A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry this has taken so very, very long! My computer is deteriorating more and more ach day – and obviously that has been absolutely killing my creativity. I more or less have the ending in my head – but having a computer that shuts down every ten minutes on it's own, and shift buttons that don't work or other buttons that randomly stick make it nearly impossible to continue. I really wanted to continue the scene in this book but unfortunately I SUCK at real action scenes. It will likely be quite a long time before I can actually post yet again… But once I get over that hump I sincerely hope I can finish the story without further hitches… Please review. I miss reviews.
Arabella looked over the contents of the wagon that Erik had helped her purchase. Most of it came from the butchers' shop and a small cart selling produce. But Arabella had also managed to convince him to buy several yards of heavy winter material so that it might be made into winter outerwear.
She knew it was going to be difficult to convince the Romany tribe to accept the gifts. But she hoped once she began speaking to them in their mostly secret language and treating them with the knowledge only a fellow Romany could possibly have that it would become easier. Gypsies in France were treated badly – sometimes violently. Usually they were expelled from the country. Their children were taken away and raised in Gaje homes so that they would become productive members of society.
Arabella had spent thirty years slowly coming to understand how family-oriented – how community oriented – the gypsy people truly were. She had known it during her first life. She'd seen it with her own eyes. But because of her father she had never been able to feel a part of that community. Not really. But years of observing the world and being able to look back on the past with a bit of objectivity helped her to realize how much they'd wanted to help her. They'd tried to make her one of them. But her father had raised her to feel like an outsider. He had isolated her in the only ways available to him.
And, of course, even gypsies did not believe they had any right to interfere with a man and how he chose to run his little family. Over time they had slowly been forced to give up their attempts at aide. They had left it to her grandmother to be the only assistance Arabella could receive – because she was the only one Arabella still trusted after all that time. No one in the camp had understood just how far her fathers' abuse went … she knew that now… otherwise they would have probably one against their own believe system … and killed him.
After thinking they felt nothing but apathy and disgust for her; she finally understood that they had just felt helpless… and their guilt had driven them to look the other way after years of fruitless trying.
It was time to give back to the community that would have saved her … if they only could have.
"That is a great deal of food for two people." Nadir said looking over her shoulder. "Are you planning to hide away in your holiday home for an entire winter without returning to the city?"
"Of course not." Erik scoffed, waiting to help Arabella up onto the wagon seat. "This is just to share an entire feast with the passengers on the train we take next week!"
Arabella smiled at him impishly, and Erik gave her a cheeky wink. His good humor since the beginning of their wedding ceremonies had not diminished even slightly. Any fight he'd given her over all the food and cloth had been nothing but half-hearted and teasing.
She turned to look back at Nadir and Darius with a more solemn expression.
"You will come and see us?" she pressed. "Once we are settled in?"
"Of course we will." Nadir promised, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Just … do not take too long in doing that. I am not as young as I once was, you now."
He stepped aside and went to talk quietly with Erik for a moment, leaving her to say an awkward farewell to Darius – who kissed her hand with a polite bow and sincere smile. He was always so aloof; the perfect servant that would be friendly enough but never quite familiar. Arabella was just reaching her husbands' side when he surprised her – and Nadir – by offering the older Persian an abrupt, strong, sincere, and painfully long embrace…
Men did not generally embrace – especially not in public.
Arabella tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat as Erik abruptly released Nadir just as quickly as he'd grabbed his old friend. He took Arabella's hand in preparation for helping her get up onto the wagon bench … but turned back to face a still speechless and stunned Nadir.
"We can stay…" he offered. "We can see you off…"
"It will not be nearly as impressive to see us off on a coach as it would be to see us off at the train station." Nadir said sternly. "Besides – I would cry to see this beautiful lady waving a handkerchief after us as smoke ruined her stunning gown."
They didn't dispute his excuse – even though it was a bald faced lie.
This felt far too final… as if it would be the last time they all ever met. And it just might be. Arabella had spent so much time thinking about her future with Erik that she'd almost forgotten her husband and her only friends were much older than she was… What if this really was the last time she saw Nadir and Darius?
"You will write and tell me everything about Trieste." Nadir told her sternly, covering his bittersweet emotions.
"Yes." Arabella murmured simply.
And then she was on the wagon seat beside Erik … and they rode away without looking back.
They were on the edges of town before Erik sat up in sudden awareness, making Arabella look around anxiously. She turned her body to look behind them and see if something had happened to the contents of their cart; or if Nadir or Darius were calling for them due to some forgotten farewell detail. But nothing seemed wrong. Curiously she turned to look at Erik with narrowed eyes, and one raised eyebrow.
"What's wrong?" she demanded.
Erik was staring straight ahead of them.
"A large group left down … somewhat recently." He told her, motioning with his chin. "Look at the tracks. Hoof and foot prints. "
Arabella thought for a moment. People went down this road regularly. Of course they did. It was only further out that traffic headed in a different direction from where they were headed. She could think of nothing to worry her.
"Well … there were Romany people in town…" she tried to soothe him. "At least a few of them had to have horses."
"They reached town before we did … They did not have any horses at the church." Erik stated firmly. "Something … something feels off… "
She trusted his instinct, but Arabella still didn't understand.
"Can we go back to the cottage?" she asked. "Is it safe?"
Grimly, Erik took in a deep breath.
"Let's find out…"
They did not have to get within sight of the meadow or their little shack. It was easy enough to hear the screams – and smell the smoke.
Erik swore in a string of languages – some of which she actually understood. He yanked on the reigns and their horse swerved off the road and into the bumpy grass. He was headed towards a small stand of shrubs and trees. Arabella cried out wordlessly and held tight onto her seat. The ground was far from smooth, and they would be very lucky not to wind up with a broken axle.
"What are you doing?" she demanded in a shrill voice.
"Get off the wagon, Bella." Erik nearly growled as he drew the wagon to a shuddering halt out of direct view of the road. It was not particularly good cover; but it was very close to sunset by then. Whatever was happening down the road, it likely wouldn't be over before the sun went down and hid them completely.
Arabella did as he said, watching as he leaped down onto the ground and rushed around to her. His grip on her arm as he began tugging her towards the tall grass beneath their feet was nearly crushing.
"Erik, what are you doing?" she insisted.
"The smart thing." Her husband ground out between angrily clenched teeth. "I told you a large group came out here. Do you understand? Do you understand me?"
He was trying to drag her under the wagon – presumably into protective hiding. But Arabella resisted his grip, staring down at him in disbelief and horror.
"A hunt…?" she breathed. It felt as though she'd suddenly been plunged back into the icy lake at the Temple of Lovers in Paris. "Erik! Those poor people – the children - they need help!"
"What help can you be?" Erik asked her harshly, pulling her so close that their noses – her nose and the part of his mask that covered his undeveloped one - almost touched. "You're no fighter! I protect what is mine. This wagon, its contents, and you are all I have any reason to care about. Now get down! We'll stay here until they leave - no matter how long it takes! Whatever is in that shack can be replaced."
For a long moment, Arabella stared at her husband. Then she eased her arm out of his grip and backed away.
"Even with your fighting skills, you won't go and help them?" she demanded incredulously. "You can take out ten more than any one man or woman in that camp can! There are children there, Erik! You know what happens in a gypsy hunt! Any kind of purging! People will be raped, maimed, killed!"
She was not a fighter … but she could not stand there and do nothing. She could not cower and hide as she used to do when trying to keep out of her fathers' reach. It was one thing to do that when she was the only one in danger … but she could not let those horrible things happen to anyone else.
"If you will not help them, then I will." She stated almost coldly.
She did not judge Erik. She understood he was not as young as he had once been. He could not face a fight against an unknown number of opponents. And he had never once been in a fight meant to protect another person as well as himself. It had come close to that, while traveling from Russia to Persia with Nadir… but the Persians had been in their tent rather than out in the open with the assailant Erik very easily defeated.
But she couldn't stand there listening to those screams and do nothing. She could not just hide under a wagon and behind not quite green bushes. The smell of smoke and the sound of suffering and rage poked at memories better left alone. It was bad enough that Adnah –
Adnah?
In the few moments she had been straightening to stalk out onto the road and towards the gypsy encampment, she heard Erik scrambling to get out from beneath the wagon to catch up with her. But he nearly bowled her over onto the ground when her thought of Adnah drew her up short.
He'd said he was going to leave after the wedding … but how soon? Could he maybe scout ahead so that she could have some advantage over the villagers attacking the gypsies? Maybe if she could get Adnah's help, then Erik would be more inclined to jump into the fray…
But there was no answer. He was already gone.
It panged her unexpectedly; but she let it go in order to pick up her pace before Erik could recover from nearly running her down.
"Do you want to die on your wedding day?" he asked angrily, grabbing desperately for her arm.
Arabella jerked violently out of his grip.
"No." She admitted, not turning to look at him. If she looked up into his masked face, she knew he could convince her to stop and go back. He could win her over because she hated so much to upset him. But then she would be eaten alive by her own conscience for the rest of her life.
Erik didn't have that. His conscience rarely woke up and scolded him for his behavior. She was lucky he ever consulted it in their relationship. He just wasn't used to dealing with other people. He could listen to the entire Romany tribe and – although he'd feel bad for them – sleep like a baby for the rest of his days. He would feel he'd done the right thing.
She couldn't do that.
Erik cursed again – this time in languages she understood perfectly well. Maybe that was the point, but cursing had never particularly bothered her. She just liked picking on him for doing it during lighter situations.
"All right…" he finally sighed heavily, sounding resigned and aggravated. But there was a thoughtful lilt to his tone. His strategic mind was already in motion.