My Own True Love (22 page)

You know,” she went on, "to me Napoleon's the name of a pastry, but my dad knows all about him."

"What does Beng know about Napoleon?" he scoffed. He brushed hair out of his eyes and adjusted the pillows so he could comfortably look at Sara without actually having to sit up.

"Not Beng," she said, "my father. Who is probably Beng in this life, but the man I think of as my father is named Paul. This reincarnation thing is complicated."

"I knew a Hindu man from India once," he said. "He explained reincarnation to me. It doesn't make any sense. I didn't know gypsies believed in it," he added.

"The Rom are from India originally," she told him. "Though I don't think the linguistic connection to India has been made yet. In the early eighteen hundreds, I mean. Maybe. I might not know too much about Napoleon, but I'm pretty good with Rom history, if not much good at remembering dates. So, why'd you steal the brooch?"

He had hoped she'd gone off on enough of a tangent to forget about her original question. "Because I was ordered to," he answered.

She tapped him on the chest. "Not good enough."

He gave her a sour look. "Why should I tell you?"

She wiggled her fingers threateningly. "Because I know where you're ticklish."

He grasped her wrist, then brought her hand to his lips. "A formidable weapon, this," he said after he'd kissed and nibbled on her fingers and palm for a while. He released her hand, and she began combing her fingers through his hair. Little ripples of pleasure radiated out from his scalp, but he ignored them to answer her question finally. "Britain is negotiating a port treaty with the duke of Bororavia. Negotiations with his overlord, the czar. It's a very delicate matter."

"Why?"

He sighed. "Why would a foolish little gypsy girl want to know?"

Nails dug suddenly into his chest. "How about," she said coolly, "because the foolish little Rom girl has a degree in economics, and doesn't like being condescended to?"

Her voice held a sharper edge than his knife. It cut into the fiction he'd been trying to maintain about his lover. She said she was from the future. He didn't want to think about it. He certainly didn't want to face it straight on. He decided it was better for his sanity just to answer her question rather than ask any of his own.

"Napoleon has been trying to ruin Britain's trade for years," he answered. "It's part of what he calls the continental system. He's been fairly successful in keeping British ships out of European ports."

"The blockade we had to run to get to France?"

"Yes. But the blockade's not completely effective. What we've lacked are countries willing to risk Napoleon's wrath to let British trading vessels in."

"Hmm." He paused at her thoughtful sound. After a few moments she said. "It's 1811. Wellington has started kicking butt in Spain by now, right?"

"Nosey's won a few battles, yes."

"But Napoleon's mostly concentrating on building :he army he's going to lose in Russia."

"I'm glad you're so confident he's going to lose."

"I'm not, I've just seen at least two versions of
War and Peace."

Lewis didn't ask for her to clarify any further. "The brooch was the original topic of conversation, as I recall."

"The brooch has something to do with trade negotiations with Bororavia," Sara summed up. "What?"

"The brooch belongs to the grand duke of Bororavia. I believe he lost it to Madame Moret gaming a few years back. Or perhaps she was his mistress for a time and he gave it to her. I'm told he changes his story from day to day."

"Oh," she said. "The mad duke. I know about him."

"I don't know that much about him," Lewis admitted. "I was just given the assignment to bring the brooch to the British ambassador conducting the negotiations."

"Why?"

"The duke wants the brooch back, as a token of good faith from the British."

"So the British can trade with Russia?"

"Bororavia," he corrected.

She snorted. "Please, Lewis, I know my Bororavian history. The treaty that Sara negotiated was on behalf of—of—"

As her voice faltered he felt the hand resting on his forehead go cold. "Sara?" She was staring off into space, color drained from her dark honey skin. He sat up and took her by the shoulders. "Sara?"

She nodded. "Sara." He saw her throat move as she swallowed hard. "I'm very good with finances, you know. So was . . . she . . . Sara . . . the regent." She swallowed again. "Nah."

"What are you talking about? What regent?"

Sara was looking at her hand. At the invisible magic ring, Lewis supposed. "I'm out of here next August," she said. "Bororavia is not my problem. I'm not. . . her!"

The wildness in her voice worried Lewis. "What's the matter? What's the ring saying?"

She slowly met his gaze. "Nothing. The ring's not saying anything." Her expression was guarded. She shook his hands off. "It's time we got dressed. You promised to help the kids go foraging today."

He nodded at her reminder. He could sense fear in her and was reluctant to let her go, but he did. It was better not to ask, he told himself. Whatever it was that was bothering her was between her and the ring. But what was happening in August? She'd mentioned the date before. Maybe he knew and just didn't want to think about it.

He wouldn't think about it. He got up and got dressed instead. He did say, "Come with us," to her when he was ready. He held out his hand. "Keep me company today." He wanted to spend all of today with her. All of tomorrow.

Sara was warmed by the intensity of Lewis's look, by the eagerness of his voice. "All right," she answered. "I'll go nuts-and-berries hunting with you."

Being with him would keep her mind off what she suspected the ring had in mind.

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

He hadn't meant to. He hadn't wanted to. But the question had raced around in his head for hours, and eventually, as they approached a small, steaming pool, it just came out. There was a faint smell of sulfur in the air from the water. It reminded him of his one trip to Bath.

Sara wrinkled her nose and said, "Yuck. Smells like a catalytic converter."

He didn't want to know about that either. "August," he said. "What happens in August?"

Sara fanned her hand in front of her nose. "Could we leave? This place stinks."

"You won't notice after a few minutes." He began to strip off his shirt. "Let's have a soak."

Sara pointed distastefully at the faintly yellow, steaming water. While she watched he pulled off his boots and dipped his foot into the pool. She half expected the Swamp Thing to reach out and pull Lewis to his doom, but Lewis just sighed contentedly as he wet his toes.

"Perfect," he said. He quickly finished undressing. "Come along," he said when he was naked. "We can have a hot bath while we talk."

They'd spent much of the day walking through forested hills, helping four of the younger children forage for food. While they'd been with the children they hadn't talked much, but the children were now on their way back to camp with a couple of hedgehogs and a basket of greens to boil in the communal pot. They were alone in an autumn red glade, and Lewis looked inviting even if the water didn't.

"Mineral springs are healthy," he coaxed as she continued to look dubiously at the pool. "The trail that led here looked well used. The locals must have been coming here for generations." Sara's expression changed as he spoke. She looked nervously around. Lewis followed her gaze and asked, "What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't be here."

"We're alone," he assured her. "There's nothing to worry about."

She pulled her blue wool shawl tight around her bosom. "What if we get caught?"

"Caught?"

Sara shook her head. He didn't understand. He'd been living among the Borava tribe for all this time and he still didn't understand. "They won't like Rom polluting their water," she told him. "Rom are filthy animals, remember?"

"Nonsense." He saw instantly that she wasn't going to be reassured by his airy dismissal of danger.

"Are you afraid of a few ignorant peasants?" he asked her.

"Yes," she answered. "Ignorant peasants are a leading cause of mortality among Rom."

He sighed and slid into the heated water. It covered him to waist level, bubbling gently and tingling against his skin. "It feels wonderful," he told her. He held his arms out. "Don't be afraid. I won't let anything happen to you. You're not going to let anything scare you," he added, smiling encouragement.

"Not my brave Sara."

She shook her head. "I'm not brave. I just come from a place—a time—that's a little bit better." The thought of a hot bath was inviting, she had to admit. And Lewis thought she was brave.

It took her longer to shed her layers of clothes than it had Lewis. By the time she'd jumped in beside him he was looking serious. The water did feel good. She edged gingerly around the slippery bottom of the pool until she found a spot where she could kneel with only her head out of the water.

"Ah," she said as the bubbling sulfur water began to work wonders on her muscles. The air surrounding the pool was crisp and cool, a delicious contrast to the water's steaming warmth. A bird began singing in a nearby tree. She closed her eyes for a moment to listen. "This is nice."

Lewis waded over to join her. "Only a little better? Your world is only a little better?" he asked.

"What happens in August?"

She saw the worry deep in his eyes, and it tore at something inside her. Her throat grew so tight with pain that she could barely speak. "You know what happens in August."

She didn't know how many times she'd told him she was going back to the twentieth century on the next St. Bartholomew's Day. Of course, she'd told him a great many things he hadn't believed before he knew the ring's magic was real.

"Why go back?" he asked. "If it's only a little bit better than now."

"What have I got to stay for?" she answered, which wasn't at all what she intended to say. She hoped her desperation for him to give her some reason to stay didn't show in her eyes. A moment ago she hadn't known the desperation was there herself.

He wanted to tell her to stay. She had a magic ring. She had a place in the future. It sounded like a very different place from the one she occupied in the present. "How did you get to this time?" he heard himself ask. He ran his fingers along the delicate high arch of her nose. "How did you become the Sara I thought I knew?" She blushed as he spoke and looked away. "Oh, dear," he murmured, amused despite himself. "The tale must be very wicked."

Her temperature was rising, and she wasn't sure it had anything to do with the natural warmth of the mineral spring. Was it embarrassment, or just because Lewis was so close?

"Well?" he coaxed. "How did you get to the past?"

"The ring."

He snorted at her answer. "Not how, then, but why?"

"I, uh, made a wish."

His fingertips brushed her temples. She closed her eyes. "What wish?"

She grimaced, but she couldn't keep from answering. "To meet my own true love." She felt her pulse quicken as he continued to gently massage her temples. She made a small, pleased sound.

He tilted her head back so he could kiss her throat. "Have you found him?" he asked when he was done tasting the moist smoothness of her skin. The water washing over them added a bittersweet deliciousness to his kiss. "Have you found this true love of yours?" He reached down to circle her small waist with his hands. He drew her slowly upward, sliding moist skin over moist skin. She made another soft, needful sound as she moved against him. "Well?" he whispered in her ear.

Sara balled her hands into fists. She knew she was only seconds away from losing all self-control.

She'd be all over him then, and it would be wonderful, but it wouldn't settle anything. Sex was a panacea; it wasn't a cure. It wasn't a bridge for the gulf between them.

"I'll let you know when I find him," she answered, then gave in to the need.

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

She wrapped a heavy quilt tighter around her legs while Lewis spoke. She didn't look up from the fire.

"I've noticed," she answered. "Scary, isn't it?"

Lewis chuckled. "He actually agreed with me about pushing on through Poland rather than finding a place to winter." It felt good actually to have his stubborn father-in-law's support for once. The men had talked and debated for hours, but in the end, with Beng's help, Toma's opinions had prevailed. "He said I was right."

"Good for him."

"We should reach Bororavia soon, if the weather holds."

"Yeah."

"It's a good thing we have those travel papers from Custine," he went on, well aware that Sara wasn't really listening. "It's been faster to travel the main roads."

"Uh-huh."

The night was dark and cold, moonless. It was early in November. "We're lucky there hasn't been snow yet," he said, hoping to catch her interest in some conversational topic.

She looked up at last. Her eyes caught gold from the fire. "I don't think it's luck," she told him. She held up her right hand. "It won't talk to me," she said worriedly. "But I think it wants to get to Bororavia as quickly as you do. I know what it wants from me," she added in a barely audible whisper. "But I won't do it."

Lewis scarcely heard her last words. Something else she'd said struck him like a blow. "As quickly as I—" Lewis sat down abruptly as a stab of anguish shot through him. He found himself staring into dancing flames while a part of his mind cried out. He didn't want to reach Bororavia!

He wouldn't be Toma anymore when they reached Bororavia!

He wasn't Toma. But if he wasn't Toma, who was he? It was just a part he played. He'd played parts before, but this time the part was playing him. "This is all a dream," he whispered. "A mad, twisted dream."

He looked slowly up at Sara. Her gaze was averted once more, and she didn't seem aware of him at all. "What are you thinking?" he asked, rather than give in to confusion.