She froze, wondering if they should run or look for a tree. But as the ferociously baying pack closed in, Nicholas drew his arm back and made a broad throwing motion. Though his hand was empty, the effect was magical. The dogs immediately fell silent and began milling around, following them into the camp. There was enough light to see that the kumpania consisted of three wagons. Dark shapes under the wagons appeared to be beds, and she guessed that the rain had driven the Rom to take that amount of shelter. Roused by the noise, several men rolled to their feet and approached, posture alert. One carried a coiled whip in his hand. Nicholas put his arm protectively around Clare and squinted at the nearest man. “Kore, is that you?” There was a moment of astonished silence. Then a baritone voice roared, “Nikki!” Suddenly they were surrounded by people jabbering noisily in Romany. Nicholas managed to get silence by lifting his hand. Arm still tightly around Clare, he gave a terse explanation in the same language. A clucking female with a smooth, handsome face took Clare’s arm.
