My Own True Love (29 page)

Sara noted the way Max was dressed, his manners and his obvious education. His crazy father was obviously rich. She had a horrifying image of some wealthy noble accusing the Rom of child stealing.

"Beth," she said, "I think we've got a problem here."

Beth shifted anxiously from foot to foot. "Please, Sara! Let me keep 'im! I promised I'd teach Max to be a
buzman.
"

Sara looked at Lewis. "A pickpocket," he translated.

"No," she said firmly to Beth.

"And that you'd teach 'im guitar." Beth stepped closer, dragging Max with her. "'E loves music. You can teach 'im."

Max slipped away from Beth's grasp and picked up the guitar leaning next to Sara's chair. "This is beautiful!" He held it out to her before she could say anything else to Beth. "Play for me." It wasn't so much a request as a command, but without any arrogance to it. He smiled, showing deep dimples.

"Please?"

The kid had a lot of charisma. She couldn't resist his imploring look. She took the guitar. "All right."

From his bed, Lewis said, "Good. You promised me you'd play half an hour ago."

Beth went and sat next to Lewis on the edge of the bed. "I still love you best," she said as Sara readjusted the tuning. "But I think I'll marry Max," she added, "since Sara's got you."

"Wise of you," Lewis told her. Max sat down cross-legged at Sara's feet. Lewis closed his eyes and drifted into the music as she began to play.

She'd just started a fourth song when the sound of raised voices beyond the door stopped her. Mikal said something; the tone was urgent but the words unclear. A man with a deep, authoritative voice answered. Then a woman spoke, polite but anxious.

Max jumped to his feet as Sara stood and started toward the door. He grabbed her skirt. "Hide me!"

He obviously recognized the voices. His reaction told Sara what was going on. "Your parents?"

He shook his head. "My governess. And Captain Rudeseko."

"Captain?"

"The captain of the—"

The door swung open before the boy could finish. A large man filled the entry and glared down at everyone present. He was wearing the dark green uniform of the Bororavian guard. With lots and lots of braid and gold buttons. He had a saber and a pistol hanging from his belt.

"Do you mind?" Sara said, stepping protectively in front of Lewis's bed. "There's an injured man in here."

The guard captain ignored her as he stepped into the room. "There you are," he said to Max. The relief in his voice was obvious. "Do you know how badly you frightened Miss Meinstad?"

"Don't scold the boy, Stefan," a slender woman said, pushing her way past the big man. She stepped up to Max and folded her hands in front of her. "You can leave the scolding to me. You must stop this, Maxim," she said to the little boy. She gestured around the room. "Do you want to get these poor people in trouble?"

Max hung his head. "No, Miss Meinstad."

"Then you'd best not do it again."

"Yes, Miss Meinstad."

"I'm just glad I recalled your telling me about your new friend before Stefan ordered the town turned upside down. Think what a bother that might have been."

"Yes, Miss Meinstad."

"Think of your father's reaction."

"Yes, Miss Meinstad."

"That's enough thinking for now," she concluded. "I'm just happy we found you where we thought you'd be."

Sara studied the woman. She was small, fine boned, and attractive, with blond hair, a pink porcelain complexion, a high-arched nose, and large blue eyes. Blue-violet, Sara decided, when the woman turned her gaze on her, and smart.

The woman smiled at her. She'd been speaking in English to Max; now she switched to slow, thickly accented Bororavian. "I'm sorry to intrude so abruptly, but we feared for Maxim's safety."

"Sara speaks English, Miss Meinstad," Max said. "So does Beth. May I bring them home with me to practice? Father wants me to practice English," he wheedled.

"I know that better than you do, Maxim," the governess answered. "That is why he engaged me. My mother is English," she added to Sara. "And you are?"

"Sara," Sara answered. She gestured toward the bed. "My husband, Toma."

"This is Beth," Max said, taking the girl's hand. "May I keep her?"

"No," Miss Meinstad said. "Though I'm pleased to meet you at last, Beth," she added. "Maxim has told me a great deal about you." She smiled at Sara and gave a concerned glance toward Lewis. "That's a lovely instrument," she added, looking at the guitar.

Miss Meinstad, Sara noticed, seemed unconcerned that she was standing in the back room of a shop talking to a Rom woman in ragged clothing. Now that she'd seen that Max was safe, Miss Meinstad seemed ready to settle down and ask for a spot of tea and conversation.

"That tea smells lovely," the woman said, eyeing the pot sitting on the warm hearth.

Captain Rudeseko stepped up to the bed and peered down at Lewis for a few tense moments. Lewis looked back with open hostility. "I heard about the raid on the gypsy camp," Rudeseko said finally. He looked from Lewis to Sara. "My men had nothing to do with it. Come, Denise," he said, taking Miss Meinstad's arm. "Maxim." He nodded politely to Sara. "We're going now."

Both Miss Meinstad and Max looked as if they were going to protest, but the guard captain had them both out the door before they could say a word.

Once they were gone, Sara sat down hard on her -hair and held out her arms for Beth. Beth came to her and Sara pulled her onto her lap.

"I like Mm," Beth announced. "Max’ll run away again. We'll be together forever and ever."

Sara nodded. She couldn't help but chuckle.

"What?" Lewis asked. She looked at him. He was looking puzzled. "Do you know who those people were?"

Sara nodded. "Do you remember when you told me you wanted to be a princess, Beth?" The girl nodded. "I think you're going to get your wish." She looked back at Lewis. "There's a Bororavian legend," she told him. "About Grand Duke Maxim's beloved English wife. It's about how she dazzled the courts of Europe by stealing their silver. I do believe our little girl has found her future husband."

"Course I 'ave," Beth declared firmly. "Max."

"And Max is—"

"The heir to the duchy of Bororavia," Sara finished for Lewis.

Lewis let his head fall heavily onto the pillow. "Oh, good Lord," he said.

"He's not getting any better,"
she whispered. "Why isn't he getting any better?"

As the slow winter days passed Lewis's fever just kept getting higher. The wound was infected. She suspected he'd developed pneumonia. He wasn't getting any better. All anybody could or would do was stand around and shake their heads sympathetically. Sara was at the point where she wanted to wring a few sympathetic necks.

Sara knelt on the hearth to add more wood to the fire. From there, she looked over her shoulder at Lewis who lay sleeping on the cot across the room. The distance wasn't far, but Sara felt it, not just in inches but in time. Each of the one hundred and eighty-two years that separated them was between her and the sick man on the bed. He was desperately ill and there was nothing she could do about it. "All he probably needs are some antibiotics," she said. "A few days in intensive care, and he'd be fine."

Sara looked at the ring; the little orange stone took on light from the fire. The glow was pretty, but it didn't look in the least magical. It was just reflected light. "Well?" she demanded of it. "Can't you do something?"

"No."

"Then what good are you?" It took almost more restraint than she had not to fling the ring into the fire.

"I need some help here. You healed this body," she reminded it. "You said she died from a heart condition, but you fixed it."

"That was on August twenty-fourth," the ring reminded her. "I don't have the strength for that kind of magic right now."

"Well, you ought to!"

"He needs a doctor."

"I know that!" she snapped, full of nervous anger. "But I can't get him one. The duke's forbidden doctors to treat Rom."

"I know," the ring answered with stony patience. "But you're forgetting something very important."

Sara sat back on her heels at the force of the realization; then she shot to her feet. "He isn't Rom!"

"You're slow, but you do get things eventually." The ring's sarcastic voice rang in her head.

Sara hurried to Lewis's side. "Does the British embassy have a doctor?"

"Yes," the ring answered.

"Then I have to get him to the embassy." She struck the heel of her hand against her forehead. "Why didn't I think of this before?"

"Because you've been letting yourself think like someone who belongs nearly two centuries in your past," the ring replied. "Very dangerous. Disgustingly romantic."

"Or maybe I just want him to be a Rom. Which is equally dangerous and romantic," she added before the ring could make any snide comments. "I just hope I haven't killed him."

"Get him to a doctor."

Sara took her usual seat next to Lewis's bed and enfolded his hand in hers once more. She spent a lot of time just sitting and holding his hand. He hadn't been lucid, or even really conscious, for days, but he seemed to be comforted by the contact. She knew she was. "Let's be logical about this," she said.

"They're going to want some proof that this guy is Lieutenant Lewis Morgan."

"There are papers in the
bardo,"
the ring told her. "The clothes chest has a false bottom."

She sighed with relief. "That takes care of proving who he is. What about the brooch? They might not help him if I don't turn it over with him."

"You don't trust the
gajos
to protect their own?"

"No," she admitted, "I don't. I've developed a few prejudices of my own in the last few months."

"Not without cause," it agreed. "Don't worry about the brooch. It belongs next to Lewis's heart."

"But it's supposed to be given to the duke."

"Don't worry about it," the ring repeated. "You worry about your flesh-and-blood lover, I'll worry about the ruby."

Fair enough. Since the ring wouldn't tell her what was going on between it and the brooch anyway, she might as well let the magical being worry about the magical stuff.

"Fine," she said, and stood up. She looked down worriedly at Lewis, and brushed sweat-damp hair off his hot forehead before saying, "I'll get those papers, then Mikal can help me get him into the
bardo.
I just hope the ride won't kill him."

"It won't," the ring assured her. "He'll be fine."

Easy for the ring to say, she thought as she left the sickroom. It was immortal.

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

"No way."

"Gypsies are not wel—"

"Shut up and listen!" She thrust the leather case holding Lewis's papers at him. "You will note that I speak English," she said. She drew herself up to her full miniscule height and tried to match the butler's arrogant look. He was very tall and she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. "Take these papers to Ambassador Tate immediately." She waved him away. "Be off with you."

Thank God Lewis had mentioned the ambassador's name and she'd remembered it. Surprise broke through the butler's coldly impassive demeanor as she spoke. The case was the size of a file folder, of brown leather, with the gilded initials
LM
worked on the front. The papers she'd found in the case at the bottom of the chest were sealed with impressive, official-looking blobs of red wax. She'd decided it might look better if she didn't open them and find out what was inside. It might look more authentic if the seals were intact; after all, Lewis was arriving under very odd circumstances.

The butler sniffed indignantly, but he took the case. "Wait here," he said. He stepped back and slammed the door in her face.

"I wouldn't think of going anywhere," Sara said, between clenched teeth, to the ornate brass door knocker. It took her a few seconds to get her indignation under control. After she reminded herself a few times that the important thing was to get Lewis to a doctor she managed a philosophical shrug. Then she turned warily to study her surroundings.

The street was narrow, paved in red brick. The wrought-iron fence of the palace and a group of patrolling guards weren't very far away. Sara had not been comfortable parking the
bardo
so close to the palace but there hadn't been any choice. She just hoped she could get Lewis safely inside before the Bororavian guards decided to amble across the street to see what was going on.

Fortunately she didn't have to wait long before the door opened again. The butler was back, but he'd brought with him a couple of flunkies in red-and-white uniforms, and a serious-looking man with graying hair and expensively tailored black clothes.

The man in black said, "Where's Lieutenant Morgan?"

Sara sighed with relief. "In the wagon. He's very ill," she added as the man gestured the footmen forward. "Do you have a staff physician?"

The man nodded curtly. "How was he injured?"

"A sword cut. When the soldiers attacked the Rom camp."

"They thought he was a gypsy?"

"Yes. Are you Ambassador Tate?"

"I am. Thank you for bringing him to us," he added as the footmen carefully carried Lewis up the embassy stairs.

Sara stood aside to get out of their way as he was carried inside. "He's going to be all right, isn't he?"

she asked the ambassador worriedly. She was starving for reassurance though she was aware that the authoritative man didn't know any more about Lewis's chances than she did.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Ambassador Tate said. He blocked her way when she tried to follow the footmen inside. "Thank you for your assistance, young woman. We'll care for him from now on."

Sara looked up into chillingly blue eyes. "He needs me," she said. "You don't understand," she went on, "I'm his wife."