My Own True Love (14 page)

He was smiling with anticipation when Beth came hurtling down the.stairs. "Toma!" she crowed happily. He was barely out of the chair when she threw herself in his arms. "Oh, Toma, Toma, Toma!"

He ruffled her hair. "You missed me, mud lark."

Bright eyes shone up at him. "Oh, yes! Where's Sara?"

"You ran away from Sara," he reminded her.

"Did not! I ran away from Molly."

"I should send the mite back to Mother Cummings," Mrs. Hart said, coming up to them. She put her hand on Beth's thin shoulder. "Lord knows I can't afford to feed her much longer."

Lewis sighed. "Better being a thief than a whore?" he asked.

"The girl needs to earn her keep somehow."

"True, true," he agreed. He pulled coins from his vest pocket. They disappeared into the woman's apron almost before he handed them over. "Don't worry, Mrs. Hart. Beth's my responsibility now."

Beth crowed with delight. She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the door without a glance or farewell for the woman. Mrs. Hart didn't bother bidding the child Godspeed, either. They were well away from Mrs. Hart's before Beth asked, "Where we going?"

"France," he answered with a grin.

Her eyes went round. "Ooh! You and me and Sara?"

He nodded. "Sara misses you, mud lark."

"Why are we going to France?" she demanded. "What are we going to steal?"

The little girl certainly had the right of it. He chuckled. The street around was empty but for a flock of bold pigeons that barely moved from feeding to let them past. "Pigeon's blood," he said. "That's what the color's called."

"What?" She tugged impatiently on his hand. "What's pigeon's blood?"

"The ruby," he said. He ruffled her hair again. "We're going to France, mud lark, to steal a ruby brooch."

The girl cooed like one of the birds at their feet. "Oooh! That sounds like fun!"

Fun? He shrugged uncomfortably. Sara wasn't going to think so.

******************

"Of course I'm coming."

Sara tried not to flinch as Beng's dark glare was turned on her. The crowd muttered at her back and hot sunlight poured down on her head, but Sara stood her ground next to Molly's garish wagon. "Tell her she is not going with us," Beng ordered.

"Tell her yourself," Sara answered. "She's your sister."

Molly planted her hands on her hips and tilted her chin stubbornly up at her brother. "I'll follow in your dust if I have to, but I'm going home."

Beng swept his arm out. "You made your choice, woman." The muttering from the Rom witnessing the confrontation grew louder, more threatening.

"I'm going with you," Molly insisted.

Sara didn't know why a nice lady with a comfortable inn wanted to face the hazards of the trek across Europe, but the tribe's hostility was even harder to fathom. Oh, she understood
mirame

—uncleanliness— intellectually, but she didn't have to like it. Or put up with it. She rounded on the crowd.

"Do you know where we got this pollution crap? We brought it with a major inferiority complex out of India when we started traveling a thousand years ago. It was a caste thing; the Rom were somewhere very low on the social scale and it's kept us humble ever since. We don't live in India anymore, people!

Okay," she ranted on to their uncomprehending stares, "we need our customs to keep our identity. I'm proud of who I am, but I won't honor any custom that perpetuates that inferiority complex!"

Beng touched her on the shoulder. She swiveled her head to look at him. "What?" he asked, confusion warring with his usual angry expression.

"Just let the woman come along, okay?"

"Sara's possessed," one of the women in the crowd said. "Her words make no sense."

It was Evan who spoke up for her. "I don't know," he said, rubbing his gray-stubbled chin. "My mother was taken back into the tribe after that Welsh sailor raped her and she had me. Molly was exiled for marrying a
gajo."

"She abandoned the
familia,"
Beng stated.

"She's back now," Evan pointed out. "With a fine
bardo,
and gold to help with the journey."

"We don't need her
gajo
gold," Beng said.

"Could come in handy," Sandor said. "It's a long way to Bororavia."

One of the older women scratched thoughtfully at a wart on her jaw. "She's a widow, a woman should have a husband."

"Your son's been a widower for a month!" Beng stormed. "Hadari would rather share his tent with the bear than have trash like her."

"I remember what a fine cook she used to be," Hadari said for himself. "Do you still fry cucumbers with cream?" he asked Molly.

Sara covered her mouth to keep from laughing at the look of consternation on Beng's face. She backed away as the conversation continued. Molly was as strong-willed as her brother and perfectly willing to fight her own battles.

******************

"You've developed quite a way with words," Lewis said as Sara turned around and saw him leaning against their
bardo,
watching her. He'd arrived just in time to overhear her speech to the shocked gypsies. Most of it had made no sense, but he found himself admiring her force of character. And, he had to admit he was curious about the things she'd said. He'd learned very little of gypsy history in the studying he'd done to assume this role.

"Just expressing my own opinion," she said as she came up to him. "And most Rom in my own time don't agree with it. Except..." She looked back at the debating crowd. "The Borava," she said on a sigh.

"What you might call a dysfunctional
familia.''
She groaned. "If you weren't a slime I'd apologize for that bad pun."

Lewis put out an arm and snagged her to his side as he noticed several people looking their way.

Playing the devoted bridegroom was easy when it meant having her soft curves nestled close to him. But her beauty could only distract him momentarily from her odd behavior. "Be careful what you say," he warned. "I've worked too hard to get into this tribe to have you get us both tossed out."

She flashed him an annoyed look. "Just helping a friend. Get your hands off me," she added as his fingers rubbed slow circles on her hip. It made her tingle; the tingling implied that far more serious sensations could result from his touch.

"Come inside," he urged with a slow, seductive smile.

"Oh, no." She shook her head. "I promised Janitza I'd help her finish packing." He ignored her and pulled her up the step into the wagon. "Now, wait a minute—Beth!"

The girl jumped off the bed as Sara pushed past Lewis to reach the girl. "'Alio, Sara," Beth said as Sara grabbed her shoulders.

"Where have you been? Molly and I have been—"

"She's coming with us," Lewis said. "I've promised her a trip to Paris."

Sara looked over her shoulder at the spy, narrow-eyed with suspicion.
"You
found her? Why?"

Lewis read her thoughts on her face and felt himself blush for the first time in years. He couldn't blame her for thinking he would use Beth against her. Since he'd done it already. "I thought you wanted to take care of the girl," he said. "If you'd rather not—"

"Of course I want her." She hugged Beth, then swung around. "Paris?" she questioned sharply. "What do you mean, Paris? The place Napoleon lives?" He nodded. "Why—"

"'Cause of the pigeon—"

"Not now," Lewis cut off Beth/s rush of words. He smiled coaxingly at the child. He beckoned her toward the door. "Why don't we get you settled in with Molly."

"Molly!" she complained. "Why Molly?"

"You'll only have to sleep in her wagon. You can spend most of your time with us," he explained. He led her outside while Sara looked on in angry confusion. The caravan was nearly ready to leave the encampment. He'd deal with Sara when they were safely on the road. He winked at Beth. "Me and Sara need to be alone nights," he explained.

"So you can tumble her?"

He nodded. "She's my wife now."

"Really?" Beth looked delighted at the notion.

No. It was all an impossible game. "Yes," he said. "Really."

******************

"Bet you didn't think I could handle this back-to-nature camping-out stuff, did you?"

Lewis frowned at Sara's odd question. "Why wouldn't I?"

"'Cause I'm a city girl. My dad used to make us go camping every summer when I would have been happier at home playing softball. Sometimes we got together with friends and roughed it for two weeks.

Dad said it was good to remember the 'old ways.' I think he just wanted a cheap vacation." She gave a self-satisfied smile. "I think I'll start some sourdough tomorrow. I even know how to bake it in warm ashes."

"It's a common way of baking bread," Lewis told her.

"Not where I come from."

Sara stirred the pot hanging over the small cook fire. She liked the smell of the woodsmoke. She liked the smell of the air now that they were well away from London. The heat of the day had been cooled by a soft evening breeze. The caravan was camped by a stream on the edge of a field of what she'd been told was hops. She'd been assured the farmer who owned the field used Rom field hands at harvesttime so they didn't have to fear being run off.

"1 don't suppose there's such a thing as state parks and camping permits in this era," she said.

"What?" Lewis peered at her in the growing dusk. "Why do you say such odd things?"

Sara looked up. "This is the best time of day, isn't it? When the sky still has some blue in it, with pink on the edges and the trees are just black silhouettes hanging on the edge of night."

Lewis couldn't fight the twinge of affection he felt toward the girl. It wasn't just that she was beautiful.

Her face, illuminated by firelight, was turned up in wonder at the early stars overhead. She glowed, not just because of the fire, but with life and wit and intelligence. Intelligence? He shook his head. "You're mad," he said.

She leveled a sharp gaze on him. He was halfway ready to swear the girl looking at him wasn't the girl he'd been courting for the last month. A shiver ran up his spine. "What are you up to?" he asked her.

"About five foot in this body. I'm not used to being short," she added. "And I don't like it."

"You're a pocket Venus," he told her. The compliment came easily, despite his growing misgivings. "A week ago you could barely manage a few broken sentences of English, now you're spouting poetry to the sunset. Where did you learn to read? To play music? What sort of spell have you fallen under?"

Sara settled down cross-legged across the fire from Lewis. Onion-scented steam rose from the boiling pot but it didn't obscure her clear view of the puzzled man opposite her. They were hidden from the rest of the camp by the dark bulk of the wagon at Lewis's back. She could hear people nearby caring for the tethered horses, but the two of them were quite alone for the moment.

She held up her right hand and looked Lewis Morgan in the eye. "This," she said. "It's a magic ring."

Lewis peered at her hand. "You're not wearing a ring."

Sara cast a look of deep annoyance at her hand. "It's invisible. It says it can only be seen when it wants to be seen. Convenient for it, but—"

"What nonsense." Lewis gestured angrily. "Do you really believe in magic rings?"

"Not until recently." Sara touched the citrine stone. "You could say something," she suggested to it.

"Talk to him? Not on your life."

"Why not?"

"He's not ready to believe in me yet."

"That didn't stop you with me."

"That was different."

"Right." She glanced at Lewis, who looked disgusted. "It's up to something," she told him. "First it transported me from the future. Then it tried to make me think you're my own true love—"

"He is."

"I'm not talking to you."

"Then who are you talking to?" Lewis asked.

"I was talking to you."

"You just said you weren't."

"No, I didn't. I was talking to the ring."

"You're not wearing a ring."

"Yes, I am. You just don't think I am. I could take it off and show it to you, but I'm not handing over a potential secret weapon to a spy."

"I—see." He didn't, but it seemed useless to argue about it anymore. She was mad. Or dangerously clever. Or he was mad. He certainly didn't feel clever. He was intrigued despite himself. "From the future?" He knew he shouldn't get involved in her flight of fancy, but he found himself anxious to find out where it led. "The ring brought you here from the future?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly."

"For its own mysterious purposes."

"That's what I think, but it won't tell me. It's a wish ring," she added. "I'm going to wish myself back to 1994 when it'll let me."

"Let you?"

"It only grants wishes one day a year," she explained. She chuckled. "I just realized it granted me a wish I didn't know I wished for. I must have made it before midnight." He narrowed his eyes questioningly, but when he didn't ask, she said, "You were spouting all this Cockney and Regency slang and I remember wishing you'd use language I understood. And you have ever since."

She looked as if she'd just presented him with some sort of proof she was indeed possessed of magic.

Come to think of it, he hadn't been using much slang. ... He forced the thought to a halt before he could finish it. He was not going to let himself get involved in this. "You're practicing the
bujo
on me," he decided.

Beth and Molly arrived to share their supper before she could refute his accusation. Sara turned her attention from their conversation, and him, with a speed he found disconcerting. In fact, with the other women for company, she had no trouble ignoring him for the rest of the evening. Eventually the women went off to the stream to bathe and wash the dishes. He went off to sit and smoke with the men, but he soon got bored. He left the men joking about the impatience of bridegrooms, though he would have sworn he wasn't anxious to be alone with Sara before hearing the teasing jests as he walked away. But he found that he did want to be alone with her. As he mounted the step to the
bardo
he was wondering what it would be like to kiss her so much she'd have no chance to get a word in before he laid her down on the featherbed.