wrapping her cloak around her, she followed him out into the courtyard. She berated herself for bringing up the distasteful subject and so spoiling his cheerful humor, yet her ultimate fate preyed on her mind. How could such a charming man laugh with her even as he contemplated her murder?
Sandor attacked the cold ground with his shovel, venting his anger on the thick clods of earth that he tossed by the side of the grave. While he dug, he tried to decide what he was going to do about the increasingly desirable Lady Gastonia Cavendish. The time had come for him to be honest with himself. He knew in his heart that he was not going to kill her. He should have admitted that truth from the first moment when he saw her. Even as she curtsied to him, he had been thunderstruck by her beauty and her radiance. Had the lady been a gnarled crone ready for death, perhaps he could have done the deed, but he knew that God would be angry if Sandor snuffed out the life of such a beautiful example of his handiwork.
Pausingto sip some watered wine from his bota, he watched Tonia stroke and pet Baxtalo. Lucky horse! Sandor wished that she would run her fingers through his hair as she did with Baxtalo’s mane. His skin prickled. Sandor mopped his brow with his neckerchief then squinted up at the sun. Time moved forward, one more day that Demeo lay in the Tower.
By his calculation, Sandor realized that he was expected to arrive in London on the morrow or the day after. He was supposed to deliver the small box containing Tonia’s heart to the Constable of the Tower as soon as he reached the city. Only then would Demeo be freed. If Sandor did not appear within the week, he knew that the King’s officials would send soldiers to Hawksnest to investigate. He must be long gone by then. And the lady?
Across the meadow, Tonia sang a lighthearted ballad. Its pleasing notes floated back to Sandor. When she turned to look at him, he grinned and waved to her. Then he returned his attention to the hole that he now stood in. He guessed its depth was three feet and a bit. Not that he intended to use it for its original purpose. Digging it bought him time and occupied his body. Otherwise he might be tempted to seduce the enchanting woman who played with his horse.
Sandorgripped the handle of the shovel. The devil would punish him for thinking such lustful thoughts. Tonia was dedicated to God, not to be a man’s plaything. Yet what a waste! He glanced again at her. Even dressed in her plain gray gown with no ornamentation save for her wooden cross, she was as beautiful as a May morn. He recalled another one of old Towla’s sayings, “Beauty cannot be eaten with a spoon.” But then again, his grandmother had never laid eyes on Tonia. She was a feast.
She is a gadji, Sandor reminded himself. His shovel struck a good-sized rock. He worked the spade around it while his mind examined this problem. All gadje, most especially their women, polluted the Rom, or so Sandor had been taught ever since he was old enough to understand the differences between his people and everyone else in the world. Yet Sandor did not feel soiled by his contact with Tonia. On the contrary, she lifted his soul more than he had ever felt with any other. Was there evil in this magic?
He glanced toward the edge of the meadow where he had laid several snares in hopes of catching a wayward rabbit or two. His food store was very low. He had not intended to remain for so long at Hawksnest, nor had he planned to feed the woman who was supposed to be dead by now. This holiday from his responsibilities would come to a jarring end within another day or two. Then what?
Sandor looked over his shoulder at Tonia, but he did not see her. Baxtalo grazed near the stream, but the dark-haired beauty had vanished. Cursing himself under his breath, Sandor dropped the shovel and vaulted out of the hole. He should have guessed that she would make another bid for her freedom. After all, she did not know
Sandor attacked the cold ground with his shovel, venting his anger on the thick clods of earth that he tossed by the side of the grave. While he dug, he tried to decide what he was going to do about the increasingly desirable Lady Gastonia Cavendish. The time had come for him to be honest with himself. He knew in his heart that he was not going to kill her. He should have admitted that truth from the first moment when he saw her. Even as she curtsied to him, he had been thunderstruck by her beauty and her radiance. Had the lady been a gnarled crone ready for death, perhaps he could have done the deed, but he knew that God would be angry if Sandor snuffed out the life of such a beautiful example of his handiwork.
Pausingto sip some watered wine from his bota, he watched Tonia stroke and pet Baxtalo. Lucky horse! Sandor wished that she would run her fingers through his hair as she did with Baxtalo’s mane. His skin prickled. Sandor mopped his brow with his neckerchief then squinted up at the sun. Time moved forward, one more day that Demeo lay in the Tower.
By his calculation, Sandor realized that he was expected to arrive in London on the morrow or the day after. He was supposed to deliver the small box containing Tonia’s heart to the Constable of the Tower as soon as he reached the city. Only then would Demeo be freed. If Sandor did not appear within the week, he knew that the King’s officials would send soldiers to Hawksnest to investigate. He must be long gone by then. And the lady?
Across the meadow, Tonia sang a lighthearted ballad. Its pleasing notes floated back to Sandor. When she turned to look at him, he grinned and waved to her. Then he returned his attention to the hole that he now stood in. He guessed its depth was three feet and a bit. Not that he intended to use it for its original purpose. Digging it bought him time and occupied his body. Otherwise he might be tempted to seduce the enchanting woman who played with his horse.
Sandorgripped the handle of the shovel. The devil would punish him for thinking such lustful thoughts. Tonia was dedicated to God, not to be a man’s plaything. Yet what a waste! He glanced again at her. Even dressed in her plain gray gown with no ornamentation save for her wooden cross, she was as beautiful as a May morn. He recalled another one of old Towla’s sayings, “Beauty cannot be eaten with a spoon.” But then again, his grandmother had never laid eyes on Tonia. She was a feast.
She is a gadji, Sandor reminded himself. His shovel struck a good-sized rock. He worked the spade around it while his mind examined this problem. All gadje, most especially their women, polluted the Rom, or so Sandor had been taught ever since he was old enough to understand the differences between his people and everyone else in the world. Yet Sandor did not feel soiled by his contact with Tonia. On the contrary, she lifted his soul more than he had ever felt with any other. Was there evil in this magic?
He glanced toward the edge of the meadow where he had laid several snares in hopes of catching a wayward rabbit or two. His food store was very low. He had not intended to remain for so long at Hawksnest, nor had he planned to feed the woman who was supposed to be dead by now. This holiday from his responsibilities would come to a jarring end within another day or two. Then what?
Sandor looked over his shoulder at Tonia, but he did not see her. Baxtalo grazed near the stream, but the dark-haired beauty had vanished. Cursing himself under his breath, Sandor dropped the shovel and vaulted out of the hole. He should have guessed that she would make another bid for her freedom. After all, she did not know
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