Free Gypsy Jewel by Patricia McAllister Page B

ordinary, and as if drawn by an invisible cord, she found herself walking back toward the orange glow of the bonfires.
    There she hovered in the shadows and tried to peer through the milling bodies for a glimpse of Damien. The music struck a chord somewhere deep in her breast, though it was a song she had never heard before. It reminded her of cool, smooth-flowing water, the melting tones hypnotizing her as the bow was drawn with unequalled skill.
    Stepping cautiously between two tethered horses, April leaned out for a better look. Her eyes widened at the sight of Damien standing in the midst of the circle, gently coaxing magic from the violin. As he slowly revolved, mesmerizing the crowd, the firelight danced off his features and reflected back an image that instantly reached out to her.
    Her heart pounding for a reason she did not yet accept, April closely studied every inch of the gajo ‘s face. His black hair was now tied back with a blue kerchief that one of the women had coyly tossed at him earlier. He was different from the Romany men. Though also dark, he towered above the others, his height drawing attention to his lean, muscular body.
    Dressed in canvas-colored trousers tied loosely about his waist, Damien’s white peasant shirt was unbuttoned just far enough to reveal the thatch of black, silky chest hair. He easily caught the eye of all the young women, including April. But she was angry at herself for being intrigued by a gajo , an outsider.
    Damien continued to play his violin like a lover, his long fingers caressing the neck of the instrument as they slid smoothly on the strings. His notes rang clear and lovely over those of the others who had joined in, and April ached in silent appreciation of his gift, enfolding him with her gaze. The music made her more and more restless as he moved from rippling tones to increasingly bolder crescendoes, pausing on trembling high notes that sent shivers down her spine.
    Then she realized with a start that he was staring directly at her. He had come around to her side of the circle, and either the flash of her jewelry or the sense of her watching him had drawn his eye. Though the smile never wavered from his lips as he led the revelry, and his bare right foot still stamped perfect time, his blue eyes halted and burned through her like a white-hot flame.
    Caught in the spell, April met his bold gaze with her own. It was as if his entire being challenged her to do something, both by his confident stance and the way his blue eyes beckoned her forth.
    Taking a deep swallow, April came into the circle. Several girls watching, Marya among them, hissed angrily and stopped clapping. But the rest of the camp could feel the charged air, and the thread of excitement drawing the gypsy girl to the musician was felt and encouraged with a frenzied burst of clapping.
    Damien could not look away from the beautiful nymph who had materialized again from the woods. She was like a brilliant jewel set against the dark velvet backdrop of the night. When she tossed her head and took a proud stance in the circle before him, her long hair rippled like molten gold and caused him to falter.
    For all her bare feet and unfashionably tanned skin, she was aristocratic, like a princess of wild but royal heritage. The uptilt of her chin and the flashing emerald-green eyes took him back to the day he had first encountered her, a little spitfire with a courage that had won his admiration.
    April knew not what madness possessed her that moment, but she raised her arms and started swaying, her hips moving gently to the beat of the tambourines. Something in the night, the air, or the quivering music that flowed like silk, compelled her to dance, whirling slowly and then faster as the tempo increased.
    Several of the other men took up their guitars to accompany Damien, and the women hummed in a low, sensual key that thrummed through the night. The flames leaped in perfect time to April’s movements, and before