Seduce Me at Sunrise (The Hathaways #2)(34)

Shuri's gaze moved from one man's face to the other. "Yes, I see," she eventually murmured. "Not a close likeness, but it is there." A curious smile touched her lips. "Devlesa avilan. It is God who brought you together."

Whatever Merripen's opinion was of who or what had brought them together, he didn't share it. Instead he asked tersely, "Do you know our father's name?"

Shuri looked regretful. "The rom baro never mentioned it. I'm sorry."

"No, you've helped quite a lot," Cam said. "Do you know anything about why the gadjos might have wanted to-"

"Mami," came the boy's voice from outside. "Chorodies are coming."

"They want the horses," Merripen said, rising swiftly to his feet. He pressed a few coins into Shuri's hand. "Luck and good health," he said.

"Kushti bok," she replied, returning the sentiment.

Cam and Merripen hurried outside the tent. Three Chorodies were approaching. With their matted hair, filthy complexions, rotted mouths, and a stench that preceded them well before their arrival, they seemed more like animals than men. A few curious Roma watched from a safe distance. It was clear there would be no help from that quarter.

"Well," Cam said beneath his breath, "this should be entertaining."

"Chorodies like knives," Merripen said. "But they don't know how to use them. Leave this to me."

"Go right ahead," Cam said agreeably.

One of the Chorodies spoke in a dialect Cam couldn't understand. But he gestured to Cam 's horse, Pooka, who eyed them nervously and shuffled his feet.

"Like hell," Cam muttered.

Merripen replied to the man with a handful of equally incomprehensible words. As he had predicted, the Chorodie reached behind his back and produced a jagged knife. Merripen appeared relaxed, but his fingers flexed, and Cam saw the way his posture altered in subtle readiness for attack.

The Chorodie lunged forward with a harsh cry, aiming for the mid-to-lower torso. But Merripen turned in a nimble sidestep. With impressive speed and dexterity, he grabbed the attacking arm. He jerked the Chorodie off-balance, using his own momentum against him. Before another heartbeat had passed, Merripen had flipped his opponent to the ground, twisting the bastard's arm in the process. An audible fracture caused all of them, even Cam, to flinch. The Chorodie howled in agony. Prying the knife from the man's limp hand, Merripen tossed it to Cam, who caught it reflexively.

Merripen glanced at the remaining two Chorodies. "Who's next?" he asked coldly.

Although the words were spoken in English, the creatures appeared to understand his meaning. They fled without a backward glance, leaving their injured companion to drag himself away with loud groans.

"Very nice,phral" Cam said in admiration.

"We're leaving," Merripen informed him curtly. "Before more of them come."

"Let's go to a tavern," Cam said. "I need a drink."

Merripen mounted his bay without a word. For once, it seemed, Merripen and Cam were in agreement.

Taverns were often described as the busy man's recreation, the idle man's business, and the melancholy man's sanctuary. The Hell and Bucket, located in the more disreputable environs of London, could also have been called the criminal's covert and the drunkard's haven. It suited Cam and Kev's purposes quite well, being a place that would serve two Roma without blinking an eye. The ale was good quality, twelve-bushel strength, and although the barmaids were surly, they did an adequate job of keeping the tankard full and the floor swept.

Cam and Kev sat at a small table, lit by a turnip that had been carved into a candleholder, with tallow runneling over its purple-tinged sides. Kev drank half a tankard without stopping and set the vessel down. He rarely drank anything except wine, and that in moderation. He didn't like the loss of control that came with drinking.

Cam, however, drained his own tankard. He leaned back in his chair and surveyed Kev with a slight smile. "I've always been amused by your inability to hold your liquor," Cam remarked. "A Rom your size should be able to drink a quarter barrel to the pitching. But now to discover that you're half-Irish as well… it's inexcusable, phral. We'll have to work on your drinking skills."

"We're not going to tell this to anyone," Kev told him grimly.

"About the fact that we're brothers?" Cam seemed to enjoy Kev's visible wince. "It's not so bad, being half gadjo" he told Kev kindly, and snickered at his expression. "It certainly explains why both of us have found a stopping place, while most Roma choose to wander forever. It's the Irish in us that-"

"Not… one… word," Kev said. "Not even to the family."

Cam sobered a little. "I don't keep secrets from my wife.",

"Not even for her safety?"

Cam appeared to think that over, gazing through one of the narrow windows of the tavern. The streets thronged with costermongers, the wheels of their barrows rattling over the cobblestones. Their cries rose thick in the air as they tried to interest customers in bonnet boxes, toys, lucifer matches, umbrellas, and brooms. On the opposite side of the street, a butcher-shop window gleamed crimson and white with freshly cut meat.

"You think our father's family might still want to kill us?" Cam asked.