sitting on the steps to her wagon, her bright turquoise and yellow skirts dipping between her legs while she braided a leather halter for a horse.
It was long moments before Stefan walked to the fire in the middle of camp and nodded to the three men sitting there.
Daman let out a sigh. Trouble was coming on swift wings. He knew it as certainly as he knew he would die in battle.
~ ~ ~
Daman scratched his jaw and ignored the thunder and lightning that had been on display over the mountains for the past half hour. The knot in his gut about the gypsy camp only intensified the longer he was there.
Something bad was going to happen. He knew it just as surely as he knew the storm coming in would last for an entire day. The sooner Ronan, Stefan, and Morcant were finished, the better.
Daman wouldn’t make the mistake of returning with his friends again. And he would do his best to prevent them from coming back, as well. Perhaps a talk with the gypsies was in order. They were on his clan’s land.
Three hours had already passed. It was time for him and his friends to leave. Daman rose and walked between the wagons to get their attention. Then he paused.
In the middle of the camp was a large fire, and many of the gypsies were sitting around it. Two were playing the violin, a hauntingly eerie song that somehow kept time with the thunder. Among the gypsies was Stefan, who stared into the fire as if searching for something. An old woman sat off by herself, her gaze on the wagon Ronan had entered hours ago.
Unease prickled Daman’s skin.
He wanted to leave, but he wasn’t going to go without his friends. Some unknown, unnamable emotion was coursing through him. Every instinct told him they needed to leave. Immediately.
Daman rose and walked to the edge of the camp. He looked at the ground, then up at the wagon where Ronan and Ana were. He could shout out Ronan’s name, but his friend wouldn’t answer even if he heard him.
Daman’s gaze slid to Stefan. With Morcant busy, he could get Stefan’s attention, but Stefan was talking to three gypsy males. Besides, Daman didn’t need help. All he had to do was cross the boundary and get his friends.
He looked up at the sky and stared at the thousands of stars. The moon was only a sliver in the night, leaving the land cloaked in darkness. Daman ran a hand through his hair and returned to the tree where he’d been sitting. He’d wait for his friends as long as it took. Then he’d get them away.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, when the night was shattered by an anguished scream. It was filled with despair and fury dragged from the depths of Hell itself.
Daman’s blood ran cold because he knew his apprehensions were becoming fact. He looked from Stefan at the fire to Ana's wagon where Ronan was exiting. Hand on the hilt of his sword, Ronan stood shirtless and looked at an old woman who stared at something in the grass.
Daman reached the edge of the camp when Morcant exited a wagon still fastening his kilt. Something bad was coming for them.
Daman searched the ground where Ronan and the old woman were looking. The bright pink and blue skirts of Ana, Ronan’s lover, were visible from the dim light of the fire. As was the dagger sticking out of Ana’s stomach.
The odds of any of them getting out of the gypsy camp without a fight weren’t in their favor. By the looks exchanged amongst the gypsies, they were prepared to die to avenge Ana – despite the fact Ronan hadn’t killed her.
Daman looked to Morcant and Stefan and saw a slight nod of Stefan’s head. Morcant slowly began to pull his sword from his scabbard as Ronan shook his head in denial.
“Ronan,” Stefan said urgently as he palmed the hilt of his sword and waited.
There was a moment of silence, as if the world held its breath.
Then the old woman let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at Ronan. Ronan’s eyes widened in confusion and anger.
Daman heard a gypsy
It was long moments before Stefan walked to the fire in the middle of camp and nodded to the three men sitting there.
Daman let out a sigh. Trouble was coming on swift wings. He knew it as certainly as he knew he would die in battle.
~ ~ ~
Daman scratched his jaw and ignored the thunder and lightning that had been on display over the mountains for the past half hour. The knot in his gut about the gypsy camp only intensified the longer he was there.
Something bad was going to happen. He knew it just as surely as he knew the storm coming in would last for an entire day. The sooner Ronan, Stefan, and Morcant were finished, the better.
Daman wouldn’t make the mistake of returning with his friends again. And he would do his best to prevent them from coming back, as well. Perhaps a talk with the gypsies was in order. They were on his clan’s land.
Three hours had already passed. It was time for him and his friends to leave. Daman rose and walked between the wagons to get their attention. Then he paused.
In the middle of the camp was a large fire, and many of the gypsies were sitting around it. Two were playing the violin, a hauntingly eerie song that somehow kept time with the thunder. Among the gypsies was Stefan, who stared into the fire as if searching for something. An old woman sat off by herself, her gaze on the wagon Ronan had entered hours ago.
Unease prickled Daman’s skin.
He wanted to leave, but he wasn’t going to go without his friends. Some unknown, unnamable emotion was coursing through him. Every instinct told him they needed to leave. Immediately.
Daman rose and walked to the edge of the camp. He looked at the ground, then up at the wagon where Ronan and Ana were. He could shout out Ronan’s name, but his friend wouldn’t answer even if he heard him.
Daman’s gaze slid to Stefan. With Morcant busy, he could get Stefan’s attention, but Stefan was talking to three gypsy males. Besides, Daman didn’t need help. All he had to do was cross the boundary and get his friends.
He looked up at the sky and stared at the thousands of stars. The moon was only a sliver in the night, leaving the land cloaked in darkness. Daman ran a hand through his hair and returned to the tree where he’d been sitting. He’d wait for his friends as long as it took. Then he’d get them away.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, when the night was shattered by an anguished scream. It was filled with despair and fury dragged from the depths of Hell itself.
Daman’s blood ran cold because he knew his apprehensions were becoming fact. He looked from Stefan at the fire to Ana's wagon where Ronan was exiting. Hand on the hilt of his sword, Ronan stood shirtless and looked at an old woman who stared at something in the grass.
Daman reached the edge of the camp when Morcant exited a wagon still fastening his kilt. Something bad was coming for them.
Daman searched the ground where Ronan and the old woman were looking. The bright pink and blue skirts of Ana, Ronan’s lover, were visible from the dim light of the fire. As was the dagger sticking out of Ana’s stomach.
The odds of any of them getting out of the gypsy camp without a fight weren’t in their favor. By the looks exchanged amongst the gypsies, they were prepared to die to avenge Ana – despite the fact Ronan hadn’t killed her.
Daman looked to Morcant and Stefan and saw a slight nod of Stefan’s head. Morcant slowly began to pull his sword from his scabbard as Ronan shook his head in denial.
“Ronan,” Stefan said urgently as he palmed the hilt of his sword and waited.
There was a moment of silence, as if the world held its breath.
Then the old woman let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at Ronan. Ronan’s eyes widened in confusion and anger.
Daman heard a gypsy
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