Don't worry, I'm still working on The Rendezvous and Valley of Dying Stars (not that too many people are concerned about the second one). Fluffy oneshot involving Gypsies, Kartik and tents. What more can you ask for?
Felicity floats over the ground like a wraith. Her blond hair streams out behind her. Mine was pinned into a secure chignon, but the grasping branches of the forest have slowly unraveled my work. My hair straggles in my face, random locks pulled loose. No doubt I look as if I'm wearing a giant red spider on my head.
We'd heard that the Gypsies had come back to the woods, and Felicity was keen to see them, for reasons she refused to explain. I was not convinced by her insistence that she wanted Mother Elena to tell our fortunes. Ann refused to come, no doubt she was the wisest.
The sound of voices, crackling fires, moving bodies, reaches our ears. Not far now.
When we reach the edge of the Gypsy camp, Felicity freezes, like a bird perched on the cusp of a new world. The safety of the forest pulls at me, and I want to back away from the glow of the fires, yet at the same time, I am drawn to them. I can feel the pull tearing at me, and the pressure building, my feet hesitating, until I think I'll scream.
Felicity gasps, and steps over the invisible threshold, out into the open of the gypsy camp. And just like that, the suffocation of indecision is gone. I follow her, watching heads snap in our direction. Felicity maintains her cool, haughty exterior, a skill I have never been able to master.
The first of the Gypsies to rise is a face I recognize well.
"Ithal," Felicity greets him, her voice soft, but powerful.
His eyes are a wolf's, watching her hungrily, warily. "You are out very late, little girl." His voice is a warning, but there is no hiding his eagerness.
Felicity smiles coyly. Only I can see the way her knuckles stretch white, hands clasped behind her back. "I am not such a little girl. I imagine you would know that."
Ithal cannot help the grin that pulls at his mouth, exposing straight, white teeth. He rubs the stubble on his chin, a contemplative gesture, as he surveys Fee. She stands before him, back straight, chin high, unflinching.
"I know this," Ithal finally concedes.
Felicity answers him, but I do not hear her. There is a touch at my shoulder that startles me. I turn slowly, reluctant to face an unwelcome admirer.
It is Kartik.
A small gasp escapes me. I clip my mouth shut, flustered by my lack of composure. He says nothing, but catches me by the arm, and gestures towards the forest. I glance back at Felicity, smiling coolly as she teases Ithal. I shouldn't leave her.
But I do.
The undergrowth rustles beneath our feet as he leads me deeper and deeper into the dark press of the forest. If he were to run off suddenly, I would be completely lost. I can only concentrate on the warmth of his hand on my arm, the scent of his skin, so close, the sound of his breath.
He finally stops beside a giant oak. The roots are gnarled and thick, bursting from the ground like beastly pythons. He leans against the trunk, eyeing me quietly. I take a seat on one of the roots, returning his gaze. I am desperate to know why he's brought me here – to talk of the Rakshana? The Order? To kiss me without strange eyes upon us?
Unwittingly, my eyes trace the contours of his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips on mine.
"Gemma."
I snap my eyes up guiltily, a warm flush covering my cheeks. His eyes penetrate mine with a knowing insight. I force myself to maintain eye contact, keeping my expression neutral.
"Yes?" He is only inches from me, so close that I can feel the heat from his body. I want to run my hands over his chest, feel the rough wool of his tunic beneath my palms, slide my hands up his neck and run my fingers through his curls…
"I'd expected better of you."
My train of thought derails with a crash. I step away from him, affronted. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, two young, unmarried girls visiting virile, young gypsy men in the dead of night is possibly the height of idiocy. What were you thinking?"
His scolding tone crawls under my skin like thorns. "I was thinking that you are not my master, and that I do as I please," I snap, feeling humiliated and self-righteous at the same time. My pride in being daring and escaping the confines of society has been degraded to the foolish antics of bored society girls.
Kartik does not back down. "You may be your own Mistress, but that does not mean you are infallible in your decisions. Do you understand what could happen? If you were caught, what would society–"
"Oh, hang Society!" I declare brashly. "I don't need them. I don't need approval – I've got the realms. I've got a task that calls me outside of the boundaries of ordinary life." My conviction fails as I continue to speak, and I end up sounding as if I'm giving pathetic excuses.
"Like it or not, you need Society. The Rakshana and the Order both work within Society, and as the High Priestess, it is a connection that you must maintain." He is quiet a moment, regarding me with an inscrutable expression. He sighs. "Go back to your school, Gemma. Stay within the safety of those walls. Soon enough, you will never know safety again." There is a weariness to his voice that makes him seem older than his years.
I nod, chastised. My bruised pride still remains though, and I get to my feet on my own, ignoring his outstretched hand. I turn towards Spence, before remembering Felicity.
Reluctantly, I turn back to him. "I need Felicity before I go."
He nods. "Follow me. Hopefully Ithal has not risen to her bait and beaten her," he says in a tone that suggests he wouldn't be too disappointed should Ithal's patience fail.
Back in the clearing, there is no sign of Felicity or Ithal. Kartik speaks to another man in broken Romanian, and I hear "Ithal" among the strange words. The man points to a tent. Dread turns my stomach into a leaden pit. I look at Kartik, hoping he'll allay my fears.
"She's in his tent," he whispers, sounding unsurprised. "Come with me."
I say nothing, following obediently. But when he leads me to another tent, I jump back, astonished.
"Gemma," he starts.
I cut him off. "Weren't you the one worried about my good name? This is –"
"You can wait for you friend in here, or out there," he says calmly, gesturing to a circle of men crowded around a blazing fire. Their wolfish grins are enough to send me skittering into Kartik's tent. Kartik crawls in behind me, and I hear a chorus of whistling and howls from the men. I feel as if I shall melt from the heat of my blush.
The tent is lit softly by the glow of the fires. Kartik sleeps in Spartan conditions – a bed roll, wool blanket, and a leather haversack, likely filled with small essentials. My gaze returns to Kartik, and I see he is watching me intently.
"Yes?" I ask primly, trying to hide my nervousness behind a show of disapproval.
"I told you this was foolish."
"I believe idiocy was your word."
The tent is narrow, forcing us to sit shoulder to shoulder. The heat of his skin seeps through my shawl, making my arm tingle with electric excitement. I concentrate on breathing evenly.
"Perhaps idiocy was a bit harsh."
My stomach flutters. He doesn't think me an idiot, after all? "Do I detect an apology, Kartik?" I ask, unable to hide the amusement in my tone. Saying his name sends a little thrill down my spine, and it comes out breathy and soft.
Kartik looks at me softly, thoughtfully. His face is only inches from mine. "Not quite. Perhaps a retraction. But I maintain that this little escapade was incredibly unwise."
"Agreed." My voice is a whisper, and my eyes are drawn to his mouth. The tent is filled with his scent, his presence, his heat. I want to forget the world and fall into him, to find approval within his embrace.
"Gemma…" he whispers huskily.
The world seems to tilt on its side as I give in to temptation, pressing my lips to his. His hands are at my back, pulling me closer. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, testing me. I part my lips, tasting him. The feel of it all – his lips, tongue, arms, chest, burn me with a scalding heat that I both fear and desire. I press myself against him, burning alive.
And then his hand his on my leg, sliding up m skirts, and my fingers are unfastening the buttons of his shirt. Our heartbeats mingle into one frantic staccato, drumming out a primal rhythm that makes us gasp and yearn. I press him onto his bedroll, straddled across his hips, pressing my mouth onto his. His hands grip my hips, pulling me down against a foreign place. But for once, I don't think. I don't worry.
The tent flap flies open with a crisp snap.
"Gemma Doyle!"
Felicity's face is framed in the triangle of open space, her grey eyes wide, her mouth a wide, disbelieving grin.
I leap away from Kartik like a startled deer, crashing into the wall of the tent. I shriek as it comes down around us like a net. Felicity's laughter peals out like a merry bell. Caught in the canvas, I am pressed to Kartik's chest. His chin presses into my shoulder, my knees tangled with his.
He pushes me off of him gently, lifting the tent as he does so. After a brief struggle, he finds the opening and holds it up for me. I crawl out with as much dignity as I can manage.
"I say, Gemma," Fee says with a wicked smile. "You look rather flushed. Are you quite warm?"
I shoot her a murderous glance. "Back to Spence, now," I say airily. "This little escapade was incredibly unwise."
"Is that what they call it these days?" Felicity jabs me with her elbow.
I ignore her and start for the woods.
"Good evening, Miss Doyle," Kartik calls. I turn back; Kartik smiles quietly before turning to his tent. I hide my smile from Felicity as we return to Spence.
Steamy!
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