whoot...this is another one of my fav. gw stories....

it was inspired by hedgeschool's song, "raggle taggle gypsyo", from my celtic rock CD.

SUMMARY: trowa is a gypsy in medieval europe, and quatre is his beloved 'lady'

WARNINGS: yaoi, 3x4, m-preg, and death.

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RAGGLE TAGGLE GYPSY

The moon shone full and bright in the starless sky, cutting through the night shaded clouds. The vast land below was various pulls of darkened shadows, occasionally broken by moonbeams dancing off of a whispering patch of black water. A cool, approaching autumn breeze ruffled the high grass and leaves, erasing the last traces of summer and speaking of a melancholy fall.

Quatre sighed and turned away from the stone window seel. There was nothing to break the bleakness he saw out there. Nothing. He'd been watching and waiting for months for his lord and husband to return from battle. Not that he minded being left in complete charge of the castle and servants, indeed, it left him quite free.......and lonely. He sat down on the edge of a huge, richly decorated goose down bed and choked on bitter tears as he remembered.

He smiled fondly as he remembered how he used to dream of marriage life when he was young. He had always dreamt of a knight in shining armor would take him away from his father, to a huge castle. The two would be deeply in love and live happily ever after. Tears fell from his eyes and he pulled his knees up. So much for dreams....reality had soon brought his dreams crashing down. A rich nobleman, yes, and a castle, yes, but love.....there was no such thing as love. His father and his marriage had proven that. He had been 13 when father had sold him like a prize broodmare to Lord Millardo. And a broodmare he was. He had been barren until his 14th year, when he got pregnant for the first time. Now he was 25, with 7 children and 5 miscarriages. He supposed it was excess feminine hormones. He had always been on the feminine side. He was the youngest of 29 sisters, each of whom his father had bartered off as soon as they reached marrying age. His father had hesitated with him, unsure of what to do; keep him for a heir, or sell him too. In the end, his greed had won out. Marrying Quatre off to Milliardo had assured his father of more wealth and political power than keeping him as an heir. And Milliardo hadn't cared that Quatre wasn't female; to him, Quatre was nothing more than a trophy to be shown off. And the surprising fact that Quatre could bear children was just an added bonus.

Quatre uncurled and paced in front of the window. Only one faint memory kept a tiny shred of hope and life alive in his heart. Once, when he was 10, Quatre had managed to escape from his father's controlling eye for a brief time. That time had been the start of the only happy time in his life. While weaving in and out of the crowded streets, he had found a small band of entertainers, rogue gypsies. Their carts had bright, peeling paint, the canvas's were colorful but torn, and their clothes had brillant shades of the rainbow but were full of holes. They had performed gaily, and Quatre had watched them, memorized by their aerial acrobatics and feats of magic. One gypsy in particular had caught his attention. The gypsy was a stunning young boy with brown hair and long, jagged bangs that hid one of his mysterious forest green eyes.

The memory of the mellow, lanky boy still tugged at Quatre's heart and brought tears to his eyes. He had met the boy, afther the show, and the two had fallen in love. They met secretly at night, after the last performance of the day, and quickly fell in love. The gypsies would stay for a good portion of the summer, then move on. For three years, every summer, Quatre would wait eagerly for his beloved to return, and the gypsy boy always brought him small presents from his travels.

Quatre smiled through his tears and knelt down, reached under the bed, and withdrew a locked, wooden box. He unlocked and opened it. Gently, he lifted a porcelain elephant from India, just one of the small gifts given to him so long ago, and still so well preserved and treasured. Kissing the trunk of the elephant, he closed his eyes and clutched it to his chest and dared to whisper aloud a name he had not uttered, but thought about constantly, in years. "Oh,....Trowa....do you still remember me?"

Lord Milliardo had come about at Yuletide season to court him. Quatre had tried to protest; when he and Trowa were a little older and could support themselves, they were going to run away together. Unfortunately, Quatre's pleas had fallen on deaf ears; he didn't have any say in it, and Trowa had been too far away for him to contact. And, since his marriage, he had been confined to the castle, and had never seen Trowa again.

The tears and sadness overcame him, and Quatre lay on the cold stone floor, crying himself to sleep.

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A knocking on the door awoke him. It was still night, and the moon was still bright. Quatre gave permission for entrance, and a maid, Hilde, came in. She told him there were strange visitors seeking a place for the night. Quatre sighed and allowed the servant to fix his dress and hair, so he would be presentable. Leading the way to the Great Hall, he felt a shiver of excitement pass along his spine and wondered about it. Perhaps his lord was on his way home?

Thankfully, the children were all in bed, and if they awoke, their nurse would attend them. Quatre tucked a stray wisp of fine blonde hair back under his wimple before seeing to the visitors. He took in their ragamuffin appearance with much shock; he'd only seen clothing of that style once in his life, long ago.....Could it be? His heart fluttered: the gypsies had returned. He nearly fainted at the overwhelming emotions assailing him as his eyes scanned the dirty group, desperately searching for a particular....but no, this couldn't be the same group, could it? If it was, then where was Trowa? What had become of him?

Quatre was so overwhelmed, a maid had to help him into a seat. He shakily faced the gypsies, willing himself to be calm. The leader came foward and knelt before him. "My fine, gentile lady, my band and I have travelled far and wide. We were unexpectedly attacked by a band of robbers, and one of our wagons broke down. We are unable to reach our destination on this night, and humbly ask that, in your good mercy, you will allow us to sleep within your secure walls. We have no money to pay you with, but we would gladly provide an evening's entertainment." The leader's eyes bore beseachingly into his.

Quatre's mind turned....Lord Milliardo would be cross with him for allowing potential thieves into the castle. But in his secret heart of hearts, he didn't truly beleive them to be liars and robbers. Besides, they could always sleep out in the stable or such, and he could station guards to watch them. Besides, he had a funny feeling that he knew the band, that these were the gypsies from his childhood, but, then, where was Trowa? Hm, well, the leader had said a wagon broke down..."Is this all of you?" he demanded suddenly.

"No, my lady. There are two that stayed with the wagon."

"Who are they?"

"My lady, they are our fellow band members-"

"Their names."

"Oh. Catherine and Trowa."

"I see. I have considered, and I shall allow you to spend the night. The lord of the castle is not home, and we could use some entertainment on such a dreary night."

"Thank you, my lady, you are most kind. The tales of your beauty and goodness do not do you justice; the truth is far greater than any legend." The leader knelt and kissed his jeweled hand.

Quatre tugged his hand free when the lips lingered too long. He was married, afterall. "Tales of my beauty? Legend? Surely, you jest."

The leader bravely looked up into his eyes. "Nay, my lady, I assure you. I have travelled far and wide, and have heard the tales of Lord Peacecraft's fair lady. He is right proud of ye, my lady."

Quatre gasped in shock; Milliardo actually bragged about his beauty? But, of course, he would want to show his trophy off. The gypsy rose to his feet and backed away, bowing once more. Quatre recovered quickly enough, and sent two soldiers to escort the gypsies who went to retrieve their comrades.

Quare ordered the servants to see to the gypsies' comfort in the stables, and ordered four more soldiers to watch them. These were hard times, afterall, and he didn't want a beating for being too trusting. He paced his room frantically as he waited for them to return. The gypsy had said Trowa's name...but would Trowa even remember him? He wondered how much Trowa had changed, and if he had a mate now or not. 'Not that it matters,' Quatre thought bitterly. Somehow, though, he didn't think his heart cold take it if the gypsy had found another to call love.

The gypsies returned soon, and, after some time to freshen up and rest, they performed. Quatre's smile hid his worry and turmoil. The last performance revealed Trowa, doing much more complicated tricks than when they were younger, but still earning the most applause from the crowd. Those green eyes met his blue ones and held during the entire performance. Afterwards, Trowa's head listed slightly to the side as he went out a side passage, the green eyes silently inviting him to follow.

Quatre couldn't contain his excitement and nervousness. Hands clenched the flowing material of his gown as he followed Trowa out into the garden. Trowa's back was to him, and he stared at the figure. The gypsy was still lanky and lean, but now much more muscular. His body bore the tell tale lines of a hard, travelling life, still just as secretive and quiet as 15 years ago, only much more sullen. Doubt and uncertainty clouded his mind, but Quatre pushed them back. "D-o you...do you know who I am?"

"You are Lady Peacecraft, wife of the famed Milliardo, keeper and defender of his lord's realm."

That stung. He had wanted Trowa to turn around, rush at him and gather him up in those strong arms, kissing him passionately and declaring his undying love for him. Quatre shook his head. 'Stupid boy, when will you ever clear your foolish heart of such notions....even after all these years....'

"And maybe you are not who I thought you were. I knew a Trowa a long time ago, but he has...faded....Well, I bid thee good night, Gypsy."

Quatre turned to go when a strong, calloused hand caught his fine, smooth one and turned him around. He found himself drowning in forest green eyes thick with a look he had last seen years and years ago... "Even if I were blind and lived for a thousand years, I would always know who you were...Little One."

That name, and that look, brought to Quatre that this was no dream...Trowa was here, saying those words he heard only in his dreams. He felt himself swoon, and was caught up in strong arms. Trowa said nothing, just held him until his breathing was steady and he had calmed himself. "My lady, I am sorry. I shall not trouble thee again. I only regret coming here, now."

Trowa turned to go, but Quatre lost all his restraint and clung to him, tears gathering in his eyes. "H-how can you just leave again...I've thought about you, dreamt about you...now you're here...and you're just going to leave? Do I mean so little to you...or did your love for me die?"

"Little One, not a single day has gone by that I have not thought about you...about us. But now I know we can never be. I have longed to see you once more, to see what you've become, and it breaks my heart yet rejoices to see you so well cared for. If you had been mistreated, I would gladly have whisked you away, be your champion. But you already have one. And children, I hear."

"Noooo.....I have children, yes, and I am protected to the point of being controlled...but I have not love. My heart is dying, and if you left me now, like this, I will surely die."

"Little One, you are strong, and you can survive any task God sets before you."

"Noooooooo!!!!!!!! Trowa!!!!! Please don't leave!!!!!!!!!!" Quatre flung himself at the retreating man, wrapping his arms around that solid waist.

"I-I can not stay the night: the others can, but not me. I can not bear to be so near you...yet have you so unobtainable. It is easier when there are miles and miles between us. I must go, and never come back. I shall, however, always listen for word of a story of Lord Millardo's brave and beautiful wife." The gypsy man disentangled himself from the clinging limbs which he'd dreamed about for years.

"TROWAAAA!!!!!!!!!!"

"Little One, if you follow me, something may happen that you may regret. I would never regret it, not even any remorse for taking another man's love into my bed, not when I laid claim to their heart first. Do you understand me? But I will leave that up to you, Little One."

"Oh, Trowa, how foolish do you think me? I know the consequences, but I am willing to risk it. I have been a dutiful son and wife; now, it is my turn to please myself. My husband is away; he has been for several months now and is not likely to return."

Trowa merely nodded and left the garden, slipping out the gates with the 'lady' of the manor following in his wake.

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They lay in a grassy meadow, underneath the moonlight, which played upon their naked bodies as the made love to eachother. Trowa worshipped the silken, soft body beneath him, showing his love what pleasure sex could bring. With each gentle kiss and caress, he tried to express his deep love that words would never fully express.

As Trowa worked his magic upon his body, Quatre felt wave after wave of new sensation wash over him. Sex with Milliardo had always been a thing to be endured. Not that his husband wasn't gentle, but Milliardo had never strirred this fire growing in him, this deep seated need to be taken and filled, the sensation of soaring. Milliardo had been easy and gentle, leery of hurting his prize, but had only taken pleasure, never given any. Trowa gave, he was only focused on giving Quatre this one night that they would remember until their dying day.

Trowa ran his hands down Quatre's flat chest, reaching down and taking a nipple in his teeth and nipping lightly. As he licked and teased at his chest, he reached down a hand and grabbed Quatre's length, stroking him gently at first, then harder as his mouth and tongue grew more attentive. The boy beneath him shuddered and squirmed as he hardened, squealing as Trowa increased his pace. As Quatre reached his first orgasm in his life, his scream was swallowed by Trowa's mouth covering his own.

Trowa used Quatre's precious fluid as a lubricant. He coated one finger and inserted in into the tight hole he had always dreamed about, moving it around until Quatre became adjusted to it then inserted another and another. Quatre moaned and writhed as the hissing pain gave way to a hot pleasure. He whimpered when the fingers eventually withdrew and Trowa parted his legs and raised them up high, positioning himself to enter. He reached down and claimed Quatre's lips feircly, as if he could take Quatre as his for now and forever. Oh, if only....Trowa wiped away Quatre's tears as he slid into the tight, wet heat and was instantly in paradise.

Trowa began with a slow rocking motion as Quatre adjusted once more to him. Quatre wrapped tightened legs around Trowa, urging the other on. He obliged and sped up rapidly, plunging deeply into Quatre and touching a part of him Milliardo had never touched before. Their pace was so fast and furious, and lasted so long that when Trowa fineally came inside his love, they both collapsed in each other's arms. Quatre cuddled contentedly against Trowa's chest and felt the strong arms wrap around him securely. Before dropping off to sleep, he placed a butterfly light kiss on Trowa's warm, rippling chest muscles.

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Quatre paced his room once more, thankful that they'd woken early enough to sneak back without being noticed. He changed into his nightclothes and lay in bed, feigning sleep when he heard the familiar knock on the door. It was his maid, Hilde. She cheerfully roused him out of bed and dressed him for the day. She had a light blue dress and white wimple for him, but he dug through his closet until he found something hidden in the very back of it. A green velvet dress and light, see-through head scarf; chosen to match Trowa's green eyes. The only reason Quatre had ever bought the green outfit was because of his love's eyes; they were a reminder of his Trowa.

"B-but, my lady,...his lordship does not like you in those colors...he had-had said they were to be burned...I-I thought they were..."

Quatre regarded her with an unusual air of defiance. He was the lady of the castle, not her. "My husband is not here." Was all he said. Hilde clamped her mouth shut and obediantly dressed her mistress praying that Lord Milliardo would not return upon this day.

After breakfast and another performance, the gypsies left. Quatre had not seen Trowa, and did not get to tell his love good-bye. But, when he went to Lord Milliardo's solar to finish the records and accounts, he found a small pile of artifacts from far off lands. He smiled and hid them with his others before performing his daily tasks.

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A month had passed. Quatre heard no more of the gypsies, no matter how hard he listened, and Lord Milliardo did not return. The only new thing that Quatre had found out was that he was pregnant. With Trowa's child. He was joyous that their one time union together would give him a permanant rememberance of their love, but a feeling of dread, too. He would be put to death for infidelity if Milliardo did not come home and lay with him soon.

Quatre's worries were put to rest, for that very afternoon, a battle weary Lord Milliardo and his knights and foot soldiers returned. They were tired and hungry, but victorious. They reeked of sweat, blood, and battle. Quatre quickly arranged for a welcome feast to be prepared, and Hilde changed him into his best gown.

He was waiting upon the bottom step of the entrance into the Great Hall for his lord. When Lord Milliardo approached, he bowed low and murmurred, "Welcome home, my lord."

Milliardo lifted his chin and raised him up. "'Tis good to be here. I want nothing more than a full, hot meal, steaming bath, then..." his tired eyes raked over him, "bed. But first, WE FEAST IN VICTORY!!!!!"

His last words rose as a shout over the crowd, who cheered loudly.

While the stable lads were caring for the horses, the war party retired to the Great Hall, where they feasted and drank until they could no more. The cooks and other servants had hurriedly prepared the feast. Now, the Great Hall's tables were laden with food and drink. Some servant girls, done with their duty, wove flowers and ribbons into their hair then danced before the throng of men, many of whom then led the girls away for a quick tumble in the hay.

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Later that night, Lord Milliardo climbed out of the brass tub in his room and came to his wife, who was drying his hands off after having tended to him. "Unrobe." he ordered. He shot wide blue eyes to him, and Milliardo narrowed his. "Do as you are told."

Quatre gulped and did as bidden, then lay submissvely upon the bed. Milliardo's big, hardened body soon was above his soft alabaster one, taking his pleasure. Quatre suppressed his tears and let his mind slip away to the meadow and Trowa. Before, he had only been able to dream it was Trowa doing the things Milliardo was doing to him. His only way of enduring Milliardo's sex was by pretending Trowa was his lord and husband. But now, he didn't need to pretend...all he had to do was recall. So he closed his eyes and remembered the gentle carresses of Trowa's calloused hands. So strong, yet infinetly gentle...

Milliardo glanced down at his wife. His eyes were closed, and a small smile played about his face. Peculiar, Quatre never once had smiled, moaned, or even moved during sex. Quatre had been quiet and submissive, as a wife should be. But now, as he rode that soft body into the mattress, his hips rose up to meet his thrusts and his head lolled back, offering the hollow of his throat, which Milliardo ignored.

Pulling out of Quatre, he muttered, "Perhaps abscence does make the heart grow fonder. Or, mayhap, you were bored by yourself in this castle. It matters not." His wife turned wide blue eyes on him, then rolled over and went to sleep. Milliardo snorted then fell asleep.

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Quatre fell back on the bed, blue eyes burning fire at his husband. Milliardo loomed over him, brandishing a freshly laundered green velvet dress at him. "This! What's the meaning of this, wife? I thought I ordered you to get rid of this! Do you think I don't know why you bought it?"

Quatre gulped, quickly searching for an explanation. "I bought it because I liked the color!"

"I just had an interesting talk with your hand maiden. Seems not to long before I came back, a band of gypsies showed up, begging for shelter. 'A most ragged group, they were', she said. And there's only one band of theiving gypsies that ever came around here. That, I could ignore, but this...this..."

In a fit of rage, he threw the dress at Quatre. "You had welcomed me so warmly into your bed. Now I know why." He banged his fists upon the stone wall, then leaned his head against it. "You're pregnant, and not with my child. I had thought it was mine, until now. That seals it. The gypsies. The dress. You're a month ahead of term. This means-" Milliardo turned ice cold eyes on Quatre, who began to tremble, "He has returned. How I had hoped he would've died by now."

Quatre gasped. "Yes, that's right, Quatre. I know about him, your gypsy lover. I"ve always known. Think you had me fooled, did you? I always knew it was a matter of time before something happened. But, you see, I'm a patient man. And now, dear wife, I'm going to rid myself of this pest. I shall forgive you, and the child shall be gotten rid of."

Milliardo laughed coldy, heart brokenly and slammed and locked the door. Quatre ran to it and tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge. "Do not allow him out, under any circumstances." He heard Millardo's muffled voice throught the thick doors.

He banged his fists on them, then sank down in hopeless despair and cried.

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Lord Milliardo stocked throughout the halls, calling for his steward. "Saddle up Geese."

"B-b-but, m-my lord, you've just returned from a long, hard journey. The stallion would need rested-"

"I said for you to prepare my mount. NOW!"

"Yes, sire."

"Assist me in donning my armor."

"Yes, sire."

Milliardo retired to his room to wait for his steward. Quatre was huddled in a small, miserable ball. He refused to look at his lord.

This sight only fueled his rage. His wife. His. His property. The little trollop had gone and gotten himself knocked up with another man's bastard. A gypsy bastard. He couldn't bare the disgrace. There was only one thing to do. He wanted to kill Quatre, too, but then everyone would know for sure. Besides, Quatre, for all of this, had been a dutiful wife. He just...strayed. Milliardo could still salvage this. If Quatre wanted a child, then he would have another child. Milliardo could easily impregnate him. But he had to get rid of the bastard, first.

So, a quick stop at the local healer's was all that was needed.

Milliardo was ashamed of what must be done. When he heard Quatre's forlorn sobs, he lost his control and grabbed him, shaking him like a ragdoll. Quatre's eyes widened in terror and surprise, tears flying with the force of his shakes. One landed on Milliardo's cheek. It was only then he realized what he was doing. He was severely breaking the code of chilvary. He was using his superior strength not on an ememy in battle, but upon his own wife, whom he should love and protect! Even if he was a lecherous whore.

Disgusted with himself, he flung him hard against the wall. Quatre bounced off of it and sank dazedly to the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth onto the pink dress.

Milliardo growled like a demon possessed when he saw the crimson liquid, evidence of his cruelty. His sobs pricked his conscience, but he reminded himself sharply that he was the one who sinned. "Cry all you want. Your tears will not save him." His eyes flew up to meet his.

He stalked out, armor be damned; he didn't need it to deal with a gypsy. He stormed down to the stables, where his horse was just finished getting saddled. The only weapon he took was his trusted sword and a hidden dagger. He swung upon the broad back and rode like hell, hunting for the gypsies' trail.

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Milliardo rode all over the land. He rode north and south and found nothing. He rode east and west, and found nothing. He travelled far and wide, and eventually found them.

They were encamped in a protective circle. It was night, and they had a campfire burning bright. A few were still up, sloshed with ale and sharing stories. He rode straight up to them. They looked up in fear and alarm at him, for they knew well who he was. Everyone knew who Sir Milliardo, the King's most favored and feirce knight, was.

They rose and knelt before him. Others ran out of carts and trailers and knelt before him. He ran his gaze scrutinely over them. The leader of the gypsies bowed most humbly. "Greetings, my lord. Would you a cup of ale? We extend our hospitality to the husband of the most generous Lady Peacecraft."

Hearing his wife's name come off of those vagabond lips churned his anger anew. "I am Sir Milliardo. I am looking for one of your band. While you stayed within my residence, a crime was committed. I am searching for the guilty party."

"M-my lord, we have done nothing, I assure you. We were all together, and your lady stationed guards-"

"I know what my foolish wife has done! Now, where is the gypsy named Trowa? Or do I haul you all in?"

"M-my lord, we have done nothing, I assure y-"

"Where is he!!!"

"M-y dear lord, patience, surely there is a misunderstandin-"

"Here I am."

A tall, lanky gypsy appeared out of the shadows. He came just to the edge of the firelight's rim. "Oh, Trowa." A curly, redhaired gypsy woman flung her arms around him. "It's okay, Cathy."

Emerald green eyes defiantly met Milliardo's. Milliardo's narrowed. "Gypsy, you have committed a most heinous crime. Not only did you sleep with a woman above your station, you slept with one who was already married."

Shocked gasps followed by stunned silence,and all eyes turned to Trowa, who didn't flinch or deny it. "I loved Quatre. I still do."

Snarling in rage, Milliardo lost all thoughts of chilvary and pulled out not his sword, but his dagger. He threw it so swiftly and suddenly that the man didn't have time to react. It landed with a thump in Trowa's chest. His eyes widened and glazed over. His body sank to the cold ground. The gypsy woman let out a heart rending cry and knelt over the dead body, sobbing.

Milliardo glanced at the body, then met all of the gypsies eyes. They held shock , growing anger and fear. As much as they wanted to avenge Trowa's fresh death, fear held them back. They had only themselves for protection, but the knight had his fellow knights and the king himself. Milliardo snorted. "Punishment had been delivered. Justice has been served. Get out of this land and never return." With that, he turned the powerful, milk white steed around and left.

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'Noo...Trowa..." Quatre was huddled and crying miserably. He had been unable to stop crying for 2 hours since Milliardo's departure. As he cried, he began to form a plan. He had to warn Trowa. He just had to. He would run away with Trowa. The gypsies travelled all over the world; he and Trowa could find some remote place to call home, and settle down in. Wiping his tear stained face, Quatre changed into his loosest skirt and packed some necessary belongings. He was ready to go when he encountered the door. It made him pause, when he got a sudden idea.

"Please let me out." He begged, not for the first time.

"My lady, I'm very sorry. His lordship says your not to be let out for any reason."

"I have to use the bathroom."

"There's a chamber pot in there, my lady."

"It's full."

"Oh...Shall I summon your servant girl to come and empty it?"

"Yes." Fine, so this wasn't going to be easy. Quatre was desperate. He truly hated what he was going to have to do to Hilde, but he had no choice. As soon as the door was opened and Hilde entered, Quatre brushed past her and ran as quick as he could through out the halls, dodging servants that followed the guard's cry of "Catch him!"

He would have been able to get away if he hadn't been so far along. His stomach had already begun to bulge, slowing him down. Luckily, he still had some agility left. He only had time to throw open a stall door, swing upon the bare back of his gentle dun palefrey and ride like hell. Him running the servants could have stopped, but none of them were brave enough to take on the flying Sandrock.

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Quatre rode hard and relentless, pushing Sandrock as fast as he could go. They travelled for two days on Milliardo's trail. Quatre got lost frequently, never having travelled before and never having been outside the castle in 11 years. Eventually, he came to the gypsy encampment.

Their gay colored clothing had disappeared, replaced by grim, dark colors he didn't know they possessed. They looked up fearfully at his approach and ran into their trailers, preparing for a hasty departure. But Quatre dismounted and snagged the arm of a red haired gypsy woman. "Please, tell me what has happened? Where is Trowa?"

The woman burst into tears and slapped him across the face. Quatre's cheek stung and he fell to the ground. The leader of the gypsies apparently had just spotted them, and he rushed over. "Catherine, are ye daft? That is Lady Peacecraft, and if her husband find out-"

"He doesn't know where I am. I ran away." Quatre said. The leader looked releived as he helped him up. He led him to a log near the empty campfire and set him down. "Cathy, bring him a cup of tea. He's gonna need it."

"Didn't your husband tell you what happened?"

"I ran away shortly after he left. I have to see Trowa-"

The leader looked sorrowful. "That, lad, won't happen."

"But, please, just for a moment. This is urgent! I just need to tell him-"

"Telling me that won't do any good. I can't do anything about it. It's God you'll have to talk to, my lady."

"W-what? Are you s-saying T-trowa's..."

The leader nodded. "Not two days ago, you husband came and killed him. There wasn't anything anyone could do for him. If it helps any, he didn't suffer when he died. The blade struck true."

Quatre couldn't beleive what he was hearing. Trowa, his love, dead? Impossible! Fresh tears sprang up and coursed down his face. His body trembled violently as the truth sank in. The leader held him while he cried. Half way through a sob, Quatre grabbed firm control of himself. "Please, can I see his grave?"

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The leader, with a supportive arm around his shoulders, led Quatre to a fresh mound of earth hidden in the woods. Trowa was buried underneath a tree with only a big stone with rough markings pounded into the earth as a tombstone. Reading the roughtly carved words, Quatre fell into a sobbing heap on the earth, clinging to it for all he was worth.

This just couldn't be. Trowa dead, and they'd only just been reunited. Quatre clutched at his stomach, knowing the birth of their child was more important now than ever before. He already knew the child's name, boy or girl. Trowa. The baby would be named after his beloved.

The thoughts whirled around in his head, and his heart was so heavy and broken with despair, that Quatre collapsed.

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A day later, Quatre awoke in a bed of piled blankets. The first thing he saw was the face of the red haired gypsy girl. She didn't smile at him, but she wasn't hostile, either. Quatre said nothing, nodding his thanks at the bowl of soup she handed him.

But he was unable to eat. It was his fault that Trowa was dead. His fault. And now, he was putting the others in danger simply by being here. He set the bowl aside and tried to stand, but his legs wobbled and he fell, clutching his elbows to hide his shanking. The woman knelt by his side. "I-I must go. I won't endanger everyone."

The woman nodded wordlessly. She started to rise when he caught her hands and looked imploringly into hers. "But my child- Trowa's baby-my husband will kill it. Please, wait until my child is born before you leave this area. Take mine and Trowa's child and raise it with love and care. It is what Trowa would want."

The woman grew angry and slapped Quatre. "What would you know of what Trowa would want?"

Quatre kept his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry. But this child is a part of Trowa. It's his last momento to the world. Will you, who seem to love Trowa so much, leave his child to be cast aside for life? Perhaps to die even?"

The woman paused in her anger .

"My heart wants nothing more to keep Trowa's child. But that would be selfish on my part- this child is not safe with me; I couldn't protect it very well from my husband's wrath. But you-you could. You could take the child far away from his anger, where the child would be safe. Please? You're my only hope."

The woman nodded. "Only for Trowa."

Quatre smiled despite the new stinging mark on his already bruised cheek. "Thank you."

She snarled. "Don't thank me; I'm doing this for my brother, not you. Never you. You should have died instead of Trowa! It should've been you!"

Quatre's head dropped and his hand flew to cover his stomach. "I know. But I'm thanking you for Trowa, and his child."

She was stunned and said no more as she watched Quatre shakily gain his feet and stumble to the door. He turned around. "I need your name. If you stay here until the child is born, then you can ride and catch up with your band. I will give you money for your provisions and housing, and I will give you more when you leave. I need your name, so I will know who to contact."

The woman's fury and grief returned. "If you think you can pay me off- I will not be bought! So typical of your class. You think you're better than everybody else. That you never have to pay the consequences. Trowa died because of you, and you think you can pay me to conveineintly rid you of his bastard?!!!!!!!"

"No! That's not it at all! I just thought, since you're staying here, it would be easier for you if I gave you money. I thought it would be easier to care for the child without having to worry about an extra mouth to feed. That's all, I meant no insult by it."

The woman was too enfuriated for words. She stalked over and backfisted Quatre so hard he fell out of the wagon and landed harshly in the mud, scraping his cheek on a rock. He raised himself up on unsteady arms to look sadly at her. She loomed in the small door way, a ferocious scowl twisting her features. He sighed when a large shadow enveloped him, and he glanced up sharply in fear.

It was just the gypsy leader. Quatre's heart gave a shudder of relief. "What's going on?" he heard the man say.

"Milliardo's bitch just offered to pay me to take his bastard, that's all." The woman shrugged and turned to go back in.

"Catherine!" The leader bellowed, but Catherine ignored him, slamming the door shut.

He knelt to help Quatre, whose stomach was so round it kept him off balance and his legs were to weak to haul himself up. "Forgive her, she's dealing with her brother's death. They were very close, and it pained her that he never confided his love for you to her."

Quatre gently pulled away from the leader. "Thank you."

The leader shook his head. "It is us who should thank you. Trowa, as you undoubtedly know, had a harsh life. Harsher than any of us ever had. The only time I've seen joy on his face was when we came to this place. I would often see you in the crowd, and see how he smiled, just for you. You brought happiness into his life."

Quatre's eyes were downcast. He shook his head. "I"ve brought nothing but sorrow and ruin. It's my fault he's dead. I never should have...And now, I'm placing everyone in danger just by being here. I thank you for your kindness, but I must go before my husband finds me here."

He turned to fetch his horse when the leader caught his arm. "Not very long ago, you provided us with shelter. You showed us kindness,even when your own people advised you not to."

"And you returned the favor. I thank you, and wish you luck in your travels."

"I can not let Trowa's love, who is pregnant with his child, to just be cast aside with nowhere to go."

"It matters not what happens to me; without Trowa, I have no desire to live. My child is all that matters." Quatre suddenly turned wide, teary and beseeching eyes upon the gypsy leader. He sank to his knees in the mud, clutching at the man's tunic, all of his fear and hopes going into one last, fervent plea for his unborn child. "Please, take mine and Trowa's child. Trowa was a member of the band; surely, his child must fall under its protection."

The man was taken aback by the fervent pleading. He stepped back, and Quatre's hands dropped along with his heart, which shattered into a thousand tiny, irrepairable peices. "P-please," he tried one last time,"my husband will kill the child. Please, when he is born, take him. I have nowhere else to turn. Please."

The wagon door suddenly slammed open and Catherine stormed out. She hadn't heard Quatre's softly uttered plea. "NO! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO USE TROWA'S MEMORY TO MANIPULATE HIM! MY BROTHER ISN'T EVEN COLD IN THE GRAVE, AND YOU WOULD USE HIS MEMORY FOR YOUR OWN SELFISH WHIMS?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

She once more smartly slapped Quatre, who wasn't expecting it. He fell once more to the ground, his cheek now turning black and blue. She was about to deliver another blow when the leader caught her by the shoulders and shook her sharply. "Catherine, that is enough out of you. I understand that you are in mourning. But so is this one. You have your family, the troup, to support you. He has no one. And you are not pregnant. As Trowa's sister, it is your duty to see to his unfinished duties. Which means you will stay behind and await the arrival of Trowa's child. I will leave a guide behind with you. Then you will catch up with the troupe at a planned meeting point. Understand?" Catherine nodded.

"And you, my lady," The leader pulled Quatre up, "will return home and take care of yourself and the baby. I would keep you with us, but your husband's temper is as legendary as your beauty. There is nowhere on the earth you or your child would be safe. It would be best if you go back to him. He would not harm you severely, and once the child is gone, all should be okay."

Quatre nodded and a gypsy boy readied his horse for him.

@@@@@@@@

Months passed. The gypsy troupe left, leaving Catherine behind in a village hut. Quatre snuck money from his husband by playing with the figures in his ledger. He had smuggled a small fortune for his child, his only gift to him. It hadn't been easy, however. Milliardo had kept him under lock and key. He was still confined to the castle, but now had some servant constanly hoovering about, watching his every move. He was only alone when he was in his bedroom, and the door was locked.

The people of the castle viewed him as a traitor. Where he was once loved and respected, they now viewed him at tainted and tarnished. Even Hilde had turned her back on him. The only one he had for comfort and companionship was his unborn child, whom he often talked and sang to.

Then the day came when he lost his companion and rememberance of Trowa. He went into labor and gave birth to a fine young boy with tawny brown hair, alabaster skin, and sparkling green eyes. Trowa's son. He wrapped the baby and the money in cloth, and had Hilde smuggle it out. He had begged and pleaded with her, on their friendship of old, to do one last favor for him. She hadn't wanted to, but her loyalty to him wasn't completely dead yet, she hadn't managed to kill all of it off. She smuggled the baby out under the guise of going to drown it in the nearby river. At the riverbank, she met with Catherine and her guide. She quickly handed the baby and money over to the two cloaked, mounted figures and watched as they galloped away as fast as possible, wishing she was going with them.

@@@@@@@@

The castle became a dull, dreary place. Once it shone with love and laughter, the products of Quatre's influence, but now it reflected the depths of despair. Shortly after the birth and 'drowning' of his bastard, and much beloved son, Quatre died. It was a cloudy, rainy day when Hilde walked into the chamber and found Quatre dead. There was no explanation other than a broken heart. With his true love and child gone, he had no reason to live.

The castle life quickly fell apart. Lord Milliardo did regret his actions, and carried the guilt to his deathbed. He had truly loved Quatre, mostly for his beauty, but also for his kindness and submissivity. He had been the perfect bride. And he had never treated him as he deserved. He did, however, marry again. He fell in love with and married Lucrecia Noin. She was of noble birth, but not as noble as Quatre's. Though he loved her, he found her sorely lacking compared to Quatre. She bore him children, but Quatre's children remained his most beloved. Even with a new lady of the manor, the castle and it's residents could never escape Quatre's haunting spirit.

Quatre was supposedly buried with his ancestors. At least, in the official records. But Hilde, as a last favor and task to her beloved mistress, had the body buried where she'd overheard the lady tell his child his father was buried. She had secretly arranged for Quatre to be buried with his love.

Trowa and Quatre's child grew to be a fine young man. He grew up on tales told him by the leader of the troupe and his Aunt Catherine of his mother and father. And every summer, whether the troupe came or not, he would always bring some flowers and small gifts from the places he visited to place upon their grave. He would sit and tell them of his travels and learnings. No matter where in the world he was, however, on a warm, perfect day, he felt their love shining down on him, and knew that one day, he would meet them.

owari

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this is one of my longer fics...and i finished it quickly, too; took me only about a week to type the whole thing up ^.^ this is an odd one, but a good one ^.^