Gentlemen Of The Court

Chapter Seven

Cursed be Mrs. Thompskin, and cursed be her unwanted child. They both had poor timing. They ruined one of the best shots he could ever have had with Delilah Salvador!

Gregor Smitten continued gritting his teeth, as he sunk into deep thoughts, his erected penis temporarily forgotten and left to go limpid on its own, with no interest from him being showed upon it. The pleasure he'd wanted tonight, he definitely wasn't going to get. He had to seek out better ways to snare Delilah.

He calmed himself down with the knowledge that she was going to be his wife soon enough, she had no choice if she still wanted allowances, feeding and a roof over her fuckin' head!

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After five long, stretchy hours at the Thompskin's residence, their little baby girl had finally be born.

Delilah dragged her tired body up to a nearby chair to relax her aching, cranked-up muscles. She'd just told Mr. Thompskin who'd been waiting outside the door, for just as long as that five long, hours, hearing his wife cry and not being able to help, the news that his wife had finally had a safe deliver.

He was even now, in the room, bonding with his new family, holding his wife and baby close. Something she Delilah, would never have, Delilah thought wistfully. It simply wasn't for her. She'd long since known that. She didn't quite belong anywhere. There was a war coming, everyone had known that for a long time, and she still couldn't decide who was worth saving. Who was worth fighting for. Who was worth loving. Every human she'd ever loved till this day, where either dead, or at the brink of it. And frankly, she'd never been close to any gypsies to love them for who they were. They were very suspicious, and tight knitted. One didn't simply infiltrate their camps just to make friends with them. Being a hundred percent on guard, never resting, was essential for their survival. And Delilah completely understood survival. The prices one had to pay to simply survive.

Because she was part human, she didn't have gypsy powers. She didn't have their ability to do magic, or if she did, it was quite innate within her and she'd never used it before. But she was a healer however, a name she'd termed for herself. She wasn't a doctor, but she could heal. How that was possible, was almost impossible to explain.

She's always wanted to go to a doctor training school, but alas that was improper and females did not become doctors, not in this day and age anyway. So despite her pleas, her father had blatantly refused. He wasn't going to waste the little money barely available in the family, to train his daughter to become a way too knowledgeable bluestocking female. She could still remember his exact words

"Reputable ladies from good homes do not aspire to become doctors young lady, they aspire to become wives! And I will not let you chase some foolish fantasies of yours and run off and act like a boy. Do you think this family had enough money to afford your every whims!? You will have a lot of things Delilah. I'll make sure of it. An embroidery certificate, excellent musical lessons, unblemished dance skills and a every other needed female skills you need to possess but I promise you, a doctorate degree will not be one of those things! So get your mind out of the gutter and stop daydreaming!"

So she'd never gone to medical school. But just a year ago, a dying man had been in her arms. A dying gypsy. Choking and spurting out his own blood and every other thing that could possibly pass through his digestive pathway to his mouth. She'd found him that way on the cold streets, no doubt shot down by the Queen's armed guards. With the fear and shock of never seen a man dying before, Delilah had been irresistibly drawn closer. Thereafter, the man had grasped her hand and begged her not to leave him. That he didn't want to die alone. He'd instantly recognized that she had gypsy blood within her veins. Gypsies knew themselves. When one gypsy's path crossed another's, the feeling could be likened to when a wolf male comes around a wolf female in heat. There was no other way to explain it. Heightened emotions, lust, love, yet the person was literally a stranger to you. Plus their iris glowed gold. Whenever a gypsy was in the vacinity of another gypsy, their eyes would start to glow, a gold ring forming in the depth of their irises, and their body became extra sensitive. Heightened touch, taste, smell, it really was like opium. You instantly got drawn in. You want to taste, protect, love whoever the person was. It was why gypsies were so dangerous. It was why they had the innate ability to seduce. The perfect Seduction machines. They also had tattoos. Not self inflicted ones, but magical ones that appeared by themselves. A careful, intricate interweavement of lines and dots that could signify many things depending on the one marked on you. Whenever a gypsy was born, a tattoo appeared at their hips, the upper part of their left hip. Just like the one Delilah had. But then, many other gypsies acquired way more tattoos than that in their lifetimes. The tattoos were like symbols of strong emotions once expressed. Whenever a gypsie made love for the first time, a tattoo appeared. Whenever they fell in love for the first time, or felt the most painful grief in the world - the loss of a loved one, the tattoos appeared. A careful, small intricate beauty, to somehow mark the event. When they killed for the first time, and every single time they took a life actually, the tattoos would appear. It was easy to know a gypsy who'd killed a lot, as the tattoos appeared on their backs. And whenever the Queen's guards came across gypsies like that, they never failed to execute them instantly. Whether they caught them doing anything wrong in that instant or not.

So that night, with the dying man in her arms, with nothing else to do, Delilah in fear, had begun to pray, sing, cry, her tears falling softly on the man's face, as she gathered the man up in her arms, somehow, in any way, wanting to absorb his pain. An hour of holding him, he'd finally lay still beside her, not moving, not breathing. And Delilah had assumed he was dead. With a sigh, she quietly placed him back on the floor, got up and dusted her bloodied skirt or at least what she could of it, and began walking the lonely pathway back to her home, when she'd heard a loud voice from behind her.

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A/N: A new chapter. I hope you liked it. Comment on your favorite scenes, and characters so far. Any future predictions of what will happen next?

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