Anastasia entered the camp blindly, her mind too filled with misery to notice Nicolai until he caught her arm and painfully jerked her around to face him. His fingers would leave bruises. She was always left with bruises whenever he touched her.

“Where did you spend the night?” he demanded.

She should have been wise enough to lie, especially since he looked quite furious, but with her emotions in such turmoil already, it was defiance that reared its ugly head. Chin raised, she answered, “With my husband.”

The slap was not unexpected. Even the brutality of it that sent her to the ground was no more than typical of Nicolai. Anastasia tossed her hair out of the way and glared up at him balefully.

“Perhaps you did not hear me correctly, Nico. I was with my husband, the Gajo I married last night, the Gajo who will see you end up in an English prison if you ever lay a hand on me again.”

He looked suitably uncertain, as she had hoped he would. He even paled slightly at the mention of prison, since most Gypsies would rather die than be locked up for any length of time. Yet he still doubted her, and with good reason.

“You are promised to me!” he reminded her. “You would not dare marry another.”

“Promised to you, but not by me, never by me. You were never my choice, Nico, nor would I have ever agreed to marry you. I would have chosen anyone other than you, whom we both know I hate. Yet I chose for love instead, yes, love, a concept you know nothing about!”

He would have hit her again if she weren’t lying on the ground, out of his immediate reach. And they had gathered an audience, not close, but just about everyone in the camp was listening and watching, including his father—including Maria, who was approaching them as fast as her old bones allowed. She did not usually witness Anastasia’s confrontations with Nicolai. This one had her enraged.

Nicolai saw her coming and stiffened. There wasn’t a one among them, even his father, who wasn’t just a little afraid of Maria. Her insights were too accurate, as were her curses. And she was their luck. You did not take chances with guaranteed luck.

Yet he was too furious to consider any of that for more than a moment, and raised a hand to ward her off. “This does not concern you, old woman.”

Her answer was to throw gold coins at him. Each one hit him squarely, each hit a different spot, each stung worse than it should have, coming from such a weak-armed throw.

“There is your bride-price,” Maria spat contemptuously. “My granddaughter is now nothing to you, a stranger, and you will treat her as such, keeping your eyes off her, keeping your hands off her.”

“You can’t do this!” he growled.