Free The Dark Knight by Tori Phillips

his master.
    Hiding her face in Baxtalo’s mane, Tonia wept silent tears of frustration. She didn’t dare to look at the headsman. She knew that he must be furious at her. Whatever charitable feelings he may have had for her earlier would be shattered after this escapade.
    Patting the horse, the Gypsy spoke soothingly to him in a strange language. Then he touched her foot. “Tonia?” he asked. “Are you well?”
    She shut her eyes. “Nay, Master of Death. The sun has grown cold for me.” Filled with despair, she felt chilled and nauseous.
    To her bewilderment, he chuckled. “So you thought you could steal my horse?” he asked.
    Tonia peeked at him through her lashes. A half smile hung on his full lips and a twinkle lurked in the depths of his flashing blue eyes. She moistened her dry lips.
    “Not steal, merely borrow for a time,” she whispered.
    His smile widened. “ My horse?” Then he stroked her cheek where a tear hung. “ Na rov, little gadji. Do not cry. ’Tis not your fault that you failed. You did not know that ’tis impossible to steal a horse from a Rom. We are the horse masters of the world,” he added in a tone that did not boast.
    Toniapulled herself upright on Baxtalo’s back and held up her head. “Your eyes deceive you, Gypsy. I am not crying. ’Tis the wind from the ride that makes my eyes tear.” She wiped away the offending evidence. At all costs she must maintain what shreds of her dignity remained.
    The headsman gave her a long look. Tonia wished she dared to rip off his mask so that she could read his expression better, but having already offended him, she would not risk his further anger. She wondered how long she had to live now.
    The Gypsy said something to the horse, then turned and started up the hillside toward the fortress. Baxtalo followed close behind him. Tonia groaned to herself. Not now! Not yet! She didn’t want to die today. Her sudden fierce desire for life surprised her. When she had lived among her friends in their little convent, she had often meditated upon the lives of the holy martyrs and had secretly wished she had been able to show the depth of her faith by dying in Rome’s Colosseum during the ancient days of the cruel emperors. Now, faced with the prospect of her own all-too-real execution, she quailed. Tonia hung her head at her cowardice. God must be very disappointed with her.
    Sandor led them through Hawksnest’s crumbling archway. The remaining walls of her prison looked even more foreboding than earlier this morning when she had so happily skipped out of them. She gave her shoulders a shake. Above all else, she must not betray her terror to this man. She would not give him that power over her.
    Tonia swallowed the knot in her throat before she asked, “What do you mean to do with me, my Lord Executioner?”
    He lookedback over his shoulder. “I crave your pardon, my lady, but I must return you to your cell.” He halted Baxtalo before the yawning doorway, then held out his hands to help her down. “I cannot trust you not to bolt again.”
    Tonia looked down her nose at him. She tried to gauge the expression in his eyes, but she could not discern his true feelings. Best not to irritate him. She offered him her hand.
    The Gypsy stepped closer and put both his hands around her waist. He swung her off the horse’s back as if she had been a feather bolster. Staring deep into her eyes, he lowered her slowly to the ground, allowing her body to slide down his. She inhaled sharply at the contact. Never taking his gaze from her face, his broad shoulders heaved as he breathed. Tonia’s hands skimmed along his muscular chest covered only by his muslin shirt. He tensed under her fingers. Her heartbeat drummed against her temples.
    He wet his lips. For a split second, Tonia wondered if he would dare to kiss her. She half hoped that he would. Quickly, before he could read the wanton desire in her eyes, she looked down at the cracked cobblestones of the