My Own True Love (12 page)

He came closer to the bed.

"That wasn't an invitation," she said quickly.

"Pity."

It wasn't going to do any good to keep sparring with him. "I'm going to sleep now," she said. She stretched out on the narrow bed. "You can leave."

"I'm not leaving."

"Fine. You can sleep on the floor."

Much to her surprise he didn't argue. Apparently the seduction attempt was over for tonight. He padded silently over to the door and settled down in front of it. Sara blew out the candle and turned her back to him.

When she woke up before dawn the next morning he was gone, but her dreams had been aware of his presence all night long.

"I won't do it!"

"Listen, kid, if you don't learn some skills you're going to end up back on the streets."

"I like the streets!"

"It's too dangerous. You need—"

Beth stomped her foot. "I ain't going to be
no lady's maid!"

"Well, they won't make you CEO of the East India Company!" Sara shouted back.

She'd spent much of the last week trying to domesticate a half-grown street rat. She was just about at the breaking point. Beth's flashes of sweetness and vulnerability didn't quite make up for her stubbornness. Sara admired her strong personality. Most of the time. Toma had sent a message that the gypsy circus was back from Salisbury, camped at the abandoned Bartholomew Fairgrounds. She was going to have to face Beng in a few hours. She didn't need another tantrum to deal with.

The current battle was over Molly suggesting, while they helped Sara dress in one of the outfits Molly had had made for her, that Beth might aspire to being a maid. Apparently Molly considered being a lady's maid a proper career choice. Beth had not reacted well to the kindly woman's words. She'd shouted angrily instead.

Sara took a deep breath while she looked out the window to try to calm down. It was raining, but the view of the kitchen garden was still pleasant. The Blue Rose was a peaceful haven amidst London's vast squalor. Beth's problem was that she had no concept that there was anything beyond the squalor. She was bright and quick-witted and ambitious, but to her ambition meant clawing her way up the sewer to be queen of the rats.

"You want to end up another Mother Cummings?" Sara asked her. "Is that it?"

Beth looked aghast at Sara's question. "Naw. I ain't like 'er." She looked contemptuously around the room, then back at Sara. "I want things like they was. We don't belong 'ere—with the
good
folks."

Sara heard Molly muttering a prayer for the child's soul under her breath. "We aren't going back," she told the girl firmly.

"You promised to teach me all you know." Beth stomped her foot again. "You promised."

"I promised to take care of you," Sara corrected her. "This is better for you."

"I like being a pickpocket. Better'n learnin' 'ow to write."

Sara had no idea how to deal with the girl. She almost wished Lewis Morgan were here. The girl liked Toma. Everyone liked Toma. He hadn't set foot in the Blue Rose for the last four days. He knew he had her in his power, so he didn't need to hang around to rub it in. She hated knowing he was right. Except when Molly talked about trousseaus and instructed her on how to be a good wife, she pretended he didn't exist.

Sara sat down on her bed and gestured for Beth to join her. She gave Molly a pleading look. The woman nodded and left them alone. When Beth sat down, Sara put her arm around her thin shoulders and asked, "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Beth flashed her a grin. "A princess."

"Pretty dumb job," Sara answered. "You'd have to wear ugly hats and get your phone calls taped."

She thought about magic rings and wishes. "But if you want to be a princess I could probably swing it for you."

Beth giggled. "You're crazy, gypsy girl."

The way Sara saw it she was the only person in this crazy time who was sane. "This world won't let you be anything you want, that's the major problem we're facing here," she told the girl. "I know, maybe you could go to America."

Beth looked horrified. "Red Indians'd kill me!"

"Don't be silly."

"I ain't silly."

"No," Sara agreed. "You're not. But—"

"Let's leave," Beth urged her. "I know a flash 'ouse we could roost at. Mrs. Hart'd take us in. There's fences other'n Mother Cummings. We'll do fine, rich in a fortnight! Just you and me." Beth jumped off the bed. She grabbed Sara's hands, trying to tug her up. "Please. I 'ate it 'ere!"

Lewis didn't know what surprised him more when he opened the door on Sara and Beth, the consternation on Sara's face as Beth ran from her, or the way she looked in the jonquil yellow muslin dress. He stared at Sara while Beth slipped past him out the door. Seeing her dressed in the low-necked gown, he was torn between telling her to cover herself and longing to kiss the rich swell of her bosom.

The contrast of creamy brown skin next to the pale yellow cloth left him momentarily stunned. Her black hair was arranged on the crown of her head, a yellow ribbon threaded through it, revealing the graceful length of her neck. She was so lovely. Lovely in an alien way, a mockery of an Englishwoman.

"What are you looking at?" she demanded angrily.

"You've no business dressing like that. You're nothing but a—"

She ignored his words as she pointed past his shoulder. "Will you talk to the girl? She'll listen to you."

"Never mind Beth," he said. He closed the door behind him. "You'd better get back into something decent before Beng gets here."

"Decent?" Sara looked down at her dress. "Molly says this is decent."

"Molly thinks like a
gajo."

"And you don't?"

"We don't have time to argue." He went to the clothes chest and started looking for her old clothes.

She followed him. "Beng's coming? Here?" She joined him in gathering up skirts and blouses. "He wouldn't come here, would he? I was going to meet him at the campgrounds. You said he'd be at the—"

"My fault," he admitted. "I mentioned where you were to Sandor. Sandor told Beng. Revenge for my not playing the Salisbury Fair, I suppose."

"Or loyalty to a friend," Sara suggested. "How long have you been with the circus, anyway?"

"A month. Don't you know how to count, girl?"

"Of course I know how to count, I'm an accountant."

"I don't care what you are, just change clothes."

The man was right and she hated the fact. Beng was going to be furious to find her associating with Molly. It would be worse if he found out she'd adopted
gajo
habits. She'd end up on a prison hulk if she got herself thrown out of the tribe.

"We wouldn't want to jeopardize your mission." She dropped the clothes she was holding and began fumbling with the back fastening of the dress. Regency clothing looked simple, but needed an instruction manual and a support staff to get it on and off. "Being a lady's maid is really a very high-tech job. Give me a hand with this."

Lewis didn't understand how a girl could be called the cleverest burglar in London and not manage a few hooks and buttons. He was beginning to think tracking her down had been the most unwise move of his life.

He moved behind her and brushed her hands aside. "It seems I've had more experience at this than you have."

"I bet."

He dropped a quick kiss on the back of her neck. "Do you want to hear about it?"

"No."

"Jealous?"

"Just get the dress unfastened."

He worked as fast as he could, but was just about ready to rip the thing the rest of the way off when the door crashed open. By that time Sara had wriggled out of the sleeves and pushed the dress down around her waist. Her chemise had fallen off one shoulder.

Beng stood in the doorway, large, menacing, red with fury. His eyes widened in shock. Lewis froze, his hands on Sara's waist. Beng bellowed and reached for his knife.

Sara said, "Daddy!"

He's going to kill me, she thought. She tried to push Lewis's hands away, but he clung to her tightly, shielding himself from Beng's wrath.

"It's not what you think!" Lewis shouted at the girl's enraged father as Sara struggled to get away. He hoped she wouldn't get so hysterical he'd have to knock her senseless to protect her. He tightened his grip, prepared to thrust her aside when the man attacked.

"I know what it is," Beng answered him, bitter as well as furious. His hand was curled tightly around the knife hilt. There was pain in his dark eyes. "You get what you want from my girl, Calderash?"

“I—”

Beng looked at Sara. "You get what you want from this half-breed?"

“I—”

"Fine!" He slammed the knife back in its sheath. Then he spat on the floor in front of them in contempt.

He caught Lewis's gaze with his own. "Tonight," he said after a long, searching silence. "The wedding is tonight." Without another word, or a glance for Sara, he turned and walked out of the room.

Sara didn't know when she'd stopped breathing, but she was dizzy by the time she caught her breath in a deep gasp. "He—" she panted, "He—said—"

"Wedding," Lewis finished with a sigh of relief. He relaxed against her, his arms went around her, his grasp changed into an embrace. Her back fit neatly against his chest, the bare skin of her shoulders was warm and soft, she smelled of violets. He chuckled in her ear. "Lord, girl, we're getting married."

"I can hardly wait," was her sarcastic reply.

Her cold attitude dashed him back to reality. For a moment he'd gotten lost in the role he played; he'd felt the elation of the loving suitor who was finally getting the woman he'd courted. He let her go. "You'll have to wait," he told her. He went to the door, pausing to blow her a kiss before he went. "At least until tonight."

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

Sara was surrounded by a trio of women. They were helping her dress as well as giving her advice.

She'd been listening in silence, hoping to catch their names from the conversation. They all looked around furtively when Molly walked in. They stared at the newcomer in silence, their eyes hard and angry in the firelight.

Finally, one of them said, "You have no business here."

Molly waved the woman's cold comment away. "Nonsense, Darya. I'm not going to miss my niece's wedding. Beth?" she asked, ignoring the women.

Sara shook her head, jangling the coins edging the heavy scarf covering her hair. "I didn't see her before I left the inn." Beng had been in such a hurry to get her back to the camp and turn her over to respectable women after Toma left she hadn't had time to see or speak to anyone.

"Oh, dear." Molly sighed. "I hope she's all right."

So did Sara, but music started up outside the tent before she could ask any questions.

"It's time to go," Darya said. The women closed ranks around her, pushing Molly aside. They escorted Sara outside the tent, Molly following after. Sara glanced back at her once as she was led toward a torchlit circle where Lewis waited with the other men of the caravan. Molly gave her a smile and cheerful wave, before melting into the shadows beyond the firelight where the other women and children watched.

The women parted ranks at the edge of the circle. Hands pushed her forward. Someone giggled at her reluctance to move. Sara's gazed darted around the gathering, looking for some last-minute rescue, and came to rest on the grinning Lt. Lewis Morgan. He wore a clinging scarlet silk shirt tucked into tight black breeches, his hair held out of his face by a wide red headband. He looked like a rock star ready to take the stage. She felt like a human sacrifice. Beng stood next to him, scowling ferociously. He beckoned her forward.

Sara walked stiffly toward the men. This wasn't real, she reminded herself with each step. But she could feel the anticipation and good wishes of the crowd, all of it centered on Toma and her. It was real to them. To them she was a
bori,
a happy new bride. The smile on Toma's face looked real. His hand felt real when he stepped forward to meet her and helped her to kneel in the center of the circle. His name wasn't Toma, and this wasn't real.

She remembered other weddings she'd been to, weddings that had been real. Her memory of those genuinely happy occasions helped her know what she was supposed to do. Lewis knelt on his left knee, she knelt on her right as they faced each other.

"You're beautiful," he whispered to her as Sandor approached them.

Sandor carried two freshly sliced pieces of fine white bread. At least the ceremony would be over soon, Sara knew, Marriage was a private matter between two people; weddings were a chance for everyone to celebrate.

"Let's party," she whispered to Lewis as Sandor scooped salt out of a dish Beng held for him.

Sandor sprinkled the salt on the two slices of bread they balanced on their legs. Lewis picked up the salted bread from her leg. Fingers trembling, she took his. They held the bread up for a moment. Sara was afraid she was going to drop hers. If it fell into the dirt it would certainly bring the marriage bad luck.

Which would serve Lewis right, she supposed, but she didn't drop it. She held it to her lips and took a bite instead. Lewis did the same. People cheered and applauded.

While they finished eating the salted bread Sandor recited, "Great fortune and happiness be with you.

Even if salt and bread become enemies, may you live in love and contentment."

The cheering was louder as Lewis sprang up and helped Sara to stand. He put his arms around her in a quick embrace. He felt as though he should kiss the bride, but such a public display would be improper. "Smile," he whispered in her ear as they were surrounded by well-wishers. "You look like you've just been condemned to hang."

"I should be so lucky," she whispered back.

They were pulled apart before he could think of an answer. He was drawn into a group of men; Sara was surrounded by women. He was soon inundated by a flood of husbandly advice. He could only assume Sara was receiving wifely instructions from the women. He hoped those instructions included how to be pleasing and obedient to her new master. Not that what Sara was doing right now was important to his plans. He'd just achieved one of his objectives: he was now accepted by the men of the tribe. It was a few hours yet before he was supposed to disappear into his
bardo
with his bride. It was plenty of time to start work on the next phase of the operation.