My Own True Love (25 page)

Hadari spat on the ground. "Cossacks don't need reasons."

Sara plucked the slack reins from Lewis's hands. "You men can argue all you want," she said, turning the animals off the road to head for the woods. "We women have children to tend."

"Some women have children to tend," Lewis said as she drove the
bardo.
He glanced behind them and looked back, smiling when he saw the others were following. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Do you have a child to tend, Sara?"

Her features twisted in a stubborn, unhappy frown. "I don't want to talk about it'right now. I just want to get these people settled somewhere safely out of the way."

They were going to talk about it, he decided. It was time they both stopped being cowards and got some things settled.

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

Sara looked into his eyes as he took her hands. Hers were warm from the fire; the fingers that gripped hers were cold as ice. "Come back to England," she repeated. "Why?"

"It's too dangerous for you here," he said. He'd meant to tell her he loved her and that was why he wanted her to return with him, but the news he'd just heard intruded on his emotional intentions. "You saw the Borava who came out of the forest just as we were making camp?"

She nodded. "Three families' worth. Maritza and Molly are helping to settle the women and children."

She would have helped too, but there had been an unpleasant incident involving her throwing up at about the same time the newcomers arrived. The women had assured her it was perfectly normal even though she hadn't said anything to anyone about maybe, possibly, being pregnant. She'd still been told to stay by her
bardo
and rest.

"There's been a poor harvest," Lewis said. "The men told us that Grand Duke Alexander has decided that the Rom have cursed the Bororavian fields."

"That's crazy!" Sara declared angrily. Then she added, "Well, there must be a reason he's called the mad duke."

"Ambassador Tate has sent back reports saying the man's a bit unstable." He chuckled quietly.

"Britain's so used to having a mad king we don't think anything of dealing with mad dukes. At least King George is safely locked away, and sane men run the country. As for Duke Alexander," Lewis continued,

"he sent troops to burn some of the Rom villages in reprisal for the bad harvest. The Rom weren't expecting it." He shook his head sadly. "They tell us they've always had good relations with the
gajo
peasants. Unfortunately, most of the duke's troops are German mercenaries. The peasants are being taxed out of their livelihoods to support the soldiers. There's a great deal of unrest here, Sara. It isn't safe for you to be here."

Sara took her hand from his and touched his cheek. He looked so sincere and worried she hated to remind him of why she'd ended up in Bororavia in the first place. Still, she thought, maybe he needed the reminder. "You brought me here," she said. "It's my country," she added. "I'm staying."

"Yes," he said with a slow nod. "I brought you here, and I'm sorry I did, but this isn't your country.

You're from Minnesota. I can't take you back there, but I can see you safely to England."

He was sorry. He'd actually said he was sorry! She was instantly ready to forgive him, even if she wasn't so sure it was a good idea. If she forgave him, she might end up letting him talk her into anything he wanted. Deep down she had this urge to please him, because, well, because she loved him.

"I don't want to go to England," she said firmly. "This is my country, ethnically and spiritually, even if I wasn't born here." She wasn't sure she believed her words; she was quite proud of being American. "The ring thinks I have the skill to run a revolution. So, apparently, these people need me."

"The devil with the ring!" He was just barely able to keep himself from shouting. There were too many people around for shouting. He didn't want a public quarrel. He stood up, yanked Sara to her feet, and pushed her in front of him into the wagon. "Now," he said once they were inside, "women do not run revolutions. I do not believe in revolutions. You are coming home with me." This was out of hand. He wasn't saying what he'd intended at all.

"It's cold in here," Sara complained. She sat down on the bed. She could barely make out his expression in the shadowy interior of the wagon, but she read the frustrated annoyance in his stance and voice. She wasn't going to argue with him about the revolution. She wasn't so sure she believed in it, anyway. "I have no idea how to organize a revolution," she admitted.

He sat down beside her. "Then come home with me."

Silence descended in the dark little wagon. Both of them waited in the cold, both of them felt alone and vulnerable, and both knew it. It was Sara who finally had to take a deep, hesitant breath, and ask,

"Why?"

Lewis knew he couldn't let this moment pass. If it did it would never come again. He'd never opened his life and his heart to anyone, never been taught how to trust. He had won medals, he could dance on a thin rope over an engulfing fire, but he'd never felt brave. He was almost too frightened to let the dangerous words out.

His mouth went very dry. He swallowed hard, and said, "Because I love you."

The silence stretched out again after he spoke. If he'd been hoping for her to throw herself passionately into his arms, it didn't happen. Instead, after an achingly uncomfortable while, she said, "Is this Toma who loves me, or Lewis?"

It was the most valid question he'd ever heard. "I love you," was all he could answer.

She knew he was waiting for her to tell him how she felt. She didn't know how she felt. All right, she loved him. So? She gulped. "All right," she said. "I love you. I don't know if there's anything we can do about it," she added, "but no way am I going to let you be braver than me."

He took her hand. "Words are the most dangerous weapons of all, aren't they?"

"Oh, yeah," she agreed, leaning against his hard-muscled side. She put her hand over his heart. "I shouldn't love you. You blackmailed me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You locked me in the storeroom. There were
things
in there."

"Vegetables?"

"Mice. It was dark."

He stroked her hair. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"You didn't even think about it, did you?" She didn't know why she was pouting about the incident at Philipston House now, but it suddenly stung more than anything else he'd done to her. "I was scared."

"I'm sorry." God, sorry wasn't going to be good enough, was it? It had been a thoughtless, callous gesture. The vegetable larder had been a convenient place to store a bit of gypsy trash until he had need of it. Gypsies, after all, had no place in civilized society. "I'll make up for everything," he promised. "I'll buy you a house. A beautiful quiet place where no one will ever bother you. I'll take such good care of you. I'll give you everything you need."

He kissed her, hoping to seal a bargain with passion, to heal the wound his indifference had inflicted on her. "I love you," he whispered as his body grew tight with desire.

He laid her back on the soft mattress. His hands roved over her, undressing her, warming her flesh with skilled caresses.

Sara closed her eyes as his touch claimed her. Every time they made love she felt as though she belonged to him a little bit more. She suspected he felt the same. Together, like this, they became whole.

The rest of the time she felt half of herself missing. She was naked before she knew it, as was Lewis.

Then he was poised over her, then deep inside her and she felt complete again.

It was cold in the
bardo
but she stopped feeling it after the first few moments of lovemaking. The cold came back with a sharp bite as soon as he moved from her to sit up.

"Lewis?" she questioned, touching his arm, hoping to draw him back.

He looked down at her. She could make out the white line of his teeth as he smiled. His eyes glittered in moonlight let in by the window. "You never call me Toma." He stroked a finger across her cheek and outlined her lips. "You never think of me as Toma, do you?"

"No."

He felt her answer in his fingertips. "Why?"

"Because I know who you are."

"Do you?"

She put her hand over his and squeezed gently. "I'm lucky, my name is Sara in both times. And I don't have to pretend as much as you do."

"You must be hungry," he said, rather than continue the conversation. "I know I am." He rose and began to dress.

Sara wrapped herself in a quilt and sat up. "I am most definitely not hungry."

"You're always hungry after making love," he teased.

"Not tonight." She felt a faint wave of nausea as she spoke. "Nope. Definitely not hungry." She lay back down, closed her eyes, and tried not to think about throwing up. "I'm not sure sex was such a good idea."

Lewis stretched out beside her. He pulled her close. "Are you feeling well?"

"I'm fine," she lied. "Perfectly fine. Just tired." She didn't want to think or talk about how she felt, or why. "So," she said, returning to their earlier discussion. "What sort of house do you have in mind?"

Lewis grinned with relief. "Somewhere quiet, out of the way. You'll have a rose garden."

"Why would I want a rose garden?"

"Because I like roses," he said. "I want a house full of roses when I visit."

"Visit." There was a significant pause before she said, "Visit? Would you mind explaining what you mean when you say
visit?"

"I have my work," he hedged, then admitted, "I'm offering to keep you as my mistress, Sara."

When she moved to sit up he let her go reluctantly. "I'm your wife," she said.

She sat with her back to him. He sat up and put his arms around her from behind. "Sara."

"I'm your wife. Don't try to bargain about it."

"I can't marry you," he said bleakly. "I'm not saying I don't want to, but I can't. It's not because there's already a Mrs. Morgan," he added quickly when she tried to jerk away.

"Yes, there is," she said. "Me."

"We aren't wed," he answered. "Not by English law."

"We are by Rom law."

"But—"

"If Rom law isn't good enough for you, equal to your own, then we have nothing to talk about."

"It isn't that easy!"

"Yes, it is."

"You're asking me to give up everything I am for you!"

"No, I'm not!" she answered, voice fierce with angry pride. "Just accept me as your equal and we'll be fine."

"I do! But I can't—"

"I won't be your mistress."

"You already are," he reminded her, and let her go, knowing she was going to whirl around and slap him. After she did, and his head was ringing from the strength of the blow, he said, "I'm sorry, but it's true."

A long moment passed.

"Yeah, you're right," she agreed reluctantly. "I can see how you can think that. I don't see it that way."

"How do you see it?"

"We're lovers, equally responsible for our actions. But if you want to have a permanent relationship—"

"I do," he hastened to tell her.

"Then we're married."

"We can't." He grabbed her hands, as much for comfort as to keep her from hitting him again. "It isn't possible, it isn't done, it doesn't have to matter."

"The hell it doesn't."

"Marriage has nothing to do with love," he pointed out. "Among your people or mine. That is one thing we have in common."

"I'm not sure this has anything to do with love, either," she said. "It has to do with respect."

"I don't understand."

She explained. "If you don't admit that you're married to me, then you don't respect me, or my people.

I won't live with a man who believes Rom are less than
gajos."

He laughed. "Since when do the Rom respect
gajos?
Your people are just as bad as mine."

"No, they aren't," she defended. "Not the Borava. Not in my time."

"We aren't in your time. Damn it, Sara, I don't want to argue with you. Be my mistress and I will love and cherish you forever."

"Hmmm," she said thoughtfully. "How come it's all right for me to be your mistress, but you freaked when Custine offered me the same job?"

"Custine," he said angrily, "is a filthy swine."

"No, he's not. He was sweet, and my first groupie."

He heard the affection in her voice and wanted to shake her. "Do you want to be his mistress, then?"

"No. Lewis, let go of me." He dropped his hands before he did anything foolish. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" The words came out cold and hard. "If you mean I don't understand what you want, you're correct. I don't."

"I'm just trying to say that you're no different than Custine."

"Rubbish! I love you."

"Yes, you do," she acknowledged, "but not the right way."

"There is no right way to love someone."

"Wrong." Oh, hell, she thought, too frustrated to go on with the discussion. It was all going in circles, anyway. She got up and hurriedly got dressed. Lewis sat on the bed and watched her. She could feel confusion and anger coming off him in invisible sparks.

"Where are you going?" he asked when she went to the door.

"I want to be alone," she answered. "Maybe you do too."

"Stay with me."

"Now or forever?" she asked quietly.

"Both."

She wanted to go to him, to hold him and tell him, yes, of course, we're own true loves, aren't we?

"We both need to do some thinking," she said instead. "Don't worry." She tried for an Arnold Schwarzenegger imitation. "I'll be back."

She didn't know
what time it was, but there was no activity in the camp when she went outside. It was dark and cold and everyone was huddled in their wagons or tents. Somebody was probably watching the horses and a guard would be patrolling the perimeter of the camp, but Sara felt as if she were completely alone.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers. Sara built it up again, then put a pot of water on to boil.