Wild Bells to the Wild Sky (36 page)

Taking the package of gingerbread, Lily pushed a giggling Tillie toward the door. Lily bid the Stubbleses a good afternoon, while a grinning Romney Lee received a polite nod.

"And what can we be doin' fer ye, Rom?" Ben Stubbles asked.

But Romney Lee was already halfway to the door and called back over his should, "I just came in
to get out of the rain, Ben,"
Then he was gone.

The rain had stopped, but the wind continued to swirl along High Street as Lily hurried along the slippery cobblestones toward the stables where she had left the cart and her horse.

"I hope Farley has returned. I'd rather not linger in the village now that the rains have stopped. We might be able to reach Highcross before another downpour," Lily said worriedly, increasing her pace as she heard a distant rumble of thunder.

"Ye want me to call in at the Oaks, Mistress Lily?" Tillie offered as she scampered along beside, her arms full of packages and her mind full of dreams of Farley Odell. Unable to see where she placed her feet, she slipped and would have fallen except for a quick hand that reached out and steadied her.

The packages, however, did not fare so well and lay scattered across the muddied lane. "You haven't hurt yourself, have you, Tillie?" Lily asked out of habit, for the young maid was always stumbling into something, bumping her shin, or stubbing her toe. In fact, Tillie was a menace to be around, Lily thought as she bent down to gather the packages up before they were ruined, but Romney Lee was faster and soon had them held firmly in his grasp.

"Oh, I'm fine, mistress, thanks to him," Tillie said breathlessly, risking a quick glance at the man who'd save her from taking a spill. She'd never been so close to him before. She could scarcely believe he was even more handsome than she'd thought. He was certainly tall, she realized as she stared up into these dark blue eyes. And had the softest-looking chestnut curls. And when he grinned, as he was doing now, his teeth gleamed against the darkness of his skin and beard. He had the longest, thickest lashes, and he even wore a sparkling jewel in one ear. Tillie sighed as she tested her ankle for a sprain. Somehow she couldn't quite see Farley wearing a ruby in one ear.

"Good as new. Won't stop me scrubbin' the hall tomorrow," she said with a grin.

"Why don't you go warn Farley Odell that Mistress Lily is wanting to leave now?" Romney advised, his smile leaving Tillie breathless and wondering who Farley Odell was. "I'll see your mistress safely to the stables."

"Thank you, but that is not necessary," Lily began, but Tillie had already taken off down the lane, unmindful of her steps again as she hurried to the Oaks. "Please, I can take the packages now," Lily protested, holding out her hand.

Romney Lee smiled as he placed his hand beneath her arm and led her along High Street. But when he became aware of the curious stares following their progress, he dropped her arm and said, "I will leave you."

Lily glanced at him in surprise, wondering at suck fickleness. Seeing her puzzlement, Romney laughed harshly. "I would walk by your side forever, Mistress Lily, but, alas, I am not considered a proper escort for a young woman of good reputation," he explained, boldly returning a woman's rude stare until, affronted, she looked away. "I would not wish to cause you any trouble."

Lily surprised him with her laughter. "As far as Mistress Fordham is concerned, I have little reputation to preserve. And I fear her tongue has already destroyed that. She has never cared for me or for my brother and sister. I wonder if she has ever liked any of my family. I truly do not understand her hatred of us. We have never wished her or anyone in this village ill, and yet many persist in being suspicious of us."

"It is because you are different from them, Lily Christian.
They
are frightened of things they do not understand.
The
superstitions of old fill their minds and they forget all that they have learned and know to be the truth. We gypsies get blamed for drought, famine, flood, and many a theft that we had nothing to do with," he said with a bitter smile as he doffed his hat to a woman walking by, the gesture more mocking than gentlemanly.

"Why do you allow them to treat you like that? You are only part gypsy. You speak in a refined manner and do not look like
-
-" Lily beg
an, then paused uncertainly. "I
am sorry. I should have not said that."

"I do not look that much like a gypsy, and so I could pretend to be a gentleman? You have not offended me," he said. "
But
Mistress Fordham was right about one thing. You cannot change what you are, even if you wished to. I am proud, Lily Francisca. And so are you. Would you change the way you act just because of the disapproval of some narrow-minded, mean-thinking woman? Would you conceal that beautiful red hair of yours merely because someone else thought it unseemly? No, I do not think so," Romney Lee said, eyeing her thoughtfully. "Out of defiance you would braid bright ribbons in your hair just to make it all the more noticeable and all the prettier."

Lily met his gaze openly. He was so different from what she had thought he would be like. She had been mistaken about him, she realized, ashamed.
She
had been guilty of being just like the villagers who'd condemned her and her family so unfairly.

"My father might have been an Englishman, but I am still a gypsy. I cannot deny what I am. Neither could my mother, although she tried to be what my father wanted in a wife. He was a well-educated man, a gentleman some might have said. He was a schoolmaster. We lived in a small house in Rye. My mother tried very hard to become like the other women of the village, but they never accepted her.
S
he was
too
different from them. She could not change what she was. Gradually
she began to lose her spirit. S
he grew thin and sad. I remember her weeping all of the time. I think even my father knew she would die if she did not go back to her family and her old way of life. We stayed with my father. I never saw her again.

"I sometimes think my mother was the fortunate one. My sister and I were raised in a village, and yet we are gypsies. My father saw that we learned to read and write; but my mother spoke to us of many strange and wondrous things. We were also taught good manners so we might be accepted in polite society. My father had hopes that I would become a schoolmaster, but he forgot that others would not wish to have their children taught by a man whose mother was a gypsy. Besides, I would never have had the patience," he said with a mocking grin. "But I found that I possessed certain skills others did not, and I could put my mixed heritage to far more profitable pursuits. One day I am a gentleman
.
.
.
well, almost
.
And the very next day I am a gypsy, almost. I can move between villager and vagabond without causing too much suspicion for either. Strange that I should indeed have become a man of some importance and worth."

As if divining her thoughts and her changing opinion about him, he raised a cautioning finger. "I am still a rogue, Lily Francisca Christian. Never think otherwise," he told her, and although he smiled, Lily knew it was meant as a warning.

"How is the big white?" he asked suddenly. "I heard that he threw Hartwell Barclay many a time, until finally the new master of Highcross gave up trying to ride him. Rides a mule now, does he?"

The corners of Lily's lips twitched ever so slightly, but Romney caught the movement. "I always thought the white was a smart horse, if a bit high-spirited. "Romney chuckled. "What did your father name him?"

"Merry Andrew," she said, laughing at his surprised look. "My mother told me that my father always said that he thought the horse was laughing at him, and his efforts to ride him. He threw my father more than a few times too. But my father would never give up on him. He swore that no horse, especially one that was part buffoon, was going to get the best of him.
They
finally came to an agreement, although I am not certain Father would have called himself the victor. Merry would allow Father to ride him, but he had to be prepared to play Merry's game. Merry likes to bite. Mother said that my father was always rubbing his arm or should where Merry had nipped him. Merry may have gotten a little older, but unless you are very careful, he'll take a piece of you, then bare his teeth and laugh. But he only bites once; then he seems satisfied."

Romney Lee stared at Lily in dismay. "I had no idea he was such a foul-dispositioned horse. I'm surprised your father didn't have me run out of the village for cheating him."

"I think my father would have thanked you rather than cursed you. He liked the challenge of trying to ride Merry. Every time he rode him it was an adventure."

"No wonder Hartwell Barclay never had a chance of succeeding. Why the devil hasn't he had the horse destroyed? I wouldn't think 'twas out of fondness that he hasn't," Romney said.

Almost sadly, Lily smiled. "My father was a very unusual man. He left a provision in his will for the protection of Merry. He's to have a home at Highcross until his dying day. Then he's to be given a decent burial under the old oak in the west meadow.
The
solicitor must have thought my father crazed."

Romney Lee's laughter drew the attention of several people standing in conversation nearby. "I would have given anything to have seen Hartwell Barclay's face when he heard that. But tell me, I have seen you riding the white. How is it that you have succeeded where others have failed?" he asked curiously.

Lily shook her head in denial. "I haven't succeeded. Merry has gotten fat and lazy and just tolerates me," she disclaimed modestly. "I've my share of scars. 'Tis Cappie and Cisco he likes."

Romney's frown of confusion wasn't unexpected and she continued. "The first time I approached him in the meadow, I had Cappie and Cisco with me. He was fascinated by them, and by me because I was with them. He was never thrown me. He will even let Cappie ride around on his back"

"Ah, the monkey and parrot," Romney said with a smile of comprehension. He understood better now why the villagers were suspicious of Lily Christian.

They had almost reached the stables when they heard a commotion coming from within. Recognizing one of the voices raised in anger, Lily hurried inside, but she was stopped short by the scene that met her horrified gaze.

Tristram was surrounded by several boys, all from the village. Having ganged up on the lone boy, they were each taking a turn at shoving and hitting him, hoping to bait him into losing his temper. They weren't to be disappointed, for suddenly Tristram started swinging his fists with little regard for aim.
But
with so many boys crowding so closely around him, he connected more than once with a jaw or nose that had pressed a little too close. Tristram couldn't hold them off and was knocked to the ground, where he began to roll and trade punches with one of the larger boys. The others stood around yelling excitedly, except for one boy who was struggling ineffectively to free his ankle from attack. A big-pawed dog, hardly more than a puppy even though he stood nearly two feet high at the shoulder, had grabbed hold of the boy's ankle and was growling menacingly as he tugged on it, refusing to give up his prize.

Angered by their victim's luck, for the larger boy was now holding his stomach and rolling in pain, three of the boys jumped on Tristram. Two of them held him down while the other one began to hit him.

Lily's cries went
unheard even as she rushed forward. It was then that she became aware of the two men fighting near the back of the stables. She recognized the thatch of blond hair atop the taller of the two. Fairfax. But what was he doing fighting the blacksmith? Fairfax wasn't even supposed to be in the village.

Before Lily could reach Tristram, however, Romney Lee had already scattered the group that had been standing around cheering. The icy contents of the bucket of water effectively having cooled their hot heads, they ran shivering from the stables. The boy who'd been fighting the pup managed to free himself and fled as fast as he could, his hose hanging in tatters. The pup, barking wildly, raced in pursuit. the two who'd been holding Tristram down quickly retreated, disappearing out a back door. With his arms freed, Tristram's fist smashed into the larger boy's nose, sending him sprawling backward.

Finding himself fighting a losing battle now, the bully hastily scrambled to his feet. Romney Lee's hand, centered on the seat of the boy's breeches, guided him toward the stable door and sent him flying.

"Just wait 'till I tell my father that ye laid yer dirty hands on me, ye thievin' gypsy! He'll whip ye skinless," he threatened as he ran up the lane.

"I suspect I
am safe for a while at least,"
Romney Lee predicted as he watched Fairfax Odell flatten the blacksmith with a bone-cracking punch that had the brawny fellow’s knees buckling beneath him. "That"
-
-Romney gestured in the direction which the last boy had fled
-
-"was the blacksmith’s son. I don't think I'll lose any sleep over that bloodcurdling threat," he added, glancing back to see the blacksmith stretched out unconscious at Fairfax Odell's big feet.