dawn,” Ram said, “and there’s still eight hours till dawn.” He winked at Gavin and picked up his leather jack.
Ram’s brother stared after him, then said to Cameron, “He just lost Jenna tae me—I suspect it was done deliberately. Why the hell would he do that?”
Cameron’s black brows smoothed from their puzzled furrow as he remembered something. “The Gypsies! This is the night the Gypsies return to Galloway Valley”
Tina changed into a warm green velvet riding habit and slipped from the castle toward the stable. She looked up at the tiny sliver of the new moon in the dark sky and shivered as she thought it would be a good night for a raid. As she opened the stable door and slipped inside, her nostrils quivered with the pungent odor of horseflesh, hay, and manure that rose up in a miasma in the dim interior. Before she had taken three steps, however, she came face-to-face with a dozen Kennedy men saddling their mounts. The girl and the men looked at each other with dismay, knowing they had been discovered in a clandestine activity. “Oh, you’re going on a raid!” Tina gasped. All her instincts had told her they’d been planning a raid, but she had assumed they would wait until their father had sailed.
“Ye daft loon, of course we’re no’,” denied Donal. “Where the hell are ye sneakin’ off tae?”
She ignored the question. “I know you are riding out to raid. None of you are wearing the telltale Kennedy tartan, and the moon is just right!”
Donal mounted, and Duncan and the rest of the clan members followed suit. “Tina, yer imagination takes flights o’ fancy We’re just riding tae Glasgow. Get back tae the castle, lass, before ye get yersel in more trouble”
“Duncan, make Donal let me come with you! I’ll do exactly as I’m told. I want to help.”
“Ye’ve never done as yer told in yer life,” cut in Donal.
“I’m a Kennedy too!” she flared. “I want to come—I want to help!”
Duncan bent low and said confidentially, “Tina, we’re off tae a whorehouse in Glasgow. How can ye help? Hold up the lassies’ skirts fer us, mayhap?”
She flushed at their crudeness, and they filed past her out into the dark night.
Valentina was relieved that the Kennedys were heading north to Glasgow. It was close to thirty miles, and the pace Donal and Duncan set would be punishing. She was riding east so there was no chance they would run into each other again.
Where the Gypsies made camp was about eight miles off along the banks of the River Ayr. Tina had no fear of riding in the dark save for concern that her beautiful mare might step into a badger hole, so she chose to canter over the rolling fells rather than gallop.
The hills were dotted with sheep and newborn lambs that had been freed from their winter pens to spend their first spring night outdoors this last day of April 1512. She could hear the river in spate at the moment, rushing headlong over rock and boulder, and not far off she heard the bark of a fox. It was the sort of night that was filled with promise and magic. The kind of night that made her glad to be alive with the wind in her hair and good horseflesh between her knees.
Tina embraced the night. Tomorrow with its threat of husband and marriage was a million miles away, but when it arrived she would meet it head on and on her own terms.
She saw their campfires first, and then the silhouettes of their caravans, long before she reached the valley’s floor to mingle with the raffish band of dusky nomads.
A black stallion stood beneath the trees on the edge of the camp. His rider bent low to aid a young Gypsy girl mount behind him. Her red skirt fell back to reveal bare legs that she used seductively to grip the iron-hard thighs of the man in front of her. A deep thrill ran through Zara as her body came in contact with his. There was nothing about him that was not dark and hard. The line of his jaw was stubborn, and the set of his head was arrogantly proud atop the wide, powerful shoulders. He was clad in black from head to foot. His jack and thigh-high riding boots were made of supple black leather. Zara shivered, knowing the Black Ram was ruthless and dangerous. Of all the men she had ever known—and men were her business—he was the only one she couldn’t rule in bed.
Suddenly he leaned forward, resting his arm on his saddle pommel, and watched intently as a young woman with flaming hair streaming about her shoulders rode into the camp. She rode astride, which was almost unheard of for a woman. She flung herself from her horse and ran laughing into the outstretched arms of a tall young Gypsy male: “Heath! Oh Heath, how I’ve missed you!”
Ram continued his slow, deliberate appraisal of the vivid creature as the man lifted her in the air and swung her about. “Who is she?” Ram asked, his voice low and intense, in no way trying to disguise his interest in the beauty.
“I don’t know,” Zara lied. “Probably someone’s wife looking for forbidden fruit. In any case you’d better leave Heath’s women alone unless you fancy a knife in your ribs.”
Ram smiled to himself. Zara was clearly jealous, as she had every right to be, for the girl’s looks were breathtaking, but her jealousy had better not make her bold enough to threaten him. “Would ye fancy following me on foot tae Douglas?” he asked silkily.
“What makes you think I’d follow you?” Zara hissed, but she knew she would and so did he, damn him to hell-fire!
Heath and Valentina caught up on what had occurred in their lives since they’d last been together. The Gypsies had traveled as far north as Inverary in the Highlands during the summer and had wintered in Carlisle, in England, where the climate was not so inclement. They’d also spent time in the old capital of Stirling and the new capital of Edinburgh while king and court had been in residence.
Tina had a million questions for him, covering everything from the Earl of Argyll’s Campbells to her own notorious kinswoman who was rumored to be the king’s new mistress. “Is it true she was mistress to Archibald Douglas, the hated Earl of Angus?” Tina asked with a shudder. “No wonder she sought the king’s protection.”
“The Douglas name is never uttered without a shiver of fear, and yet I think Scotland has much more to fear from Argyll. He intends to swallow the Highlands whole.”
“Heath, Douglas is less than thirty miles away. The whole of the border country is beneath their heel.”
“Sweetheart, ‘tis no bad thing that they’re so strong. Since the king appointed Douglas the leading marcher lord patrolling the borders, England’s learned it can’t attack with impunity. This past winter I didn’t hear of many raids between the two countries.”
