By the time Peter and Isabelle made their way into the gypsy's encampment the dawn was breaking with a clear blue sky and the grass was wet with dew. She shivered with the cold and with fearful anticipation. They were parked in a clearing, deep in the woodland, sheltered from sight. The caravans were ringed together around a huge campfire, burning low in the early light, their decorated sides brightly coloured and lively. There was no sound, a sleeping dog raised its mangy head, blinked twice at them then returned to its slumber.
"Sol!" Peter called, and the rumbled heap of clothing by the fire moved suddenly. Isabelle saw the young boy who had been with the troupe on their first meeting; he shook his head blearily then smiled.
"She came!" He shouted loudly to the unseen others "She came – he bagged himself the fancy lady!" He sprang to his feet excitedly, and Peter cuffed him affectionately around his ear.
At each of the five caravans faces began appearing, and curious people stepped out into the clearing to see the new arrival. Peter took a theatrical bow and brought Isabelle to the fireside, where all could see her.
"Behold, dear friends! See what wonders I can perform!" he spun her around dizzyingly. "I bring you the Queen of Heaven, straight from the skies to join the Black Jack Davy!" The crowd cheered and Isabelle flushed, embarrassed. He spun her around again, showing her off like an animal bought at the fair, and she was aware of the eyes of strangers on her with precocious interest.
"Here, my darling, you must rest, and I will catch your breakfast." He drew her towards his own dwelling, taking her into the blood red caravan, ornately painted inside and out. Inside the space was dark and close, but surprisingly neat and comfortable, he took her to the unmade bed at the rear of the van and she seated herself, smelling his fragrance there. Peter kissed her firmly on the mouth.
"Rest, I shall not be long."
She lay on the bed and was asleep in moments.
She sensed movement in the dark confines of the room and felt something touch her skin. She started awake and saw the silhouette of Peter and smiled. His fingers cool against her bosom he touched her smooth skin and began to unlace the tightly drawn bodice of her gown. Her breath came quickly with anticipation, for she had been dreaming of their intertwined limbs and tangled embrace, and in a moment her breasts were exposed.
She felt his mouth cover her nipple and moaned sweetly, but he placed his teeth across it and nipped her sharply. She shouted in pain and surprise, and as she sat up the unfamiliar face swam into clearer view.
"Who...who are you?" as her vision adjusted to the darkness of the shuttered caravan she recognised the man who had been in her chamber just a few nights before, rutting with the voluptuous woman. "Get away from me!"
As she spoke there was movement and the man gave a guttural choked cry as a rope was pulled tight about his neck. He struggled to prize the rope from him but Peter, standing close behind him, tugged hard to halt his breathing. As the man's eyes bulged, and his face reddened dangerously he spoke.
"My dear friend, this one is mine and not for sharing – touch her again and I'll cut your throat!"
With a final, brutal tug on the rope he released him, and he fell gasping to the floor, scrabbling away out of Peter's reach. She felt relief at his rescue and a flush of pride at his proprietorial show of strength, but was shocked at how far he taken his friend, how brutal he had been.
He held her face gently between his palms and kicking the door wide with his heel he let light flood into the room so that he could be certain she was safe. On his quick appraisal his eyes fell at once to her exposed breasts and she caught a look in his eyes that was a terrifying mixture of pain and fury.
"Now I see it – Oh! Now I see how it was!" his voice was anguished, every word soft and deadly.
"I...I didn't know – I was asleep and he touched me, and I thought he was you!" His expression darkened further still, and she was afraid. "I wanted you, I was dreaming of you, and until I saw him properly I thought you had returned!"
"You leave your husband for the first man to show you his cock, and now you are doing the same to me!"
"I have given up everything to be here – and I have done that for you alone! I could have had others, but you were the only one..."
He seemed to be weighing her words, his eyes searching hers for lies. He brought his face suddenly very close and spoke so softly that his voice was barely a whisper. He gripped her face hard with his strong fingers, his hand holding fast in her hair.
"If you want to open your legs to any man, be away back to your husband. If you want to be mine open your legs and show me."
Afraid, yet aroused, she found herself parting her legs, feeling the moisture trickle between her folds. In a quick, angry movement she felt the heat of him against her, ready at her entrance. He thrust forcefully, driving into her when she was barely ready for him, and she cried out in arousal and shock. In the heat of the moment he had only to thrust a few more times and both he and she were writhing. He bared his teeth and grunted as he came into her forcefully, and without care for her pleasure.
"If you are mine, you are mine alone. Sometimes we share, but not this time. If you touch another man – or let him touch you – I will take you to the horse fair and let the Irish have you. See how your husband likes you when you go home stretched by twenty men."
Tears flooded her eyes and he seemed almost to wake from a trance, he shook himself and released his grip. He kissed the tracks of her tears down her cheeks, his lips suddenly as gentle as his voice had been harsh.
"I am sorry, I am! You are too precious to me, and it makes me fearful it won't last." His voice shook and she could hear remorse in every word, but her heart still hammered in her chest and as she looking into his eyes he seemed for a moment like a stranger.
"Come, breakfast!" he proudly held up the body of a rabbit, dangling by its heels from his fist.
As she dressed she heard him at the fireside, as he gutted his catch, speaking softly to the old man she had seen before.
"Peter, be wary. I know she is a prize – if I were a younger man I would have sought her, just as you have – but there lies danger here." Peter snorted out a barked laugh. "Do you imagine her husband will simply let her go? Would you?" the old man paused. "I heard what happened between you and Joseph – if you would do that to your dear old friend what do you think her fine old Husband will do to a wicked gypsy boy like you?"
As the old man stood and shuffled away on weary joints Peter called to the women at the other end of the camp.
Peter left the camp as dusk fell, to poach, and whatever else may present itself to him, and Isabelle was alone with her new companions. Some introduced themselves, Lizzie, whom she had already seen, Anis, her sister, an older lady they seemed to affectionately call the 'crone'. The old man was Tem, and her intruder John, who studiously avoided her. The rest appeared anxious to keep apart from her, as though aware of the risk she brought them. She listened as they sang and talked, but she herself was wary and distant, having little in common with their ways.
Anis approached her with a shawl for her shoulders as darkness fell, and brought a bottle to her lips. Isabelle drank from it uncertainly and coughed and spluttered at the fiery liquor. As the bottle returned to her several times she felt bolder and less aware of the chill night air, and when Lizzie suggested they retire to her caravan she took no heed of the glances and smiles passed between those still around the fire.
