For the Love of a Gypsy Read Online Free

able to dispel the intruders without bloodshed?
    With a quick glance, Martine noticed she was the only woman who dared venture into the dilemma. Others gathered in their wagons, heads peeking out due to curiosity, she supposed, most likely a human combination of fear and interest.
    She edged closer to Rafe, a silent gesture of support and, she imagined, foolhardiness.
    A rider urged his horse forward. He wore a leather doublet of a quality she’d never seen. The black hide was pierced with metal and thick stitching formed elaborate Celtic designs. Regal and rich. His breeches hugged his thighs so closely ’twas indecent, but that didn’t stop her gaze from venturing along the hard expanse of his legs. Heat crept up her neck and flushed her face like a flame.
    He tipped his head in her brother’s direction. Martine gasped.
    The stranger from the glen.
    “We’ve business,” was all he said.
    Rafe nodded, but didn’t twitch a muscle. Martine wanted to run from the confrontation, hide in her grandmother’s berth safe from the bewitching blue eyes of the intruder. But her feet stayed rooted to the ground.
    Och, this man was handsome. Strong jaw, brilliant eyes, and a broad mouth composed a man so striking. His face was a composite of hard planes of granite that matched the intense glare of his eyes.
    The man sighed and his comrades inched closer to his side. They dressed as he did, except their clothing lacked the obvious quality she could see stitched in the leather of his.
    “The villagers are concerned with your presence, Gypsy.”
    She could feel the tension in the tight line of her brother’s shoulders, taste the anger in the air that hummed about him and the stranger. His jaw clenched and he remained silent.
    “I’ve come to ask you to leave. Gypsies bring foul memories to Riverton.” His voice was rough, husky, as he commanded her brother.
    Rafe stepped forward. She knew he wished to throttle the tactless man. “We’re Tinkers. Men and women with skills and trade.”
    “And itchy fingers if Lady Bannon’s sheep have say of it,” the man behind the stranger spouted. The other men chortled and slapped the man on the back.
    The stranger held up his hand and was rewarded with instant silence.
    Her brother shrugged, a harmless action unless you were Rafe Petrulengo. “My clan has no need of other people’s sheep.”
    Martine took a step forward.
    The stranger’s head snapped in her direction.
    He leaned forward in his saddle. “You’ll leave my land, or pay the consequences.” His tone brooked no room for argument.
    “We’re people of the land, trainers of dogs, and masters of horses.”
    Her brother’s words seemed to befuddle the stranger’s friends. They looked to one another, smirks creasing their faces. If only they knew her brother’s genius.
    “I’m Lord Declan Forrester, Earl of Riverton,” the stranger pompously said. “This is my land—and you are to leave.”
    Rafe bowed deep at the waist, his extended arm almost grazing the dirt before him. “As you wish.”
    “Be gone by morning. ’Tis all the time I’ll give you.”
    A shiver ran up her spine at the cold gruffness of his voice. He clucked his horse forward, a magnificent animal, well-muscled with a gleaming coat of black.
    Martine was so aware of the lord’s presence, her skin tingled. And she knew without looking up that trouble was about to ensue. He stopped the horse before her and just sat. When her gaze met his, the lord nodded his head and gave a mocking salute.
    She sighed, not knowing why she was reacting so unlike herself, why she was enthralled with the stranger.
    With a nudge to his horse’s side, he was off without a backward glance at her or her brother.
    One look at Rafe and she knew he’d witnessed what had transpired. Rage boiled in his dark eyes and tension pulsed his jaw. He tapped a pointy leather boot against the packed earth. The women of the clan weren’t to be appraised by Gajos . Especially a Gajo