The Thrill of the Catch: A "Storm" Adaptation


The Thrill of the Catch

An Adaptation of Celtic Thunder's 
musical production "Storm"

Prologue


The boy knelt at the edge of the river and scooped a handful of water to rinse the dirt off of his knees.  His dark hair stood on end, and his clothes were disheveled from play.  But the light in his blue eyes matched the smile on his face.  Today was his seventh birthday, and birthdays were always good days.

A sound caught his attention and he started in surprise. He noticed a small figure on the other side of the river, a young girl.  He’d never seen her before.  She looked younger than he was by a couple of years.  She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes impatiently as she concentrated on digging a rock from the shore.  

He sat back and watched her eyebrows furrow in frustration.  The rock wasn’t coming free, and it wasn’t making her happy.

He had a sister of his own at home and knew how demanding and unreasonable girls could be.  He scampered across the bridge, kneeled at her side to dislodge the rock, and placed it into her palm.  He was pleased at the smile that replaced her frustration.  The girl smiled shyly up at him, and said quietly, “Thank you…  I’m Briana.”

“You’re welcome, Briana.  I’m—“  His words were cut short as a flash of pain went through his head. Dazed, he found himself sprawled out on the ground.  He looked up to see a boy of his own age standing over him with hands on his hips and eyes full of venom.

“That’s MY sister, Gypsy,” he sneered.  “Don’t ever touch her again.  We’re going home. Come on, Bri,” he ordered, and the girl followed him obediently away from the river, looking over her shoulder as she went.

The gypsy boy held his head and tried not to cry. Today was his birthday.  Bad things aren’t supposed to happen on your birthday.  He slowly walked back across the bridge and into the camp that was his home.  An older woman looked up from the step of a wagon. “Colin!” she called in alarm.  There was a trickle of blood coursing down his cheek. The boy was caught up in his mother’s arms, the washing forgotten. His father looked up and raised an eyebrow. 

“A boy hit me, Papa. I think he was from the village.”

“And what were you doing?” his father asked, mildly. “They don’t come to our side of the river.”

“I—“ The boy knew he’d broken the rules.  He lowered his eyes but his expression remained stubborn, “He called me ‘Gypsy.’ I don’t think he meant it nice.”

The man laid a hand on his son’s dark head.  “Let it go, Son.  Sometimes we just have to let it go.”

Colin felt torn between the words of the man he admired and the feelings in his own heart.  To himself, he whispered “I hate him.”



Chapter 1


The moon shone brightly over the village, but storm clouds threatened to cover it soon. The man in black crouched next to the bridge and spoke quietly to his followers. “We’ll wait for the first roll of thunder.  Then, we go.  Take anything you find of value.  VALUE, mind you. Ronan.” Ronan hung his head. There had been that small matter of the absconded sheep dung.

The Gypsy King surveyed the band of men that surrounded him. He singled out a slight figure and removed its hat, “And YOU are to go back home, Kira.”

A fiery young woman of long dark hair, with eyes to match the color of his own, glared at him. “But Colin!  I never get to come.  It’s not fair!”

The boy who’d become a man smiled at his little sister. “I didn’t get us to where we are by being fair, lovely.  Now get out of here.  I’ll bring you a present.”  With a huff, the girl stalked back over the bridge toward their camp.  Eleven pairs of eyes followed the sway of her hips.  The twelfth pair had grown cold.  “You lads looking at something?”

“No, sir,” they all rushed to assure him. They’d each learned their lesson when it came to making eyes at the Gypsy King’s baby sister. His fists were effective teachers.

The clouds darkened the night, and the Gypsies returned their eyes to the village they were about to ransack.  An open square sat in the middle of the town, the evening’s community fire still smoldering.  Several simple cottages surrounded the square, but all was dark below.

Colin held up one hand and waited, his muscles tense, his eyes on the sky.  Finally, the thunder crashed. He gave a triumphant yell, and his band of thieves raced into the still quiet.  It was a cacophony of movement and sound.  Benches were overturned and hurdled over. Pots and pans were pilfered.  The treasure chest was rifled through. Chaos reigned supreme.




A blonde woman stood at the edge of the village square.  She hadn’t been able to sleep, so she had slipped out of her cottage to sit by the well outside of town.  It was always calm and peaceful there and its coolness helped ease her mind.  That’s what she told herself, anyway.  She would never admit to herself that she waited, hoping that “he” would come.  “The Hound of Hell,” they called him.  He was a scourge on their village.  His band of gypsies was constantly wreaking havoc, but she remembered him as something different, something kinder from long ago. She shook her head to clear the memory.  He probably didn’t even remember and his men stood between her and the safety of her cottage.

Briana prayed quickly for safe passage and then rushed through the square, intent on reaching the doorway.  Surprised, she gave a quick scream when an iron hand clamped onto her arm.  She drew her other hand back to slap the face of the man it belonged to. But, when she turned, she found that she couldn’t.  It was him, the Gypsy King.  He stood a couple heads taller than her own height, and his black hair curled a little over his ears.  His dark slacks clung to his thighs, and his white shirt opened halfway, hinting at the contours that lay underneath. She wondered what he looked like now that he was a grown man.

They both stood still, seemingly frozen in time as they looked at each other.  The look in his eyes softened for just a moment and his lips parted to speak.  “You--” Before he could say more, one of his men rushed by and wrenched the girl out of his grasp.  She was slippery though and managed to maneuver out of his arms and across the square to her cottage.

She burst through the door and woke her older brother, “Darren!  The gypsies!” Like an alarm had been sounded, the village men poured into the town square.  Briana watched anxiously from the window.  Villager against gypsy, the men struggled and fought.  The Gypsy King gave a yell, and his men made a hasty retreat toward the bridge.  She held her breath as her brother came to blows with their leader.  It always came to blows between those two men.  Every time.

The town seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the village was purged of its thieves.  Briana ran out to check on Darren.  He was in the midst of educating the village’s children on every curse word in the language, and probably a few in languages no one had ever heard.  Darren and Briana both looked across the bridge at the other side of the river where the Gypsy King and his men had retreated, their camp somewhere beyond.

Darren continued to swear, angry to have been bested by that Gypsy again.  But Briana smiled to herself.

The Gypsy King had remembered.



Chapter 2


“Here, Papa.  I brought you some water.” The older man accepted it from his daughter, Regan, with a distracted smile and leaned against the wall of the cottage. It had been a long night, and a long morning followed it.  This was his village, and as its mayor, he felt responsible for everything that happened in it.  It was his job to make sure that everyone was fed, to settle disputes, to keep the hot-headed young ones from making rash decisions, and to keep them all safe.   But, this morning, it was his job to organize the clean-up that last night’s Gypsy raid had necessitated.  Was it his imagination or had there been more of them lately?

Now, as the morning’s pink light faded, everything had been put back in order.  Inventory had been taken to discern any losses, and breakfast was about to be enjoyed.  The villagers all stood around the fire and waited for him.  Patrick cleared his throat and bowed his head.

He prayed thanks and blessing that God had protected them from the previous evening’s attacks, that no one had been harmed, and asked for the Lord’s continued protecting in the future.

Patrick glanced around the square.  Squire Philip, the son of the biggest landowner in the valley, was in the midst of telling a joke to the men gathered around him.  Occasionally prone to bouts of romanticism, he was a kind man, with a bright future and was well-liked by all.  Patrick had hopes to groom Squire Philip to take his place when he was too old to lead the village.  But, that was some time off yet.

Off to the side, Darren was consuming his breakfast alone, absently brushing his too-long hair out of his eyes.  He’d had to grow up quickly when both his parents had been killed some years earlier in a freak seaweed accident.  Others had tried to take Darren and his siblings in, but he had been adamant that he could care for them himself.  There had been some business about deathbed promises made to his father.  Darren did his best to care for his younger brother and sister.  He spoiled and doted on the girl, Briana, but Patrick thought he was just a bit too hard on the brother, Seth.  Patrick tried to cushion that by going out of his way to encourage the young boy.

Darren was prone to encouraging the villagers to occasional bouts of violence, usually against the gypsies whom he hated with a passion.  No one quite knew where the strength of his feelings came from.  The gypsies were a problem, to be sure.  But, Darren always seemed to make it personal.  Despite his moodiness, he was often a big help.  The young girls were crazy about him, but he never seemed to notice.

Patrick clapped his hands together and stood before the townspeople.  “My friends,” he began.  “Last night, we had a little trouble.  But let’s have some faith.  God led us here and gave us these lands, and He will protect us from the wolves that scratch at our doors.”

Squire Philip stood and clapped a hand to Patrick’s shoulder.  “Well said. Our history is written here in this town.  Our future will be written here as well, as has been promised.”

A tentative hand rose from the front of the crowd.  Patrick smiled indulgently. “Seth lad, you have something to say?”

The young boy stood with Patrick and faced the crowd of people.  He knew them all but somehow they were all more daunting when they were faced en masse.   He was determined to participate in the grown-up talk and tried valiantly to keep the tremor out of his voice. “I just think that we work so hard on the farms, and that--  that—we shouldn’t let anyone take that away from us.”

“Well said, grasshopper.  Hear, hear,” came the sarcastic quip from the back.

Seth flushed, but Patrick nodded at him encouragingly.  “Thank you, boy.  You’re right,” and he leveled a warning look at the lad’s brother.

Darren stood and ambled to the front. “What are we doing?” he asked quietly. “More and more often, the gypsies come.  We work so hard, all of us.  We work so hard to feed this village, to care for our loved ones.  And their ‘King,’” he fairly spat out the words, “their king takes it into his head that it’s perfectly fine to come and destroy everything we’ve done.”  He looked each man in the eye. “I’m done with it.  It’s high time we fight back, not just to keep them on their side of the river, but to drive them out of Ireland entirely!” Darren emitted a snort of disgust when no one responded and stalked angrily from the square.

Patrick sighed.  Their villagers were not soldiers.  They weren’t soldiers or bandits or warriors.  They were farmers, skilled with a hoe and livestock, but not with weapons. An uncomfortable silence followed, but was soon broken by the sound of a fiddle, and the day continued on.


Across the river, breakfast was also served, but the mood was far more festive around this campfire.  The gypsies laughed and sang together, still high off the adrenaline of the night’s adventures. A pile of fine cloth and gold lay on the ground at Colin’s feet.  He bent down to retrieve a golden cup and held it aloft.

“My illustrious friends,” he began with a smile. “Last night was some adventure, eh?  There was a time when this land was ours and ours alone until those invaders took over and drove us from our homes. But, we are not weak and we are not powerless! We will drive them from our land and reclaim what is ours!”  Colin brought the cup down to eye level and gazed at it thoughtfully.  “To us!”

His men lifted their voices, music filled the air, and their celebrations began anew.  He watched with a smile on his lips and then retired to his wagon for a bit of rest after the night’s activities.  He tossed the cup onto a pile and flopped onto the bed of straw.

A voice came from a darkened corner.  “That was impressive, Brother.”

Colin started.  “Kira!”  She grinned at having startled him, and he muttered, “What are you doing in here?”

“You promised a present.”

He pulled a chain from his pocket and tossed it in her lap. “Spoiled brat,” he called her with an indulgent wink.

Kira fastened the chain around her wrist and sat before a little mirror to admire how it looked.  “I am not. I just have the sweetest brother.”  She paused and turned to him, suddenly serious.  “Why are we doing this, Colin? In the beginning, I thought we did it so we could feed everyone, so we wouldn’t starve.  But…” She gestured to the pile of gold building in the corner. “Aren’t we past that? “

Colin’s eyes hardened. “They think they’re better than us, Kira. They treat us like we’re nothing.  Don’t you ever get tired of that? Don’t you ever want to be treated like you’re someone?”

She knelt by his side and placed her palm against the side of his cheek with tenderness. “Colin, you ARE someone.  All those men out there worship you.  They’re a little scared of you sometimes, but they worship you.  Isn’t that enough?”

Colin got up and opened the back door of the wagon.  Looking back at her, he almost whispered, “No.”  

Then, he was gone.



CHAPTER 3


Many years ago, a bird flew over the valley.  It circled over and past a group of huts, smoke just trickling out of a single chimney.  The bird flew on.  But, before he could so much as beat his wings twice, a rock from a slingshot flew toward him.  The boy who shot it had not yet developed his aim into the expertise it would later become. This was lucky for the bird that was merely grazed by the hurtling object.  The sparrow dropped briefly in flight, flexed its wing to find it largely uninjured, and flew on.  Unfortunately, the surprise of being suddenly attacked while minding its own business had caused it to drop the seed held in its mouth.

The seed dropped to the ground in a small clearing, and by one coincidence after another, it found its way under the soil where it was watered by an underground spring.  The seed grew into a young sapling, which in turn grew into a tree with wide strong branches.  The tree stretched higher and higher until it broke through the surrounding canopy where it could drink in the sunlight. 

As it aged, the tree saw many things.  It saw the boy who shot the bird grow into a man and have his own children.  It saw a well being built from the spring that had fed its youth.  It saw festivals and fairs, weddings and funerals, picnics and first kisses. But tonight, it stood motionless as a man in black climbed its branches to look down on the town. The man needed to watch and he needed to think, and he might have needed to steal.

It hadn’t been until that day at the river when he was a boy that Colin had considered that he was an outsider.  Until then, all he’d known were his parents and his sister and the people they’d lived with.   But, something changed in him when the girl’s brother had hit him.  He slowly became aware that his family and his people were outside of the norm. There was a whole realm out there that beckoned with homes and hearth fires, but it would always shut him out because of who he was.  He was always outside.  Always outside, looking in… but never belonging.

He hardened his heart.  He’d had to.  When his parents died, he became the Gypsy King and he led his band with a smile but an iron fist.  He never got far from this village in the valley.  Something held him here.  Once, in the beginning, he’d snuck through town in the dead of night and took a rake from a shed.  He hadn’t needed a rake.  He’d just wanted to take it.  He watched the next morning as the farmer searched for that tool, wondering where he had left it.  

Colin had smiled humorlessly.  If he couldn’t earn their respect, then he would steal it.  He had snuck back into town often after that, stealing whatever he could get his hands on.  It hadn’t mattered what he stole.  It only mattered that he stole it.  As it became noticed, the rumors in town grew until his fame was almost legendary.  Fear of him pervaded.  It meant something to him to have that control.  When he felt alone, he needed it.

The candles in windows began to extinguish one by one.  He waited.  He could be very patient when he needed to be.  Tonight, a rake wasn’t going to cut it.  Tonight, he needed something valuable to stop his thoughts. It was the girl’s fault, that Briana.  Last night hadn’t been the first time he’d seen her again since that first day at the riverbank.  But, it was the first day he’d touched her, since she had grown up.  The skin of her arm had been so soft.

“Her arm,” he muttered, disgusted with himself.  Who got worked up over someone’s arm? Colin froze as he watched a single light float through the night toward the well.  He would have to be quiet.  

The light approached the well. Of course, it would be her. 

She had a wool scarf wrapped around her head and shoulders to keep out the cool air, and black slippers on her feet.  Curling locks of her light hair peeked out from underneath her hood, like a halo kept under wraps.  She tried to tie the bucket to the well’s rope, but it was cold and she kept dropping it.  She swore under her breath as it continued to elude her.

“Don’t move,” he thought.  “Don’t do it, don’t do it.”  He never was very good at listening to his own advice.  He slipped soundlessly out of the tree, and spoke from behind her. “Did no one ever teach you that isn’t very ladylike?”

Briana screamed and twirled around, her scarf dropping to the ground.  She thought she had been alone… and so near the woods.  Her eyes widened as she recognized him. “It’s you!” 

Colin grinned and pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh.  Your brother will come running.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, as he took the bucket from her hands and tied it to the rope. 

“After what you did last night, if Darren catches you here…”

“The threat of the catch is part of the thrill.” His eyes meandered from the tilt of her head to the pendant that lay against her throat. “Isn’t it?”

She looked up at him through lowered eyelashes.  “You should be careful,” she warned. “They’re setting guards at night now.  Just—just be careful.”

Colin set the bucket of water at their feet and rested his hands on her shoulders.  “Your brother can’t stand me.  What does it matter to you?” He cupped her chin in his palm to tilt her face toward his so he could see her better, resisting the urge to run his thumb across her bottom lip.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. 

“BRI!” A shout from the direction of the village floated to her on the wind.  “Are you going to be out here all night??  Jesus.”  Her brother was hurrying along the path.  “What’s taking you so long?”

Briana turned to tell Colin to go, but he had already disappeared. “I’m coming!” she called, as she picked up the bucket and rushed to meet him halfway.  “I’m sorry, I got distracted watching the stars.”

Darren softened, “It’s alright, it’s just chilly out here.  Here, let me carry that.” He took the water from her and turned toward the village.

“Wait!” she stopped.  “I forgot my scarf at the well.  Go on home, I’ll be right there.”  She hurried back and peered around the clearing, but she didn’t see the Gypsy King anywhere.  “Psst!” she hissed into the quiet. “I still don’t know your name!”  She turned and fled. 

The man in the tree smiled.
                  
                                     

They’re setting guards at night. That’s what Briana had said.  This pleased Colin. No longer content to fight him off after the Gypsies had invaded, now they thought they could best him by preventing him from coming at all. He couldn’t resist that challenge.

When the last light blew out, he jumped to the ground and snuck into town.  Crouching against the wall of the first house, he peered into the village square and laughed aloud.

The chest of the village’s treasure sat right out in the middle of the square.  He’d always thought this was a peculiar place to keep the town wealth.  Surely, they could have built a locked storeroom or a vault or… anything.  Just as Briana had said, there was a guard posted near the chest.  Unfortunately, he was 18 years old and fast asleep.  His snores would be more than adequate to cover any sounds Colin might make.

He crept along the edges of darkness, until he reached the square.  Stepping lightly to the chest, he watched the boy’s breathing.  The kid didn’t even roll over.  Colin opened the chest and rummaged through until he found something he thought Kira would like.   The necklace chain was made of gold that glinted in the moonlight, and an oval locket hung from its middle.  Pocketing it, he headed for the town’s edge.  But, before he got there, he stopped and turned, the corners of his mouth upturned ever so slightly.

It was only worth it if they knew who was responsible. Colin walked back into the square and reached down to the red sash that he always wore tied around his waist.  He ripped off a section and then arranged it carefully on the boy’s chest, his calling card that said “The King of the Gypsies was here.”  He tossed a rock up in the air a few times, threw it lightly at the door of the cottage the young guard shared with Briana and Darren, and then sprinted for the bridge.

Kira was waiting there. “I thought you might be causing trouble tonight, my dear brother.”

Full of adrenaline and elation, Colin bent down and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Just a bit.”  He turned her toward the village.  “Watch.”



The door of the cottage swung open and Darren rushed out. Fresh from bed, he was just buttoning his trousers and asked, “What was--?”  His eyes fell on his brother and he swore in disgust.  He’d told Patrick that Seth wasn’t old enough to be responsible for the night watch, but Patrick was always droning on about how they needed to give the younger man some responsibility and demonstrate their trust. 

There he was, sound asleep, with an open chest at his back and a pile of red threads on his chest.  Darren kicked his brother awake.  “Get UP.”

Seth tried to roll out of the path of Darren’s foot. “Knock it off!”

Darren glowered down at the teenager. “Get up.  You’re not supposed to be sleeping. You’re supposed to be keeping watch.”

“I’m really sorry, I only fell asleep for a minute!  Nothing could have happened in that time, I promise it won’t happen again.”

Darren squatted down with controlled quiet.  “’Nothing could have happened,’” he mimicked.  “Really. I don’t suppose you’d like to explain to me, then, why the chest is open?  And why I found THESE-” he held up the red threads,” on your shirt?”

Seth twisted around to look. How could this have happened tonight?  He’d been so determined to prove to everyone that he was old enough to be taken seriously, and he’d blown it. His brother was going to kill him.

But, Darren just ordered, “Go to bed.  Inside.”

 “But I’m supposed to—“

Through clenched teeth, “Just go.”

When the door closed behind the teenager, Darren sat with his head clasped in his hands.  This was too much. This GYPSY was too much, and something had to be done.  Much more of this and the village would find it difficult to pay for food for the winter. 

Patrick was always so resistant to doing anything proactive about the gypsy attacks, and it frustrated Darren. He couldn’t just sit and do nothing. Since his parents had died, he had a family to care for now.  He adored his little sister, and even though people thought he was too harsh, he loved his brother, too. It was hard to raise a boy into man when you weren’t that far removed from being a boy yourself.

He moved over to the chest and sorted through it, trying to figure out what had been taken this time.   He heard a whistle cut through the night’s silence and jumped to his feet. A glint caught his eye at the edge of the bridge and he watched in anger as the Gypsy King stood behind his sister, fastening a necklace around her neck before he saluted and retreated into the darkness.  Darren expected the girl to follow, but she didn’t move.

He’d always been so focused on the Gypsy King that he’d never given so much as a glance to the man’s sister.  She was tall and slender and her brightly colored dress clung to her curves.  Her dark eyes seemed to warm in the night, and her black hair fell in waves down her back to her waist.  She smiled across the distance at him, and the corners of his own lips tilted up in a response he couldn’t stop.



Kira caught her breath.  He was breathtaking.  Surprised out of bed, he’d managed to tug on only his breeches before getting to the door.  As her eyes travelled down the length of his body, she admired his arms and the breadth of his shoulders.  She was smiling despite herself by the time her eyes made their way back up to his face, and she was surprised to find him smiling back.  His eyes crinkled and his dimples deepened. His blond hair was almost too long but she wondered what it would feel like against her cheek.

“KIRA!”

She jumped.

“What’s taking so long?” Colin called, impatiently.

“Keep your pants on, I’m coming.” She hurried to catch up with her brother.

Colin took in her flushed cheeks and looked past her to Darren, still eyeing Kira appreciatively.  “No,” he said firmly.  “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything! He was just… handsome,” she protested, just a little too innocently.

“We’re outsiders, Kira.  Don’t forget it.  I promise you that he doesn’t forget it either.”

Kira looked over her shoulder to see if Darren was still standing there.  He was.  He was until they were completely out of sight.



CHAPTER 4

As the women tidied the village square, the men sat around the fire in the lingering afternoon, tending to their tools as they enjoyed their ale.   They all looked up when the cottage door opened and then slammed shut. Ten pairs of eyes followed the teenage boy storming through the square as he shouted back, “You’re not our father!!”

Darren threw open the door and moved to follow when Patrick laid a hand on his chest and advised, “Let him go for now.”  Darren threw off the elder’s hand, but took a breath and sat down.

Seth stalked along the road until he came to the well at the village’s edge.  It wasn’t fair, he thought as he paced. He knew he’d blown it when he fell asleep the night before, but it wasn’t like the Gypsy stole a LOT. One measly necklace! Seth knew it was his fault, but it could have been worse and Darren never gave him any credit.  Ever since their parents had died, Darren always acted so high and mighty all the time.  He wasn’t much older, really, and he certainly didn’t have the right to treat Seth like such a child.  He was 18 years old, practically a man, and Darren always made him feel like a baby.

In fact, everyone treated him like a child.  Seth could understand it if he was still young and 15.  But, 18!  That’s adult, isn’t it? He was ready to strike out on his own, be his own man. But, everyone acted like his plans for life were all dreams and fairytales… even the girls.  Secretly, he wished the girls in the village would look at him the way they looked at his brother.  Darren never even paid them any attention. All he had to do was walk down the street and they all turned to stare.  But, Seth? He could walk down the street on his hands and naked, and none of them would even give him a second look.  It just wasn’t fair.

He wanted to kiss a girl.

He picked up a rock and turned to throw it at a tree, but stopped when he noticed Patrick sitting on the edge of the well. His elbows rested on the upturned end of his axe. 

“Hard day?” the man asked.  Patrick was always kind to him.  He never made Seth feel like he was a youngster.

Seth relaxed his arm, but not the scowl on his face. “Darren just thinks he’s so tough, like he’s my father, and he’s not!  Just because he’s older, it doesn’t give him the right to think he’s as good as Papa.  He treats me like such a child all the time, and I’m 18 years old!” His chest nearly puffed up as he tried to make himself look taller and broader.

Patrick smothered a smile. “It wasn’t so long ago that Darren had the same complaints about your father. Try not to be too hard on him, Seth. Your brother’s doing his best.  I know sometimes that best seems overly harsh, but he’s trying.”

“I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“What?”

“Oh, never mind,” Seth muttered, his head bowed.

Understanding dawned for Patrick. “The girls?  Is that what this is all about?  Ah, my boy…  I promise they will all be mooning over you soon enough.  You just wait.”

“But I don’t want to wait. I’m ready for girls now.”

“Soon,” Patrick promised. “But in the meantime,” he offered up the axe’s handle, “we need some firewood.”

“But—“ Seth started to protest.

“It’s what men do,” Patrick winked and then headed back to the village himself.  He sat amongst the other men and observed young Darren.  His face still wore a stubborn expression that signified a mood Patrick didn’t look forward to encountering. “You have to give him some room to grow, Darren.”

“He’s my brother, Sir, and my responsibility.  Seth thinks he’s a grown man!  He’s not.”

“I understand that, but he’s young, and young men are delicate at this age… feeling that they’re grown before they actually are. You can’t treat them like you have been or they’ll bite your hand off. It wasn’t so long ago that you were the same way, son, and we all had to be patient with you while you finished your growing up.”

Darren dismissed that with a scowl. He had other things on his mind than what to do with his kid brother.  Nodding toward the chest in the square, he asked, “How much have we lost?”

“More than I’d like,” he admitted.  The Gypsies were becoming more and more of a concern.  At first, it had just been little things, but they were getting braver by the week.

“Will we have enough to make sure everyone’s fed over the winter?”

Patrick answered slowly, “I’m not sure.”

“I just don’t understand why we don’t do something about it!  Surely there are more of us than there are of them.  If I was in charge, we—“

“You’re not.” Patrick’s tone was icy and firm. “There may come a time when you are, Darren.  But for now, I am still in charge of this village and I intend to be for some time to come.  When I say ‘no,’ I mean ‘no.’ Violence is our last resort, and we have not exhausted our other options yet.  And don’t go getting harebrained ideas about doing it yourself, either!”

Darren stared stonily past Patrick’s shoulder, keeping his irritation in check.  After a moment, he stood up.  “I’m going for a ride,” he said, grabbing a saddle as he strode out of the square. Patrick watched him go with a tired sigh.

-------------

Philip closed his book and tucked it into his breast pocket. His father had always ridiculed him for spending too much time reading, but there was something he liked about being able to slide into someone else’s life.  It’s not that his life was so bad.  He was, after all, the son of the biggest landowner in the valley.  There was food on the table, wood in the fire, and rich fabric to dress in. But, there were things that he was expected to do, in accordance with his social position, which he just wasn’t cut out for. 

His eyes absently followed Regan, Patrick’s daughter, make the rounds of the men, filling their cups with ale.  She was a lovely girl, tall and supple.  Her red hair curled appealingly against her cheeks, falling to her bare shoulders.  She could cook. She could dance. She could play the fiddle. 

But mostly, she could flirt. He watched her hang on the arm of Neil, the strolling minstrel, and then on the arm of another, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.  She even flirted shamelessly with Darren’s kid brother, making him blush six different shades of pink. She didn’t mean anything badly by it, he knew.  She just enjoyed the male attention.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Patrick’s gaze followed Philip’s.

“Yes sir, she is.  You’ve done a fine job with her, Patrick.  She’ll make some man a fine wife someday.”

“Aye, just like her mother, she is. It won’t be long now before it’s time to start thinking about who would be suitable for her.  Not long at all.” Patrick hesitated. “About that—“

“Yes?” Philip raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I have been thinking that over a fair bit.  You’re a good man, Philip.  Kind, intelligent, well-liked by the village…”

Philip wasn’t sure he liked where this was going.

 “We’ve become friends, haven’t we? I was hoping that you’ve come to know my girl, and would be open to a possible union in the not-too-distant future.” Patrick trailed off.

What could he say? “A-a union?” Philip stammered. “I’m flattered that you would entrust me with your daughter.  I know how much you love her—“

“Papa, come and see this!” they were interrupted by Regan’s voice.

“Well, we can discuss this more later,” Patrick promised before turning to heed his daughter’s call.

Philip could only feel relief that the conversation had been cut short.  He liked Regan well enough to converse with her when they met in the square or while he visited with his friend.  But to marry her? It was a good union, one his father would be pleased with.  The wealthy landowner making an alliance with the town government? It was a monopoly made in heaven.  It was his duty to make such a match, he knew.

But, the truth was that he desired something more than a marriage of convenience, a union of financial and political gain.  He wanted love.  He wanted a wife that completed him, a woman that was his match in intelligence and pastimes and passions.  He just wasn’t sure that Regan was that woman.  In fact, as Philip watched her flirt her way around the square, he was pretty sure that she was not. But, how could he say that to his friend?




Chapter 5


Miles away, a young girl, Iona, watched from her second story window as a carriage arrived in front of her family’s Dublin estate. She wished, not for the first time, that she could be anyone but the girl she was. It was three days until her wedding.

She had begged and begged her father not to make her go through with this arranged marriage, but he had been firm.  She was 21 years old, practically a spinster, and had no other foreseeable prospects.  There had been that unfortunate situation in London last year. Lord Covington was the earl of some terrible castle whose name was not important to her. 

All that mattered was that it was on the opposite side of Ireland, miles away from everything and everyone she’d ever known.  Also, it might have mattered just a little that Lord Covington looked like a mix between a codfish and her grandmother’s ugliest dog.  To be fair, she didn’t actually know what a codfish looked like, but it sounded like something that would describe Lord Covington’s—“Gerald’s,” she mentally corrected—old, decrepit face.

A knock sounded at her bedroom door and one of their maids entered. “Miss? Your father asks for your presence downstairs.” Today was the day she travelled to her fiancé’s estate for their impending nuptials.

Iona walked to the door and turned once for a final look at the room she’d called home for her whole life. She memorized the lacy curtains that filtered out the sun each morning to allow her five extra minutes of sleep, the worn desk where she had learned her lessons, and the rocking chair where her mother had rocked her to sleep.  It was anyone’s guess when she would ever see them again.  She blew a kiss to the room and swept downstairs.

She kissed her mother and sisters goodbye, but quickly.  They would be travelling the following day, making the separation a brief one.  She nodded to her father, who assisted her into the carriage before he climbed in and settled himself in the seat across from her. The handsome young carriage driver, Emmet, clicked to the horses and they rolled into the lane.

As they travelled across the countryside, Iona’s father tried to pull her into conversation, but she was still angry and intent on punishing him.  She opened the book that she’d tucked into a pocket of her coat and read with feigned concentration to block out any further attempts at small talk.  Eventually, her concentration focused and she was swept into the story. She was momentarily annoyed when her attention was broken by the shouting voices outside.

Iona leaned forward to peer out the window when the door was wrenched open from the outside. A pistol suddenly filled her vision.  Her hand flew to her heart and she stared into the very blue eyes of a Highwayman.  “Oh my!”

“What is the meaning of this?” her father demanded of the blond outlaw.

“Good afternoon, sir, milady,” came the mild reply.  “I won’t take much of your time.  All I require is any cash, coin, or jewels you have on your person, and then you may go on your merry way.”

Despite the gun waving in his face, her father retorted, “That will most certainly not be happening.  Do you know who I am?”

“I don’t much care, milord. Your money or your life.” The handsome man paused and glanced at Iona.  “Or your delectable young wife here.  It makes no difference to me.”

“That is NOT my wife,” her father said icily.  “That is my daughter and I demand that you keep your filthy eyes off of her.”

“All the better. I believe I’m the one with the gun, and thus the only one who will be giving orders anytime soon.  Your money and jewels, then?” He passed a bag to Iona with a wink.

Her father nodded angrily and Iona took the bag in her shaking hands. She wasn’t quite certain whether she was shaking because of fear or excitement.  It wasn’t every day that your carriage got held up by the handsomest man in all of Ireland.  

His eyes seemed to pierce right through her and she found herself watching his blond hair as it blew in the wind. She shook her head and began to remove her rings to slide them into the satchel. She murmured, “You know, the Good Book has some things to say about stealing.”

“Perhaps, Miss.” His smile made her heart skip a beat. Could he have deeper dimples? “But I have some things to say about not starving to death.  Those, too,” he gestured to her earrings.

She had trouble being too upset about that.  They, along with her necklace, were gifts from Lord Covington… garish and far too large for her.  She unfastened them from her ears and dropped them into the bag. “This, too, I assume?” She fingered her necklace.

The Highwayman cocked his head thoughtfully.  “I think I’ll do that.”  He leaned forward to slide his hands around the nape of her neck in search of the clasp, and her breath caught.

Her father started forward, “That’s enough!” 

But Iona whispered, “It’s alright, Father.”

The Highwayman’s breath was warm against her cheek, and as he pulled away from her, his fingers brushed along her collarbone.  “Beautiful,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he meant her or the jewelry. 

She watched his lips, wishing he would kiss her. But he only straightened, dropped the necklace into his satchel and turned to go.  Bowing slightly to Iona, he winked. “Goodbye, Miss.”  With that, he jumped on his horse and rode down the trail out of sight.

“Goodbye, Outlaw,” she whispered.



A nervous voice called from outside.  “Sir? Sir, could someone please help me?”

Iona looked out the open door and stifled a laugh when she saw Emmet tied to a nearby tree, relieved of his pants. “Father, you’re probably going to want to be the one to give him a hand.”  She slowly let her eyes drink in the comical, though not unpleasant, sight their driver now presented.  “Or I could….?”

Her father flashed a glare her way that was intended, but failed, to still her mirth.  “Stay here,” he ordered.  “I don’t know what we pay these people for.  Safe travel guaranteed, they said.”  He stomped down from the carriage and made his way to the driver, cursing as he went.

Iona leaned back against the seat, a smile still on her lips.  That had certainly been interesting, a pleasant (if expensive) diversion to an otherwise dreadful day.  Oh, how angry Lord Covington was going to be when he discovered that she’d lost his precious jewels.  Her smile faded a bit at the thought of her fiancé.  The thought of him mad wasn’t so bad; it was just the thought of him at all that quelled her amusement.  How was she going to live her whole life married to that desperately ugly old man? 

She sighed as she brushed her fingers along the edge of her book.  She’d always dreamed of marriage, but it was always to a man that she loved, some handsome hero who would sweep her off her feet, who could handle himself with courage and would protect her, someone who-- She sat up straight.  It would have been to someone like that handsome Highwayman.  Maybe it would have even BEEN the Highwayman.

Well, why not?  He was handsome, she was pretty. She hadn’t said “I do” YET.  Of course, her father would be angry, furious even.  If she married Lord Covington, his status would surely rise in Dublin.  But, at what cost to her?  He was her father, didn’t he care at all that he was marrying his daughter off to such a lecher? Impetuously, she made a quick decision.

Her father was still berating the poor half-naked Emmet and wasn’t paying one bit of attention to her.  This was surely something she’d regret later, but she grabbed her cloak anyway and slipped quietly out of the carriage.  The shade of the woods beckoned and she hid in its darkness and followed in the direction that the Highwayman had gone.  Maybe she could follow him back to his cave or his lair or wherever he based himself.  Then, he would fall madly in love with her and she would live happily ever-- 

She shook herself mentally.  “Just find his house first, Iona.”


---------

It was nearly evening when Iona found her way to the village.  It had been a long day traipsing beside the road.  Her father’s carriage had gone hurtling by at great speed at one point, and she had been grateful for the cover of the trees.  She was tired now, though.  Ladies’ slippers were not the best footwear for long treks through the woods. 

She wasn’t sure if this village was her Highwayman’s home, but it was the first place that the road had led to.  It seemed like a good place to start.  She had no chaperone. She had no parents, no governess or anything.  What was she going to tell people when they asked who she was?

She watched a group of young girls around the fire in the square, but none of them approached her.  She could feel their curious looks at her as she hurried past. There was a chest in the middle of the square, and she could just see her necklace dangling out of it, with a pair of men’s breeches folded beside it.  She laughed to herself.  This must be the place.

That’s when she saw him.  He was at the far end of the village, near a bridge that disappeared over the river.  

Every hero in every book she’d ever read must look just like him.  He was tall and strong.  His chest was broad.  He had removed his jacket and she admired the lines of his frame.  She remembered the dimples in his cheeks that appeared when he had smiled at her.  She could still feel his breath against her skin. This was meant to be. She just knew it.

She didn’t know what to say to him, but she knew she had to say something.  It had to be something witty and clever.  It would be something that would put him at ease and let him know that she wouldn’t give away whatever his cover was.  It would be something that would make him love her.  She was about to step out of the shade of the cottage she was leaning against when a movement across the river caught her eye.  It seemed to catch his, as well.

A beautiful dark-haired girl in a brightly colored dress stepped lightly to the water and bent to fill a tub with water.  It was a gypsy girl!  Iona had never really seen one up close before. She was incredibly graceful and her dress skimmed her figure, leaving little to imagination.  Iona almost blushed for her. Her mother would have a conniption if Iona ever went out in public in something like that.  But, it was beautiful and Iona envied the girl her grace and freedom. 

The girl glanced up and caught her breath when she saw the Highwayman standing across the river from her, his eyes locked onto hers. It was as if time stopped for them both, neither of them moving but both breathing quickly. The Highwayman swept his glance from the top of the gypsy’s head, down her body, and back up. His eyes burned into hers.  This was exactly as Iona had imagined him… only he was looking that way at the wrong girl.

He called across the river. “What’s your name?”

“Kira,” she answered back. It sounded so exotic.

The Highwayman seemed to grapple with something inside and then invited, “Come over?”

She looked over her shoulder at the trees behind her side of the river and shook her head.  “I can’t,” she answered him.  “Not now.  He’ll know I’m gone.”  The girl’s father must be as rigid and difficult as Iona’s own father was. “Maybe tomorrow night,” she called, and then disappeared back into the trees.

The Highwayman drew a ragged breath and ran his hands through his hair, emitting a sound of frustration.  He turned and stalked back toward the village quickly, and Iona shrank back into the shadows.

What had she done?




CHAPTER 6


Briana should have been sleeping. But, her mind was full, and she had done nothing but toss and turn all night.  So she’d thrown a wrap over her nightgown and had made her way to sit under the tree by the well.  Darren wasn’t home to worry about her, anyway.  He’d been gone from home on mysterious outings often lately, out of the house early and not home until long after she’d gone to sleep.

She looked up through the tree’s branches, gazing at the stars in the sky. Her mind kept wandering back to the last time she’d really seen the Gypsy King, before that’s what he had become.

She’d been 16 years old. Barefoot in a summer dress, she had gone to the lough looking for berries to pick to add to dinner that night, and had been happily singing to herself when a boy’s voice remarked, “You’re going to scare all my fish away.” Surprised, she turned to see a dark-haired young man clad only in light trousers sitting at the shore, a fishing pole stuck into the clay. 

She smiled at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was here.”  Briana glanced at his line. “Have you caught anything?”

“Well, not with you caterwauling over there, I haven’t!”  Briana’s smile faltered a little and he added, “I’m teasing.  It was very pretty.  Come on, have a seat and keep me company.  It’ll be awhile before all the fish come back, anyway.”

Briana arranged her skirt around her as she sat down beside the boy.  “Where are you from? I’ve never seen you around before,” she asked.  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in response toward the other side of the river, and she clapped her hands in delight. “Across the river! Why… the gypsies live there! You must be one!” The boy began to move away from her, his face clouding over. “Oh, but that’s alright,” she’d rushed to add, turning to lay her hand on his shoulder. “My brother doesn’t like gypsies very much, but I think they’re so interesting.”

The boy had lowered his eyes to glance at her hand against his skin, and she quickly withdrew it, hiding it in her skirts. He had grinned at her then, and her heart skipped a beat.  When he smiled, his blue eyes crinkled up at the corners and his face seemed to light from within. “I’m more interesting than most,” he had winked.

As the afternoon wore on, they sat and talked about their families and adolescent dreams. The boy’s hand had slowly inched toward hers where it lay on the grass, and she had pretended not to notice. But Briana’s breath caught when he finally leaned across her to pluck a berry from her basket.

“But, those are for dinner,” she had protested weakly.

“Not even one for a snack?” he teased before he popped it into his mouth.

She silently scolded herself for sounding so silly.  Of course one berry wouldn’t make a difference.  “I didn’t mean—“

“I know,” he’d whispered before brushing her lips with his own.  They had tasted of blackberries and summer and sunshine.

Briana didn’t know how long the kiss had gone on...  Seconds? Minutes? She’d laid her hand back against his chest and felt his heart beating quickly under her fingers.  She jumped when she heard her brother calling for her. “Oh!” she’d exclaimed.  “I have to go!”  She ran from the shore before her brother could find her with this gypsy boy. 


It had been her first kiss.  It was only belatedly that she realized she’d never asked his name and she still didn’t know it. Only “The Gypsy King.” Briana touched her lips with a fingertip in the darkness and sighed.

“Shouldn’t you be home sleeping and not traipsing about in the night?” A deep voice, as if conjured from her dreams, came from above her in the tree she was leaning against.

She mimicked back, “Shouldn’t you be home sleeping and not casing our cottage for your next burglary?”

The Gypsy King chuckled and jumped down from his perch in the tree. “Touché, Miss Briana,” he said with a bow.

“Please… it’s just Briana.”

He stood on the edge of the well and looked into it for a long time. “Have you ever heard the legend of this well, Briana?”

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. She loved a good story. “No, never.  Would you tell me?”

The Gypsy offered her his arm and a bargain.  “If you walk with me.” His eyes seemed to search hers, looking for something.

Briana hesitated.  Was it wise to go with him?  He’d never done anything to hurt her before.  But he was still the rogue that regularly stole from her village and her friends and her family.  But, here alone with him, she didn’t feel at risk at all.  She nodded, took his arm, and followed him deeper into the trees.

“Long ago,” he began, “a beautiful girl lived in the village.  She was kind and gentle, and everyone loved her.  She had warm blue eyes, long blond hair that caught the sun, and her beauty was raved about for miles around. Her father could barely keep track of her suitors, but she hadn’t been interested in any of them. 

“In the autumn, just before harvest, a Gypsyman came to town.  He was dark and mysterious, kept to himself, and the whole village was afraid of him.  Later, no one could remember his name or what he looked like, but they all remembered his eyes that seemed to blaze with fire. The young girl was intrigued.  He was like no one she’d ever met.  Catching her eyes on him one afternoon, he invited her to meet him that night.  At your well.”

“What did she do?”

“Well, of course, it would be foolish for her to go,” the Gypsy King continued. “Her father would be so angry if he found out, and the man could certainly be dangerous. But, there was something about him that she just couldn’t deny.   So, that night, she slipped out of her cottage and met the Gypsy at the well.  And that was the last anyone ever heard from her.”

“But what happened to her?”  Briana looked around to find that they had circled the village and were at the foot of the bridge that spanned the river.

The Gypsy King tugged at her hand lightly. “Cross the river with me and I’ll tell you.”

Darren would kill her if he found out.  But, she wanted to hear the end of the story, didn’t she?  No, she knew the truth. She just wanted to be with him. She let him lead her across the bridge.

His voice lowered as they skirted the perimeter of his camp. “No one really knows. Some think that he took advantage of her and then killed her. Others say that she disappeared with him into the night.  But, on harvest nights, when the moon is full, they say that you can hear his dark laughter on the night winds.”  He stopped and smiled down at her.  “And that, Briana, is why beautiful young girls are not to be traipsing about in the night where gypsies might kidnap them.”

She laughed. “Is that what you’ve done then?”

He trailed a finger down her cheek and said quietly, “I remember no coercion.  Come on, I have something for you.”  The Gypsy King grabbed her hand and led her toward his wagon. Briana held back, and he added, “I don’t bite. You can leave whenever you want. Gypsy honor.”

She smiled at that and allowed him to pull her up and through the door. He lit a candle, and then placed a small item in her hand, closing her fingers over it.  She looked down and gasped, “My mother’s pendant! I’ve been looking for this!”

“I know,” he grinned.

“Infernal gypsy,” she muttered. Briana wandered about the gypsy’s small home, taking her time, before asking, “What do you think happened to the girl?  The one in the story…”

The Gypsy King turned her toward him and took the necklace from her hand, dropping it on the table behind him. “Well, I don’t think he killed her.” He slid his hands along her neck and let her hair fall through his fingers. “I think that he had watched her in secret for a very long time.” 

Briana’s eyes fluttered closed and he dipped his head to press his lips against her temple. “He had fallen in love with her from afar, but he knew that her family would never entertain him as a serious suitor.”  He cupped her chin and ran his thumb along her trembling lip. “And all he wanted that night was one kiss.”  He brushed his lips lightly against hers.

Briana blinked up at him. “One kiss?” she asked, almost disappointed.

He laughed softly.  “But after one kiss, he couldn’t help wanting one more.” He pressed his lips against hers again, teasing a corner with the tip of his tongue until her lips parted. “And then another.” He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.  “And then another,” he whispered. This time, the kiss was long and deep and she twisted her hands into his shirt to draw him tightly to her, as if doing so would make the kiss last forever.

He lifted his head and she staggered backwards against the wall, her chest rising and falling in quick breaths.

“What?” His eyes burned with intensity but he held himself in check.  “Do you—“ he swallowed. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go?”

Briana shook her head. “No, I—“ She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. She stepped closer to him and pushed his shirt from his shoulders. “Oh!” she exclaimed, as it fell to the floor.

“Oh?” The Gypsy King winced.  

 “You just… grew up.” She blushed. The last time she had seen him like this, he had been a 17-year-old teenager.  Beautiful to her 16 year old eyes, to be sure, but that boy had been replaced by a man. His broad shoulders were dark against the white of her skin as she slid her fingers along the ridges of his chest. She traced a scar below his collarbone.  “Where did you get this?”

He winked.  “There’s a beautiful girl in town whose brother has it in for me.”

She leaned forward and kissed it, running her tongue along its length, her breath hot against his skin. He growled and crushed her to him, his hands caressing along her back.  She didn’t know what to do with all the sensations coursing through her.  His skin was warm under her hands as she ran them along his shoulder blades.  He smelled of leather and cedar and soap, and his lips were everywhere… on her own, at her ear, down her neck.  She suddenly pulled back from him. “Wait… wait.  I need to ask you something.”

“Oh sweet Jesus, what?” he groaned.  Did she seriously want to have a conversation right now?

Briana reached up to touch his hair.  “All this time and you’ve never told me your name.”

The Gypsy King leaned down and murmured in her ear. “It’s Colin.”

“Colin,” she repeated, letting the word roll off her tongue as she reached for him again. “My gypsy.”  From her, the word was a caress.

Colin blew out the candle and the rest of the night was bathed in moonlight.



Chapter 7


Iona read the first sentence of her book again.  She’d been sitting on the riverbank for over an hour, but she just couldn’t get her mind to focus.  For the thousandth time, she berated herself for being so foolish and impetuous. What had she been thinking jumping out of the carriage after someone she’d just met?  And someone who had stolen all her jewels at that! He clearly was no paragon of virtue. The Highwayman must have something going on with that Gypsy girl.  There’s no way he would ever be interested in Iona when he could have someone as exciting and beautiful as that.

She really should have thought of an explanation for her being alone in their village before getting there. But Iona had managed to fake her way through by telling the townspeople a story where her carriage had been stopped by a desperate outlaw, separating her from her dearly loved father in the process, and then getting hopelessly lost in the forest. It was mostly true, anyway.

The mayor of the village had been kind enough to invite her into his home, and Iona had enjoyed getting to know his daughter, a flighty little thing.  He had sent word to Dublin about her whereabouts and she expected her father would arrive any day to spirit her back into the life she had tried to escape.

Iona pulled her knees up to her chest. It just wasn’t fair. She was young and had so much life ahead of her. Lord Covington made her skin crawl, and she was going to have to live with him for the rest of her life.  Or, at least for the rest of his life, and his family was known for their longevity.

Living with him wouldn’t be so bad, she supposed.  If she were going to live a life where he’d have his wing and she’d have her wing, and they only saw each other at breakfast and dinner functions…  This, she could have lived with. But she’d seen the way he looked at her, the way his eyes had roved over the bodice of her dress when he had come to sign the paperwork with her father, the way his old wrinkly hands had lingered far too long at her shoulder and back.  

Iona shuddered at the memory and the knowledge that he would expect so much more from her than a pretty face at his breakfast table. Suddenly, it became too much. She buried her face into her skirts and began to cry. How could she endure this? How could her father ask her to endure this?

It was as if every dream she’d ever had was slipping through her fingers and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it. The handsome beau?  Gone. The dream of a husband who shared her passions and her loves?  Gone. The dream of love and romance?  Gone. Instead, she was being asked, nay, forced, to prostitute herself for her father’s ambitions. Her sobs began to come harder as she grieved for everything she would be losing once her father came and forced her to say “I do.”

Iona was surprised when she felt a warm weight slide over her shoulders.  She looked up through her tears to see a handsome man leaning over her.  It was his jacket that she found herself wrapped in. He was tall and slender, dressed in a clean white shirt.  His blue eyes looked down on her, his eyebrows furrowed together in concern. “Are you alright, Miss?” came the question from his lips.

She shook her head, unable to speak through her tears that wouldn’t stop.  The man sat next to her on the riverbank and patted her on the back.  “Cry yourself out, then.  I hear that can help.”  With this, she buried her face into his shirt and did just as he suggested. It wasn’t ladylike or polite or anything that her mother would have approved of, sniffling into the chest of this man she didn’t know. But, he felt warm and safe… and her mother wasn’t here.

As her sobs began to subside, she noticed that he was softly stroking her hair and whispering, “Shhh… it’s alright” into her dark curls. It had been a long time since she’d felt so taken care of. “Oh,” she murmured, as she pulled away from him.  “I’ve gotten your shirt terribly wet. I’m sorry.”

“It’s no trouble,” he reassured her with a smile. “I’ve got a couple more at home, I imagine. You’re the mystery lady everyone in town is talking about, aren’t you? What’s your name?  I’m Philip.”

“It’s Iona. It’s nice to meet you, Philip.  Although I suppose I’m not at my best today, am I?”

He laughed. “What’s troubling you? I heard that your father was coming soon to fetch you. I’d think you’d be delighted to rejoin your family.”

Iona shook her head. “It’s not my father.  It’s-- My wedding is in two days.”

Philip raised an eyebrow.  “Oh well, congratulations are in order, it seems. Who’s the lucky groom?”

“Do you know Lord Covington?”

He grimaced with distaste. “Lord Cov--?  Aye, I’m familiar with him.  He has a terrible reputation for luring young g—.” He broke off awkwardly.

Iona sighed. “So you see, then.”

Philip patted her hand with sympathy. “I do. I’m sorry.”  He searched his mind, looking for something to lighten the mood when his eyes lighted on the book Iona had discarded. “You read?  What do you have there?” She passed the book into his hands and he opened the cover to peer inside.  “Oh, I’ve read this one.  
Have you gotten to the part where Mr. Donald kills—“

Iona interrupted him with a pretty laugh. “Well, don’t spoil it!  I have not! What are you reading?”

Their talk ran quickly away from Iona’s predicament and focused on their shared love for books… and then for the popular music in Dublin… and then for the theatre.  Before she knew it, Iona had forgotten her worries about Lord Covington and was chatting animatedly with her new friend.  Her dark eyes sparkled and she pushed her hair absently away from her face as she warmed up to the subject.

“What if you didn’t have to marry him?” Philip asked, suddenly.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Iona said sadly. “I’ve thought of everything I could do to get out of it, and there’s just nothing.  I’m an unwed girl, Philip. I have to do what my father decrees.”

“What if you weren’t unwed?”

Iona felt confused. “I suppose it would be hard to marry me off, then.  But…  I am unwed.”

Philip insisted, “But what if you weren’t?  What if… you were married to me?”

She blinked at him. “To you? But we’ve just met… and…”

“I know.  I know it sounds crazy, and I can’t explain it.  I know we just met, and it doesn’t make any sense.  But you’re here, and you’re kind and lovely, and we love the same things.  I can’t explain it, but I feel like there could be something here between us.  I feel something and I’ve never felt something with anyone. And the very thought of that wretched old man with his hands on you on your wedding night, and every night after that, makes me want to tear him apart from limb to limb and feed him to the dogs.“ Philip enclosed her hands with his own. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

Iona felt bewildered. “Philip, marriage is forever. I appreciate you trying to help me, but there would be no backing out of it. Ever.”

Philip lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them slowly. “I don’t want to back out of it.” He slid his hand around her head, his thumb grazing her cheek lightly, and pulled her toward him.  His lips barely separated from hers, he whispered, “I don’t want to back out of it at all” before he kissed her. It could be called nothing but a chaste kiss, probably not even anything she would have gotten in trouble for if witnessed after a ball.  But, it was a kiss so full of feeling and promise.

“Okay,” she whispered back.

“Okay?” When she nodded, he jumped to his feet, pulling her up into his arms, and spun her around, a smile lighting his eyes.  “Come on,” he said, pulling her toward the village. “I have a feeling we need to do this quickly!”



As they entered the village square, Philip scanned the crowd quickly and found Patrick towering above the others.  He caught the eye of his friend and nodded toward the edge of the square.

Patrick met him away from the crowd. “Philip, how are you?  I see you’ve met our mystery lady.” He smiled at Iona. “How are you, dear? I’ve been sent word that your father is on his way and should be here tomorrow. Why don’t you go on in the house and see Regan?”

“Oh… okay,” she squeaked out before closing the door behind her.

Philip cleared his throat.  This was the hard part. “I want to get married. Tonight.”

Patrick looked up in surprise. “Tonight?? What in the world--?  Regan didn’t say anything about…” Philip was shaking his head. “Not Regan? But I’d always thought…” he trailed off.

“Patrick, Regan and I don’t love each other.  She’s a wonderful girl, but we’ll never be anything more than friends. I’m marrying Iona.”

“Iona? But you’ve only known her for—“

Philip interrupted and lowered his voice. “She’s supposed to marry Lord Covington. I can’t let that happen to her.”

“Lord Covington?  Christ, Philip, are you out of your mind? He’ll kill you for taking what he thinks is his.”

“Not if she’s my wife, he won’t.”

“You’re insane. You can’t just go around, playing Savior to every pretty girl.”

Philip stared off across the valley. “Not every pretty girl. Just this pretty girl. She’s the one. I feel it, Patrick. Don’t fight me on it, just help me pull it off.”

Patrick sighed and nodded. “Alright, let’s get you to the chapel, crazy man.”



Two hours later, five figures stood in a nearly-empty chapel.  Philip and Iona clasped hands in front of the local priest, with Patrick and Regan as witnesses.  Vows were spoken, kisses exchanged, and the deed was done.

Congratulations were passed around.  Philip caught Regan in a friendly hug and whispered in her ear, “No hard feelings, lass?”

Regan laughed at him. “Are you kidding? You’ve freed me up for you-know-who.”

Philip winked at her. “Give him hell, luv.”



“Congratulations, Miss.” The maid set the tray on a table, and then retreated from the room. Iona looked around, a little bewildered.  Everything had happened so quickly today.  One minute, she was crying by the river, the next minute she was married… and NOT to the lecherous old man. How had things changed so quickly?

There was a fire in the hearth, a dark rug and two chairs set in front of it.  A beautiful picture window filled one wall and looked out over the valley.  It was getting too dark to enjoy it now, but she imagined it would be a beautiful sight to wake up to each morning. The sight that filled her with just a little… alright, a lot… of apprehension now was the big bed that took up much of the room.

It was a bed you dreamt about.  It was massive, built of a beautiful oak, and draped in miles of lovely blue silk.  It was the kind of bed you could sleep in for days and never want to leave. But, tonight, it was to be Iona’s wedding bed.  While Philip was infinitely more attractive than Lord Covington, he was still someone she barely knew.  Not really. What in the world was she supposed to do?

The door creaked open, and she spun around to watch Philip slide through, something held behind his back. 
Iona cocked her head to one side curiously. “What do you have there?” she asked.

He pulled the something out from behind his back and held it out. “Flowers for my new wife, milady,” he said gallantly. The scent of the wildflowers filled her senses. “I’m sorry, they were the best I could do on short notice.”

Iona smiled happily at him. “They’re beautiful.  Thank you.”

Philip shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. “Iona, I know this is a little different. I imagine this isn’t quite the way you had imagined your wedding night would be,” he apologized.

She laughed. “Until this afternoon, I rather imagined that the night would be spent with me hiding behind a chair, trying to pretend that my husband was a handsome knight, and not an ugly old man trying to rip my clothes off.  My wedding night has suddenly become infinitely better than expected.”

He relaxed a little and slipped out of his dressing gown before sitting on the bed.  “Come on,” he invited.  Philip noticed her hesitation. “Just talking tonight, maybe.  I intend to woo you properly tomorrow,” he promised.

Iona joined him a safe distance away, tucking her feet underneath her.  She watched him place the tray that the maid had left between them on the bed and lift off the cover. “Strawberries and chocolate!” she exclaimed. “Where on earth did you get that?”

He offered one to her lips. “My secret.” They fed each other strawberries and sipped wine, getting to know each other a little better as the night wore on.  When she began to yawn, Philip slipped the tray to the floor and patted the space alongside him on the bed.

Slightly more emboldened with the wine coursing through her, she slid under the blankets.  Her cheek rested against his chest as his arm curved around to rest on her waist.  She sighed and whispered contentedly, “I guess I could get used to this.”

Philip smiled, “I hope so.”  Pulling a book from the table, he kissed her on top of her head, and read aloud, “It was a dark and stormy night….”



Chapter 8


News travelled fast in the community. The townspeople were aflutter in anticipation of the party to celebrate Squire Philip’s rather surprising nuptials. Everyone had liked the mystery lady Iona, but no one had expected that she’d be here to stay.  But, any excuse for a party was good enough for them.

Seth was busy rearranging the village treasure chest so it could be moved into Patrick’s cottage for the duration of the celebration.  This was normally a two-man operation due to its weight, but he was determined to prove his manhood and do it by himself. He closed the lid with a bang and set to work pushing one end, and then the other, moving it one painful inch at a time.

Darren ambled through the square and tossed his saddle on a bench with ease. Leaning up against a house post, arms crossed over his chest, he offered, “Why don’t you let the men take care of that, squirt? Seems to be a problem for you.”

Some of the girls giggled behind him and Seth felt his face grow hot. Lowering his voice, he demanded, 

“Why do you have to treat me like that, Darren? I’m almost an adult. I can fish. I can harvest. Patrick’s had me chopping so much firewood this summer that I almost even have biceps!” Seth flexed his arms to prove his point. “There’s no reason for you to still be treating me like a kid.”

The girls passed by and all called out in unison, “Hi Darren,” each wishing for a dimpled smile to be tossed their way. Seth’s eyes followed them hopefully, but nary a word for him.

Darren smiled indulgently. “I treat you like a child because you are still a child.”

Seth sighed. “Why do they always say ‘hi’ to you?”

Laughter came from his older brother. “Ah kid… they say ‘hi’ to me because they think I don’t care. “ He chucked Seth under the chin. “You’re too eager. You’re easy pickings for them.  But, if you make them think that you’re uninterested, why, suddenly you’re a challenge. The very thought that you don’t care is what makes them care.”

Seth eyed him skeptically. This idea seemed completely backwards to him.  How would a girl know that he liked her if he acted like he didn’t all the time?  That couldn’t possibly work. He moved away from his brother and busied himself with whittling away at a stick while he thought.

Regan, walked by with a pile of tablecloths and his eyes followed her hips as she sauntered by.  His shoulders drooped. He was going to be forced to exist in his brother’s shadow forever.

“Hi Seth,” came the singsong voice. He looked up in surprise to see the lovely Regan standing in front of him. The sun glinted off her red hair and her eyes shone. She twirled in front of him and asked, “How do you like my new dress?”

Seth opened his mouth to tell her how pretty she looked when he caught Darren’s eye.  His older brother raised an eyebrow. Here goes nothing. “I guess it’s alright,” Seth shrugged before going back to his carving.
Regan frowned and tried again. “There should be lots of dancing tonight at the party. You’ll save me a dance, won’t you?”

He pretended to look off into the distance. “Maybe if I remember,” he answered noncommittally.

“Oh,” Regan was disappointed, but undeterred. “Well, I’ll just have to see if I can find you and make you remember,” she promised before kissing him on the cheek softly and running off to join her friends.

Seth glanced across the square at Darren, who was nodding proudly at him. Maybe Darren knew what he was talking about, after all.



Chapter 9


Kira hadn’t met Darren like she had half-promised that night at the river. Fear of upsetting her brother kept her from following through with the plan. But, she had passed by the well on her way home.

“Have you ever heard the legend of this well, Briana?” Kira heard her brother ask.
“No, never.  Would you tell me?”
“If you walk with me.”

 “Don’t even think about it, Kira,” she had mimicked into the darkness. “We’re outsiders, Kira. Villagers are off-limits, Kira.” What a hypocrite he was! If he had his way, Colin would keep her locked up in camp while he went gallivanting across the countryside, cavorting with every lass that wasn’t tied down!  

She should have just met him. She should have just gone, brother be damned. She hadn’t expected the night before at the river.  She’d seen Darren from afar, of course.  It’s just that usually he was flashing angry looks of hatred their way.  But, the way he had looked at her that night… that had been different. His eyes had burned and she hadn’t been able to look away. It had taken her breath and she’d felt warm. Kira had wanted so badly to cross the river when he’d asked her to, but Colin would have been a moody nuisance if she hadn’t returned when she was expected.

But what if she had?

Kira imagined what it would be like to feel Darren’s arms slide around her waist and draw her to him. The wind blew and she let it be his breath on her neck and his hands in her hair. Music from the wedding party in the village floated on the wind, and she moved in time with it, locked in Phantom Darren’s embrace.  She pictured him spinning her through turns and holding her close.

With her eyes closed, she twirled around and around the clearing.  Her hair blowing back from her face and her skirts swirling around her long legs, she was the picture of a wild sprite in the moon’s light. She imagined the way her small hand would fit into his larger one, the strength that would be in his arms, the heat in his body.

She looked up, her chest rising with the breath of her exertion.  She wasn’t alone. Darren stood at the edge of the clearing, watching her.  Was he real?  Or was this appearance just more of her imagination?

She moved closer to the apparition and placed her hand against his chest.  His very solid chest.

He grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you’re real. Shhh,” Kira admonished.  “You’ll ruin it.”  She spun around, set his hands at her hips, and moved against him to the music. She smiled when she heard his intake of breath and felt his hands tighten at her waist.  She tilted her head back until it rested on Darren’s shoulder, and he lowered his to taste her skin.

“You’re a gypsy,” he murmured in argument, though whether it was with himself or with her, Kira didn’t know.

“You’re a villager,” she returned, throatily.  “I don’t see your point.” She gasped when he caught her earlobe between his teeth.

Darren pushed her hair away from her neck and trailed wet kisses along it, sending shivers down her spine. “You’ve stolen half of our village.”

She laughed softly and twisted in his grasp. Running her hands along his chest, she tossed the ruffly adornment from his shirt over her shoulder. “You’ve stolen from every nobleman in a 50-kilometer radius.  You’re hardly one to talk, Highwayman.” She leaned forward to run her tongue over the saltiness of his skin.

A nearby oak tree was hard against her back as he leaned into her against it. “How do you know about that?” he growled as he kissed her, his mouth open against hers.

She slid her hands under his shirt and clasped her hands at his back, pressing his body against hers.  “You might be surprised at what I know,” she teased.

Darren trailed his tongue down her throat and kissed at the rounded skin above her bodice.  “You’re his sister.”

Kira ran her hands along his rough unshaven skin and made him look her in the eyes. “He may be my brother,” she said, breathlessly.  “But I am not him.” She entwined one leg around his and drew his lips to hers once more.

A sharp crack sounded and Kira suddenly found herself in a heap on the ground, Darren holding his head not far away.  Confused and addled, she looked up to see her brother standing over them both, his face full of anger.  “Dammit Colin,” she swore.

But, Colin ignored her to glower at Darren. “It’s taken me 20 years to find the chance to pay you back, Village Boy.  Now…” he continued icily, “just what are you doing touching MY sister?”

Darren scrambled to his feet, intent on repaying the blow that had just been given.  The two men circled around each other, hands balled into fists.  As they both lunged for each other, Kira yelled in frustration. “Oh would you stop??  Stupid idiot men…”  Both men paused to stare at her, and she bodily dragged Colin away.  “Just give me a minute!”

A private distance away, Colin began the interrogation. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, Kira?”

“Don’t you dare take that tone with me, Brother.” She practically spit the words in his face. Colin’s eyes widened in surprise. Kira had always been feisty, but he’d never seen her so angry, and certainly not with him. “I don’t know why you’re HERE right now, Colin, but don’t think that I don’t know WHO you’ve been with lately.  How dare you play the high and mighty with me?!”

Colin started. He certainly hadn’t thought he’d been seen by anyone.  “Kira, it’s not the same…”

“Like hell it isn’t. Colin, go back.  You be happy.  I’ll be happy.  We can both be happy.”

“You’re my sister,” he argued. “I can’t just—“

Kira shook her head.  “You’re not understanding me.  I’m not asking your permission. I’m not taking your orders. I’m not one of your men that you can just order around.  I’m your sister, like you said. This,” she gestured behind her, “is what I want, and it’s what I intend to have, with or without your blessing.”

Colin’s expression grew stony. “Don’t bother coming home, then.”  With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the clearing.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she whispered to his retreating back.  She felt strong arms slide around her waist from behind.

“Is everything alright?” Darren nuzzled at her neck.

Kira turned and rubbed her cheek against his chest, kissing his skin lightly.  “I think so.”

Darren leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, far more tender this time, before picking her up in his arms. He laid her gently on the soft grass before joining her.

“More than alright,” she whispered as she drew his face down to hers once more.



Chapter 10


The sun stretched lazily across the town square, spilling morning light into every corner when the door to Darren’s cottage creaked open. The gypsy girl glided across the threshold to join the men around the fire. She slid into Darren’s open arms and kissed him softly.

Seth turned away, uncomfortable. It was one thing to want to kiss a girl. It was quite another to watch your older brother do it. The rest of the men stared openly.

Darren cleared his throat and searched through the women in the square. “Where’s that sister of ours, anyway? I want Kira to meet her and I haven’t seen her since--” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of when the last time was that he’d seen her.

Kira almost jumped. “Your… sister?” she asked, too innocently.

“Briana.  You’ve never met her before, have you?”

“No,” she said slowly. “I might have seen her from afar the other night, though. At the well.”

“That’s odd,” Darren muttered. “I wonder what she was doing there.  Was she with anyone?”

Kira winced. “I think she was with… my brother.”

“Your BROTHER?? And she’s not been back? Why didn’t you say something last night??” he demanded.

Kira leveled him with a sardonic glance. “We were a little busy.”

Darren jumped to his feet and began pacing, muttering to himself. “I told her to stay away from him. And now she’s gone and gotten herself kidnapped by that—“

 “She seemed to be going willingly,” she interrupted. “I’m not sure that he kidnapped her.”

He waved that away and turned to Seth. “Brother, welcome to manhood.  Come on, we’re getting our sister back.” With that, he turned on his heel, leaving Kira standing open-mouthed in front of the cottage.

----------------

“What will we do when we get there?” Seth asked, as they crossed the bridge. “What if they have Bri tied up somewhere?”

“We’ll manage,” came the grim reply.

“But what if they have weapons?” the younger brother persisted.

Darren stopped and said quietly, “You and Briana are my family. You are the only family I have left.” He clapped a hand heavily onto Seth’s shoulder. “I would do anything necessary to keep you safe.”

Nodding, Seth continued on in silence.  As they reached the outskirts of the gypsy camp, they paused behind cover of foliage to peer inside.  Five wagons surrounded a campfire that still burned low from the morning’s breakfast. The camp was mostly deserted, save for a lone woman who flitted from one spot to another like a little bird, picking up pottery here and dropping it into the washing basin there.  She was singing quietly to herself, a gentle smile at her lips. She looked extremely familiar, but nothing at all like a kidnapped victim.

Darren strode into the camp. “Briana,” he said conversationally. “Interesting to see you here.”

Briana whirled around, surprise in her eyes. “Darren! Oh Darren, you shouldn’t be here.  You know what happens when you two occupy the same…” She sought for the right word, “continent.”

Darren’s lips twitched. “Can I help it if he makes me want to hit things?  Or him? You know, I’d heard that my little sister had been seen in the company of the Gypsy King, and I thought ‘Well, that can’t be right. I’ve told her time and time and time again to stay away from that wretched thieving nuisance. She wouldn’t possibly defy me and actually go off with him.’ Naturally, I assumed you’d been kidnapped and taken against your will.” The cheerfulness faded from his tone and he demanded, “We’re here to correct that.  We’re going home.”

Darren turned on his heel, nodding at his younger brother, and stalked quickly out of the camp, Seth hopping to keep up with him.  Seth looked behind them, and nudged Darren’s shoulder. Briana hadn’t moved. They returned slowly to the campfire and Darren fixed his sister with a stony glare. “Is there a reason you’re still here?”

“I’m not going,” Briana said simply.

“Oh? Have you decided to take up a life of thievery too?”

“Darren, please. Sit,” she gestured to a log around the campfire. “I don’t know to explain it to you, Darren.  When he looks at me, he makes me feel like I am the only woman in the world. And when he touches me—“ Briana paused.  This was perhaps not the best tactic to take with her brother. “He just makes me feel safe and loved and cared for. He listens to me. And I—I think I love him.”

Darren sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

She dropped to her knees and put a hand on his arm. “Darren, I just want to be happy. Can’t you understand that? He makes me happy.”

He looked up into her eyes. “If I ever hear of him laying so much as a finger on you in anger, I kill him.  Understand?”

A smile of joy broke out over Briana’s face and she threw her arms around her brother.  “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Darren responded gruffly.



Kira watched Darren and Seth return from the bridge with trepidation.  They were alone. “Was she not there?” she asked with forced lightness as they approached her.

“She was there,” was Darren’s reply. “She just wouldn’t come back.”

Kira kicked a pebble at her feet.  What should she say?  Good? I’m sorry? At least there’ll be more room in the cottage? But she was saved from the need to respond when Darren reached for her and buried his face in her hair.

“I just feel like I failed them,” he whispered. “I promised my parents I would take care of her.”

Kira pulled back and laid her palm against his cheek. “You’ve done that, Darren.  I know you don’t like my brother, and I guess I don’t blame you.  But, he’ll be good to her.  He loves her.”

“Loves her?” Darren was skeptical.  “How would you know that?”

She smiled.  “He’s stolen more of her laundry off the line behind your cottage than everything else he’s ever stolen combined. Trust me.”



Chapter 11

The summer passed quickly for all.

Iona’s father arrived the day after the wedding party, ready to spirit her away to Lord Covington’s estate.  To say that he was angry at the subterfuge that Philip and Iona had pulled off would be an understatement. But, he was soon won over by Philip’s gentlemanly charm, and admittedly, his wealth.

Seth and Regan played cat and mouse for weeks. Under Darren’s watchful eye, Seth continued to feign indifference, all the while fanning the flame of Regan’s interest. To be fair, he wasn’t always particularly skilled at feigning indifference, which helped Regan to be assured that he was far more interested than he pretended to be.  He was certainly interested in the moonlight kissing.  By summer’s end, their romance had bloomed and was given ample encouragement by the doting villagers.

Briana and Kira effectively changed places.  Kira moved into the cottage with Darren and Seth, while Briana remained in the gypsy camp with Colin. Kira’s outfits made her the constant subject of village gossip, but she refused to dress in clothes that she considered “dowdy” just to still busybody tongues.

Local crime came to a considerable standstill as the two biggest instigators found themselves more and more occupied with the new loves in their lives. Colin began considering the idea of giving up his life of crime in order to put his personal knowledge of criminal behavior to better use in the form of local security management, while Darren found himself taken under Patrick’s wing with the intent of grooming him to take over the mayorship when the time came.

Colin sat in his wagon on a sunny day late in the summer, absently tallying the camp’s supplies as they approached the beginning of autumn. A swish of skirts behind him and the creak of feet on the stairs brought a smile to his lips. Any second now, he knew he would feel her hands at his shoulders and the scent of her hair would fill his senses. 

*****THE REST OF THIS CHAPTER IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION -- I DIDN'T LIKE WHAT I DID WITH IT AND HAVE BEEN MEANING TO FIX IT FOR AGES****




THE END


No comments:

Post a Comment