The Heather Moon (18 page)

"You owe me naught. You saved my life at Musgrave's castle." She touched her fingers to the slight bruises at the base of her throat. The sight made his blood simmer with anger again.

"Nevertheless, I pay my debts. What will you have?"

"The only thing I want of you is my freedom."

"That," he said, "I canna give you."

"You can," she whispered. "None would know but you and I. You can ride to Rookhope, and tell Musgrave you lost me."

"But I wouldna want to lose you," he said in a low voice. "I have given my word to keep you well, and I will do that." She looked at him silently, her eyes crystalline green. A curious thrill coursed through him.

While he spoke, Nona sat beside him. She took his right hand in hers, turning it palm up, and smoothed her fingertips over his skin, tracing the lines of his palm with a yellowed fingernail. None spoke quietly.

"She says you have good luck in your hand," Tamsin said.

"Of course. Good luck, a long life, wealth." He shrugged.

Her brow furrowed. She clearly disliked his response. "My grandmother doesna tell lies for silver, as some might think. She sees your life written in your hand. She sees your past and your future, and all that is in your heart and your head."

"Did you see that, when you looked there?" he asked.

She frowned. "'Twas dark," she said curtly. "But if I looked again, aye, I could read your life."

"But I like my secrets," he murmured.

"What you truly want to hide canna be revealed to us."

"I once read something about the art of palmistry," he said. "An Italian treatise, a book that King James had in his library. Palmistry has a reputation in Europe as a science rather than as divination. Many physicians there use that, and the art of phrenology, to help them understand their patients."

"Wise men," she commented. She nodded when Nona spoke again. "My grandmother says you had a tragedy as a lad, and after that you were surrounded by wealth and power, and you are wealthy now. She says you still feel poor and lonely, an outcast." Nona spoke, and Tamsin nodded. "She says you have lost two whom you loved. A parent. A lover. She says... that you are a father yourself." She looked at him, questioning.

"I am," he said gruffly. She tilted her head in curiosity, but did not ask, and he did not offer.

Nona spoke again, and Tamsin listened. A little frown creased her smooth brow. "She says," she began, "that a deep love, a love that is destined to be fulfilled, will be part of your life. You know this woman, she says." She lowered her eyelids and glanced away. "You must claim her or you will never be truly happy."

He withdrew his hand quickly from Nona's grasp. Though he doubted such a love would ever come to him, he did not know how the old woman had discerned the other details about his life. But he would listen to no more. He liked his secrets and his privacy.

"Tell her that I will give her coin for her tricks."

"She doesna do tricks," Tamsin snapped. "She isna a monkey or a bear. You said yourself 'tis a science. A person doesna have to be a university-trained physician to practice this and do it correctly." Still holding his leather doublet in her hands, she went to the doorway of the wagon.

Nona, oblivious to their exchange, smiled at William and walked over to stand beside the girl. They spoke quietly, and Tamsin shook her head, murmuring.

William stood, bringing on a wave of dizziness. He ducked his head beneath the low cloth-slung ceiling. "Lass," he said. "My doublet, if you please. And ready yourself. We must leave for Rookhope."

She did not look over her shoulder. "You will stay," she replied. "You need to rest. And in the morn, when you leave, I willna go with you." She spoke again to Nona, who turned and strode toward William, chattering in Romany, and then shoved at his chest. He sat, and Nona nodded. She pointed to the pillows until he stretched out with reluctance.

"She says you will sleep here, as our guest," Tamsin explained. "My grandmother and her husband will sleep beneath the stars so that the fine gentleman can recover on their bed."

"I willna take their bed," he muttered, sitting up again. His head spun, and he admitted to himself that he might benefit from a little rest. "Tell her I can sleep on the ground beneath the wagon."

"I canna tell her that! 'Tis where I sleep." Nona spoke again. "She says you must close your eyes. She wants to tend to my leg now."

William complied, leaning back and closing his eyes. He heard murmuring, heard Tamsin wince, heard Nona scold her, then a long silence. Thinking they were done, he opened his eyes.

Tamsin stood with her back to him, her skirt pulled high on one side, left leg extended, knee slightly bent. A large purple bruise darkened her thigh. Nona applied the same ointment to it, with a far gentler hand than she had used on William.

He closed his eyes quickly. But he could not easily dispel the sight of that long, gracefully shaped leg, with the red light of the brazier sliding along the smooth, slender curves. His blood heated within him, rousing his body to a pleasant state, not quite arousal, but a kind of definite awareness.

A commotion sounded in the camp beyond the wagon. William opened his eyes, seeing Tamsin drop her skirt hem and turn toward the door. He sat up, recognizing the fast beat of horse hooves. Tamsin and Nona peered through the doorway, talking in low, agitated voices.

"Aiiee!"
Nona said, and flapped her hands, pointing at William, chattering rapidly to Tamsin. She bent to rummage through a large basket and pulled out a bundle of clothing.

"What is it?" William asked.

Tamsin turned. "Arthur Musgrave!" she hissed. "He and another man have just ridden into the camp!"

He grabbed his shirt and strode toward her. "Give me my doublet!" Rest be damned, he thought. He needed to get to his horse and his weapons, which were slung on the saddle.

If Arthur Musgrave saw him, there would be trouble, but he could lead the riders away from the camp. The gypsies had helped him when he needed it, and he wanted no harm to come to them in return. He would have to come back for Tamsin, he realized.

Nona thrust the bundle at William, talking insistently. He took it, puzzled, and looked at Tamsin.

"She says you must put those on and stay here!"

"Nay. I must go out." He pulled on his shirt, suppressing a groan as he put his arm in the sleeve, then took the doublet from her and tried to do the same, but Nona shoved hard at him.

"What the devil does she want?" he demanded. He pulled on the doublet, catching his breath in agony, and lifted his helmet to jam it on his head. He hoisted his steel breastplate with one hand, and Nona smacked the armor, spilling a flood of Romany. The sound of horses, and men shouting, grew even louder.

"Please, William Scott, listen to her," Tamsin said. She came toward him and pulled at the armor he was trying to fasten. "My grandmother says you must hide in here until these men are gone. We willna let them know that you are with us."

"Hide? Dinna be foolish."

"Do it, or you will bring trouble to this camp! These men mean to take you down! They tried to kill you!"

"I willna hide from scoundrels."

"If anyone is killed in this camp, or nearby, the Romany will be blamed and punished! Put these on!"

He stopped, hampered by her, and by his own clumsiness, unable to don anything with two angry females determined to stop him. "What alarms you so?" he asked Tamsin.

"They hang gypsies for naught, you know that!"

"No one will be hanged," he bit out, working the buckles of his armor.

"And if trouble occurs at my cousin's wedding, 'twill curse her marriage! Bad luck will always follow the bride and groom."

"Nonsense," he said firmly. "I will lead the riders away from the camp, and no one will have bad luck of them but me. I can shake them loose without trouble." He turned to lift the door flap. "And then I will come back for you," he added.

Nona yanked at his arm. He nearly yowled in pain. She mumbled in rapid Romany, waving the ragged bundle she held.

"Please," Tamsin said. "Please, William Scott. You dinna understand—this is very bad."

"Why?" he asked, breathlessly, fighting pain, trying to shake loose Nona's insistent hand on his arm.

"Dinna go out there. If anything happens at all, I will be to blame. I couldna bear that. I am...
wafri bak
among these people," she said quietly. "Bad luck. Some of the Romany believe that ill fortune comes to them when I am around."

"Why so? Because you are part Scots?"

She shook her head, clenching her left hand into a tight little fist, putting it behind her back. "Please just wait here. Let my grandfather and the others send these men on their way." She glanced up at him, her eyes like green pools. He saw a need reflected there, so genuine and surprising that he ached in his heart to see it.

"What is it, lass?" he asked. "What bothers you so?"

She shook her head. "Please, William Scott. You said you owed me a favor. Pay me, then, by staying here."

William sighed, and took the cloth bundle from Nona's hands.

Chapter 11

"But I'll a fortune-telling go,

And our fortunes make thereby

Well said, my little gypsy girl,

You counsel famously."

—English Gypsy Song

"Your grandfather is leading them this way," William whispered a while later. Standing beside Tamsin, he peered through a slitted opening in the closed canvas doorway.

John Faw strolled toward the wagon with two men in helmets and leather jacks, and paused to speak with them. "They may know me, despite this gypsy gear I'm wearing." William indicated his borrowed clothing. "If they see me, I canna guarantee peace. They will know 'twas I with Jock and Sandie."

"Grandfather has told them that we have seen no Bordermen all evening. But now they ask to have an Egyptian woman tell their fortunes before they leave."

"I heard. Your grandfather could have refused."

"They offered coin," she said, shrugging. "And my grandmother is well known among the
gadjo
for fortune-telling." She turned and spoke to Nona, who sat in the back of the wagon. The old woman waved her hands and whispered rapidly.

"What does she want?" William asked.

"She wants me to go outside and talk to the men and tell their fortunes for silver." While she spoke, she reached into a basket and withdrew a pale silken scarf, which she wound around her left fist. "Since I speak their language, I can read their palms more quickly than Nona, so they will leave sooner."

"Arthur Musgrave will know you," he said quietly.

"Aye," she said simply. "He may. But I am protected here. By the time he tells his father, I will be gone."

"Aye, to Rookhope."

She shrugged and did not answer.

William peered over the top of her head at the men who spoke with John Faw in the flickering light of the bonfire. "Very well, then," he said decisively. "We'll go out."

"We? They mustna see you!"

"I look like a gypsy in this gear, if I keep my distance." He glanced down at his clothing: a brown woolen tunic, a bright silk scarf around his neck, a wide-brimmed woven straw hat, and a striped cloak that covered the sling on his left arm. Nona had insisted that he remove his boots and nether stocks, so he stood barefoot, his breeches hemmed at the knee.

"They willna notice me among the others," he said firmly.

"You are dark-haired like a Romany—but you are taller than most, and your skin is pale. Grandmother wanted to rub walnut juice and grease over your skin to darken you, but we didna have the time."

"I might have let
you
do that, lass," he drawled, "but your grandmother has the gentle hand of a blacksmith. I'm going out."

She reached up and tugged the hat brim over his eyes. "If you must go out, keep those blue eyes hidden."

"You have green eyes, and you are a gypsy," he murmured.

Nona uttered an abrupt command, and Tamsin turned to give her grandmother a meek reply, as if in apology.