My Own True Love (30 page)

The man's expression went from distantly polite to cynically amused. "Really?"

Bad move, Sara realized, never mind that it was the truth. If Lewis wasn't able to accept their marriage as the truth, it was going to be worse with his countrymen. "I want to help nurse him." She tried another tack. "I just want to help."

"Admirable," Ambassador Tate replied. "But not necessary." He gestured toward the palace. "I don't care one way or another for your kind, but Duke Alexander would frown on my harboring one of you.

Good day," he said firmly. He stepped back inside. The butler slammed the door in her face again before Sara could say another word. The last thing she saw was his nasty, superior smile.

"No!" she screamed. She leapt forward, her shoulder jarring into the solid wood. She pounded on the door. "Lewis!" She grabbed the brass knocker and banged it as forcefully as she could against the door.

She shouted until she was hoarse. Eventually the footmen reappeared. One of them was carrying a short leather whip.

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

"What were you doing at the English house?" Captain Rudeseko asked as he picked her up off the street.

Sara was thankful for all the layers of clothing she was wearing. She was even more thankful neither of the men had had any enthusiasm for their job. She thought they'd been more interested in getting her to go away than in actually hurting her. She was bruised and aching and humiliated, but not really hurt. She'd only pretended to be unconscious after she'd rolled down the steps to get the footmen to go away.

They'd gone.

She didn't know where the guard captain had come from. Then she remembered the embassy was only a few feet from the palace. She wondered how much Rudeseko had seen.

"Well?" he asked, tilting up her chin with his fingers. "What were you doing there?"

A jolt of fear went through her at his question. It wouldn't help the Rom for the grand duke to find out they'd been harboring a British spy. "Begging," she answered him. Her gaze slid away from him. "Just begging, sir."

He grunted. "Odd," he said. "I thought you might have come looking for help for your husband."

"No!" she said, too quickly. "I was hungry. I was just begging for food."

He made another suspicious sound, but he didn't challenge her story again. He gently wiped the mixture of dirt and tears off her face. "Looks as though you picked the wrong place. Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, and ignored the fact that it made her a little dizzy. "No."

He smiled. "Good. I'd hate to have to take you to my lady for nursing."

"Lady?"

"Maxim's governess, Miss Meinstad. We're betrothed." His fond smile was not for Sara. "Denise doesn't much care for propriety. If you were hurt she'd insist on caring for you."

"That could be awkward," Sara said dryly.

He nodded. "You'd better get your cart out of here," he added. "Before I have to arrest you since you aren't hurt."

Why hadn't he arrested her already? she wondered. Never mind Denise, Rudeseko worked for the duke. She carefully didn't ask questions as he guided her by the elbow and took her over to the
bardo.

He helped her up on the seat and handed her the reins. "Go," he said. He slapped the horse nearest him on the rump.

Sara called "Thank you," as the wagon rolled forward, but her mind was far more on losing Lewis than on her encounter with the guard captain as she drove back to Mikal's.

"It's for the best," the ring kept saying. "He'll be fine."

After a while she didn't know if it was the ring who kept repeating the words in her head, or if she was just talking to herself. She did know she didn't believe it, no matter who was doing the talking.

Beng was waiting at Mikal's when she returned. He helped her with the horses in silence. Once they'd left the stables for cups of strong tea from the samovar in the kitchen he said, "Why did you take Toma to the British?"

Sara sat down heavily at the table. She looked up at the man who thought he was her father. She felt a wave of affection for him as she looked into his worried gaze. She decided to tell him the truth. "He is British," she said. "Not Anglo-Romany, not Calderash, but British."

He didn't look as if he believed her. She almost smiled as she remembered how much Beng had disliked Toma originally. "Toma is a
gajo?"

She nodded. "A British military officer. A spy."

He rubbed a hand across his stubbled jaw. "And a good one, I'll wager." .

"What?" There'd been pride in Beng's voice when she'd expected him to be scoffing and furious.

"My son-in-law would be good at whatever he does," Beng declared. "What does he call himself when he isn't Toma?"

"Bond," she said without thinking, "James Bond. Why am I joking about this?" she asked, incredulous at her own flippant words.

"Because if you don't laugh at this it will crush you," the ring answered quickly.

"It's really Lewis Morgan," she corrected. "I don't know what I'm saying sometimes." '

"James Bond Lewis Morgan." Beng rubbed his jaw again. "I've known Anglo-Romany named Morgan. So my grandchildren will be called Morgan."

"Yeah. I guess." She put her hand protectively over her abdomen, and sighed worriedly.

"Why did you take him to the
gajo?"
Beng asked again.

"There was nothing we could do for him. He needs a doctor."

"What for?" Beng demanded. "So they can bleed the life out of him?" He shook a finger under her nose. "You should have sent for a wise woman, girl, not put your trust in
gajo
medicine."

Maybe she should have. She didn't know. She just wanted Lewis to get well. She looked at Beng in miserable silence.

He said, "Drink your tea."

Before she could Mikal came in with two other men and a stout older woman. The woman was the widow of a printer named Madelinki. Her husband had been killed when the duke's soldiers had destroyed his press. There was a rumor that the press had been repaired. The two men she'd met before.

One was a merchant with a booth in the busy square near the palace. The other ran an employment service that supplied domestic help to wealthy households. She had plans for ways to use all these people.

While she couldn't put the worried thoughts of Lewis out of her mind, she made herself focus on the reason she'd asked for this meeting. Maybe if she was able to concentrate on hope for Bororavia's future she wouldn't think too much about how bleak her own would be without Lewis in it.

Mikal got them seated around the kitchen table, then stepped back to stand guard by the door. With everyone's attention centered on her, Sara took a fortifying sip of strong tea and got started.

"Communications and reliable intelligence reporting are invaluable for what we have to do. We have to know what the duke and his supporters are planning at all times so we can counter their every move. We need to organize a network of spies."

"We need weapons," Beng said. "We can't fight the
gajo
without weapons."

"I know," she agreed. "But we also need to know exactly how many we have to fight and where they're the most vulnerable and who will help us. A disorganized revolt is known as a riot. Riots might start revolutions, but they don't win them." Now, where had she gotten that slogan from? she asked herself as Beng gave a grunt of agreement. She looked at Madam Madelinki. "And we need to spread the word of what we're doing, what the enemy is doing, and what needs to be done in every corner of the country." She put her hands earnestly over the older woman's and looked deep into her worried eyes.

"I need your help."

For some reason they listened to her. People had been listening to her ever since she'd arrived in Bororavia. She didn't know why. Maybe she was just the only person who'd offered any solutions to the duke's tyranny. She knew she was just stumbling around blindly, doing insane things and trying to sound as if they made perfect sense. People were following her. She hoped it wasn't blindly. Maybe she was the Heroine of the Revolution.

She just hoped Lewis lived long enough to be the Hero.

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

"What about Captain Rudeseko?" Sara said.

She'd asked the question in response to Mikal's wondering who was going to lead the force they were recruiting and training in the winter woods. He stared at her response, big brown eyes full incredulity.

They were alone in the kitchen for once. While Ana put the babies to bed they sat by the stove, drank tea, and talked about the future.

"Well, why not?" she went on. One thing Sara didn't want to talk about was the present. The present was a horrible limbo of days that passed with no word on whether or not Lewis was still alive. She had set a constant watch on the British embassy but no word had yet come back. She knew she was going to have to get someone inside as a servant. Maybe she could get hired as a scullery maid. But infiltrating the British embassy wasn't the subject of the discussion; the coming confrontation with the duke's German mercenaries was.

"Rudeseko?" Mikal scoffed. "He's captain of the guard!"

Sara folded her hands around her glass teacup. "Yeah," she agreed. "But I got the impression he doesn't like his job very much."

"He still won't side with peasants against the nobles."

"That's why we're working to get the nobles on our side," she reminded him. "We know we can depend on some of them already. Rudeseko could help win over more."

Mikal snorted his disagreement as he picked up his tea. Before the rim of the cup reached his lips the man's big eyes got even wider with shock, and the cup dropped from his hands.

As glass shattered on the tiled floor Sara rose and whirled to face what had caused Mikal's reaction.

She'd been sitting with her back to the curtained doorway that led into the shop. When she saw the big man standing in the entrance, one hand holding back the black curtain, she blurted out, "Captain Rudeseko, we were just talking about you!"

Dumb, she told herself as he turned a puzzled look on her. Dumb, dumb, dumb. "I mean," she went on hastily, "I was wondering about Max—his highness— and Miss Meinstad, and you." Her voice trailed off as he continued to stare. "Hi," she finished lamely. Behind her, Mikal busied himself with cleaning up spilled tea and broken glass.

"Good evening," Rudeseko said at last. He moved from the doorway, filling up the room with his large presence. His gaze didn't leave hers. "Your husband, how is he?"

Sara was at a loss at how to answer the grave question for a few moments. Finally, she swallowed hard and decided to say, "He's dead, Captain."

Rudeseko nodded. "My apologies, Sara. I'm sorry for your loss," he went on, "but your loss makes my duty easier."

"Duty?" The word came out as a frightened squeak. She backed up a step; then the solid table stopped any further retreat. He took a step closer to her. She considered vaulting over the table and running for the back door.

Rudeseko's hand closed around her forearm. She knew there was no breaking that grip. "I've come to take you to the palace," he said.

The palace? The mad duke's palace? The palace of the mad duke she was organizing a revolt against?

She was being arrested? Taken to prison? To be tortured? Executed? What if they questioned her?

Would she spill her guts? Betray her people?

"Oh, dear God," she whispered. She felt as if she was going to faint.

"Gather your things," Rudeseko said.

"Things?" she whispered. She shot a frightened glance at Mikal, but Mikal was no longer in the room.

Off to gather up Ana and the children and escape, she hoped. "Things? Why would I need things in prison?"

"I'm not taking you to prison," the guard captain said. "I'm taking you to the palace. You, and your guitar, and the child Beth have been sent for." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Hurry up, it's a cold night and the snow is growing thick outside."

Chapter 20

Fingers brushed across
his temple, cool and light. "Do you think he'll be returning to life any time in 1812?"

Lewis heard the words, but he didn't recognize the voice, and they certainly didn't make sense. What year was it? Where was he?

"Sara? Where's Sara?" His hand groped out, encountered a fabric-clad arm. He clutched at the arm and croaked, "Sara?"

"There he goes again," a weary, worried voice said. "I thought you said the fever had broken, Dr.

Ames. He's been delirious for a fortnight."

"The infection is most insidious. The fever comes and goes. I bleed him, but the humors are not cooling."

"Sometimes I think Western medicine is useless. I think I'll let Dr. Liang have a look at him."

"Liang!" The indignant protest grated on Lewis's nerves. He was very nearly awake. He tried desperately to push himself further toward lucidity, but he simply couldn't make the final effort. He was forced to remain a mute victim while the man's anger ground over him. "You'd turn my patient over to that heathen Chinaman you found in the sewers of India? That's madness, Tate!"

"You're clearly not doing the man any good. Dr. Liang's a scholar, and a friend, so mind your tongue when you speak of him. I should have thought of calling him in earlier. But he's been holed up in his room translating some Sanskrit manuscripts for weeks and I very nearly forgot his existence." The speaker made a thoughtful noise. "Yes, Ames, I definitely think Dr. Liang will be in charge of the lieutenant's case from now on."

"Well!"

Things banged, there was the heavy sound of feet stomping across a hardwood floor, a door slammed. The noises hurt so much Lewis wanted to scream. Fingers brushed across his temple again.

"Sara?"

"You've seen the last of your gypsy temptress, lad. You rest now."

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

The next time Lewis came awake his head was full of memories of a smiling old man. The old man had told him that he had lingered on even when the foreign-devil excuse for a physician had nearly killed him because his soul was intimately linked to the strength of another. They were two souls with much to work out. Lewis vaguely remembered Sara's saying, "Tell me about it," but the voice had been his own.