A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1)

A Great and Terrible Beauty (Gemma Doyle #1) Page 61

I want to run all the way back to Spence. But I can't leave Felicity here. And the men might come after me, into the deep cover of the woods. Taking Ann's clammy hand in mine, I walk tall into that towering circle of men as it closes around the three of us.

"I knew you could not stay away," Ithal says teasingly to Felicity.

"You knew nothing of the sort. As I recall, I left you standing on the other side of the wall the other day. That's where you'll always belongon the other side of things." She's mocking him. It doesn't seem a wise course, but I've never found myself surrounded by virile Gypsy men in the middle of the night woods before. I'm in no position to advise or argue. I can only hold my breath and wait.

Ithal steps closer, toys with the cape's ribbon at the hollow of Felicity's throat. His voice is boisterous, laughing, but the smile doesn't travel to his eyes. They are wounded and angry. "I'm not on that side of the wall tonight."

"Please," Ann croaks. "We've only come to see Mother Elena."

"Mother is not here right now," one of the men says. He's not much older than a boy, really. Maybe fifteen, with a nose he hasn't grown into quite yet. If we have to make a run for it, he's the one I'm kicking first.

"I demand to see Mother Elena," Felicity says, cool and sure. I'm the only one who can see how truly scared she is, and her fear frightens me more than the situation at hand.

How did we get into this mess? And how do we get out?

"What's going on?" Kartik strolls into the thick of things in his borrowed Gypsy disguise, his makeshift cricket bat in one hand. His eyes go wide when he sees me.

"Please, we need to see Mother Elena," I say, hoping I don't sound as terrified as I feel.

Ithal holds his hands up, exposing the thick calluses that crisscross his palms, a memento of a harsh life lived out-of-doors. "Ah this gadje is yours. I apologize, friend."

Kartik scoffs. "She's not" He stops himself. "Yes, she is mine." He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the circle. A chorus of whistles and cheers follow us. Another hand snakes around my free wrist. It's attached to the boy with the big nose I spied earlier.

"How do we know she's yours? She does not seem so willing," he teases. "Perhaps she will come with me instead."

Kartik hesitates, long enough for a small laugh of suspicion to ripple through the men. The other man's grip on my arm is strong and I can taste fear, cold and metallic, in my mouth. There's no time to be modest. Reason will not work here. Without warning, I kiss Kartik. His lips, pressed firmly against mine, are a surprise. They're warm, light as breath, firm as the give of a peach against my mouth. A scent like scorched cinnamon hangs in the air, but I'm not falling into any vision. It's his smell in me. A smell that makes my stomach drop through my feet. A smell that pushes all thought out of my head and replaces it with an overpowering hunger for more.

Kartik's tongue slips between my lips for a second, jarring me. I push away gasping, my face gone bloodred. I can't look at anyone, especially not Felicity and Ann. What must they think of me now? What would they think if they knew how much I'd enjoyed it? What kind of girl am I to enjoy a kiss I've seized so boldly, without waiting to have it asked for and taken from me, the way I should?

A burly man in back booms out laughing. "I see she is yours after all!"

"Yes," Kartik croaks. "I'll take them to Mother Elena to have their fortunes told. Get back to drinking. It's their money we need, not their trouble."

Kartik escorts us to Mother Elena's tent. Along the way, Felicity glances back, taking in the sight of Kartik beside me. Her eyes dart from me to him and back again. I make my face a stone, and finally, she turns away. Kartik opens the flap for Felicity and Ann but pulls me sharply aside. "Just what do you think you're doing here?"

"Having my fortune told," I say. It's a stupid thing to say but my lips are still warm from his kiss and I'm too embarrassed to come up with something clever. "I apologize for my conduct," I barely manage to say. "It was necessary under the circumstances. I hope you won't think me too forward."

He grabs an acorn from the ground, tosses it into the air and whacks at it with the cricket bat. The bat is so old and split it's largely ineffectual. His mouth is set in a tight line. "I'll never hear the end of it from them later."

The tingling in my stomach goes cold. "Sorry to have put you out on my behalf," I say. He says nothing, and I'm so humiliated I wish I could disappear on the spot.