by Rue Allyn
“He is our voivode, or chief as you call him.” The man paused, and the rustle of canvas and creak of a wagon step alerted her to another presence.
“You’ve found her. Has the bastard hurt her?”
Delilah turned her head toward the deep voice and the man who held her set her on her feet. “She has caught a chill, though I can’t vouch for her treatment at the baron’s hands.”
She steadied herself against Jal. “Are you the one they call Deagan?”
“Yes, it has been many years since I’ve seen you, Delilah. You’ve grown into a most impressive young woman.”
Curiosity made her forget her demands to be taken to Westpoint. “How is it you know me?”
“Come, we’ll have a meal by the fire. I shall tell you all you forgot, or have not been told these long years, of you, the one you call mother, the squire, and Kata.”
A warm, calloused hand grasped hers in a gentle grip and led her to the heat of the campfire. She was pressed to sit on a sturdy bench and someone handed her a warm wooden bowl. Delilah sniffed the inviting scent of rich vegetable stew and warm rye bread, her stomach gurgling in appreciation. After running a finger along the edge of the bowl for the spoon, she scooped up some of the stew, blew on it, and then savored the spicy taste as Deagan began to talk.
“I first met Isabella, the one you call your mother, the year before you were born. We were camped at this very spot when she and the squire slipped into our camp one night. Oh, she was a beautiful woman and a suburb dancer. None but a true gypsy heart could dance as free as she did. I was taken by her delicate golden beauty straight off.”
Delilah caught her breath in wonder. She always thought she took after the dark-haired woman who came in her dreams. “My mother was blond? You have made a mistake, for the woman I remember was dark like me.”
“I have made no mistake. The woman you remember was my sister Kata, your mother who served as your nursemaid for many years.”
“A lie!”
“No, listen and all will become clear.” The fire shifted, crackling as if he stirred it with a stick. “After the dancing wound down that first night she sat beside me and told me of her shattered dreams. Two years she was married to the squire and though he visited her bed each night, she didn’t have a child to show for it. She asked me to cast a spell or give her some sort of fertility potion to change the situation.”
Delilah leaned forward teaming with curiosity, her meal forgotten. “And did you?”
He chuckled. “Ah, my child, there are many things a gypsy can do, but conceiving a child is not magic, simply the act of love. Kata and the squire made love beneath a gypsy moon and you were conceived. It seemed the perfect solution for your mother to claim you as her own, since the squire could not marry my sister and could give you the life you should have. Eventually we moved on, but I never forgot her. The next time we happened by this way was almost a year later. One night Isabella and Kata slipped into our camp and brought you with them.”
Delilah interrupted the tale right there. “It is not true. I am my mother’s daughter.”
“Nay, that is what you have been told and assumed was true. I begged Kata to return to her gypsy roots, yet she refused. She still loved the squire you see, and did not regret doing what she did to keep his love. I did not have the heart to take you away from her, so I made her promise to bring you to see me each time I happened by.”
She leaped from her seat in denial. “Nay! You are a gypsy and therefore nothing but a trickster. Why should I believe your tale?”
He took her hand in his. “I loved Kata, still I let you be, for your destiny was the life of a titled princess, not a penniless wanderer.”
Anger at their betrayal pricked her words. “I am no princess, but the unwanted daughter of a squire. My affliction is a curse for my illegitimate birth, and my punishment a life worth less than yours.”
“No. You have been gifted with a sight beyond your eyes. It is not a gypsy curse, it is a special gift.” He smoothed her locks from her cheek with a tender caress. “You were your mother’s greatest joy and it nearly broke her heart when you went blind. Like you, she thought it her evil deed that caused the sickness, and she came to me for a spell to reverse your fortune. But we have no such powers. We have nothing more than a few healing potions, nothing to help in a case like yours.” His voice took on a deep sadness. “All I could do was gift you with a wise guide and a talisman of protection to help you through life.”
“Jester?”
“Yes, I could only hope he would see you through the dangers coming your way. Then Isabella died. Kata and the rest of the gypsies were banished from the squire’s land.”
Delilah sank down on the bench in shock, and for some strange reason a sense of well-being. If the tale was to be believed, she was free from any decree to marry the baron. Even though her sightless eyes didn’t deter him, her less than noble heritage would. What was to stop her from following the gypsies?
“Take me with you.” It was obvious her request took Deagan by surprise by the moments of silence ticking by.
At long last he cleared his throat. “You have a life, and I promised your mother I would not take you from it.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
His sigh hung heavy in the air between them. “I am selfish, I suppose. I wanted to know you and for you to know the truth about your heritage before I die.”
“Do I not get a choice in my own life? Am I so disabled I cannot make the decision whom to marry and where to live?”
“Ah, my little jewel, you have the true gypsy spirit. What about Baron March?”
Repulsion filled her at the mention of the man’s name and she tried to hide it, yet she suspected her uncle would see her true feelings. “He was a choice between the lesser of two evils, or so I thought.”
“I suspected as much when I heard. You are right, however; the marriage cannot be.”
Startled she lifted a brow. “How would you know? Have you met the baron?”
“He has dealt a few crooked blows to our people before. But no, I have not met him myself. I do know where he came from and his blood must not mix with yours. I feel your heart, my little jewel, and have seen your plight in Delinka’s crystal ball. I had only to meet you and discern your heart to make my decision.”
“I do not understand.”
“Come, I will introduce you to Delinka and she will explain it to you, for she has the power to see things in the orb.” Taking her hand he led her away from the heat of the fire. They walked a few short feet before he placed her hand on a smooth wooden rail and helped her climb two steps. “This is Delinka’s wagon, come inside and sit.”
Delilah allowed him to lead her through a narrow door and then took a seat on a low wooden stool. Her hands came to rest upon a table before her covered in a rough fabric.
A deep, feminine voice greeted her from across the table. “Greetings lost one. I am Delinka, drabardi of our tribe.”
She jumped when cool, wrinkled fingers grasped hers in a light grip. “Drabardi?”
“Teller of the past, present, and future.”
Delilah squirmed in her chair, unsure why the person behind the kind voice made her uneasy. “I do not know you.”
“I have seen you many times, Delilah, in my dreams and in the fog swirling in the crystal ball.”
“I do not understand.”
“I know. Here, let me show you.” The fingers moved her hand to rest upon a smooth, cold, rounded surface and then covered hers to keep it there.
Delilah gasped when the surface began to warm as if heated by a flame. “I am blind and cannot see what you seek to show me.”
“Shh, you’ve no need for your eyes; open your mind to see.”
A strange sensation spread from her hand upward. The tingling raised the tiny hairs on her arm and her head became foggy. A picture of a little dark-haired girl playing with a tawny colt swam before her mind’s eye. No, not playing, dancing toget
her around a large flickering fire. Her long, curly locks flowed around her to the beat of a drum and the singsong of a violin. A beautiful golden-haired woman danced with the child and the colt, laughing and twirling to the music. It’s her. My mother. The one I called mother, anyway. A smaller, dark woman smiled from the shadows where she sat cross-legged on a colorful blanket clapping. Kata, the nursemaid. My real mother.
The image faded and before Delilah could withdraw her hand another took its place. This time she saw the fair woman lying still on a bed. A man sat beside her, clutching her hands in his. She knew without being told this was her father. The dark-haired woman hovered in the background. The man turned, anger and grief hardening his stare. He pointed to the door and then pushed Kata from the room.
Again the image faded, this time replaced by one of the baron arguing with her father on a stormy cliff top. She gasped, recognizing the nightmare that came to her each evening. The rain poured down drowning their words, distorting her sight. Without warning the baron leaped forward, tackling the squire about the knees. He went down and the two rolled over and over, until a blow left her father prone. He reached up as if pleading. The baron stumbled to his feet, lifted his fist to the sky in defiance and then kicked the squire over the edge of the cliff. Delilah couldn’t help the cry of horror escaping her lips, echoing in the confines of the wagon. The image blurred as if the rain became harder, and then cleared to show two figures dancing around the flames of a roaring fire. A woman with flowing black hair, loose about her shoulders and violet eyes, half closed in pleasure, and a tall, clean shaven man. She knew in an instant it was her and the earl. They danced with wild abandon, caressing each other in a way that was sensual and provocative. The cold fingers lifted her hand from the surface of the crystal ball, causing the images to come to an abrupt halt.
“Wait,” she cried out.
“That is enough, little jewel, for you are unused to seeing.”
Delilah clutched her still tingling hand to her chest. “Why? How is this possible? Is it some sort of gypsy trick?”
“Drink this.” Delinka pressed a wooden tankard into her hands. She raised it to her lips and drank the warm mulled elderberry wine. When she finished, the drabardi took the cup away and led Delilah to a low, narrow cot. “Sleep now, let your mind rest, and all will be clear when you wake.”
The idea of sleep overtaking the confusion in her mind didn’t seem possible. Nevertheless, she slipped beneath the rough wool blanket and drifted off into an exhausted slumber almost before her head hit the pillow.
Chapter Nineteen
Tyrone rode the baron’s horse, following the pony’s odd track. Jester kept going in the same direction, jogging along as if he knew the way. There was not much else to do but continue following the pony. Eventually they came to a barn an hour ride from Westpoint land. A young man looked up and paused where he pitched straw from a stall into an unhitched wagon by the door.
“You there,” Tyrone addressed the fellow. “Have you seen a blind woman with this pony or on foot last eve or this morn?”
The young fellow glanced at the pony and the stable master before shifting his sleepy gaze back to Tyrone. “No, my lord. I’d remember seeing such a sight fer sure.” He swatted at Jester when the pony made to push past him into the barn.
“Are you sure?” Tyrone dismounted, handed his reins to his companion, and followed Jester to the doorway of the rough lumber building. He peered inside. It looked like every other barn, littered with straw and smelling of manure.
“Quite sure, my lord.” The young man shooed away the pony and turned back to forking dirty straw.
Tyrone stepped away. “If you should come across Miss Daysland, send word to Westpoint immediately.”
The boy nodded and continued with his chores.
Tyrone remounted his horse and directed it to the main road. “Come, Jester.”
The pony hesitated, but then trotted ahead until he came to the cottage. With a shake of his head and a defiant nicker he stopped at the door. At the sound it swung open, a middle-aged woman framed in the doorway. Her eyes grew round at the sight greeting her, a frail hand going to the shawl cast about her thin shoulders.
“Good day, mistress.” Tyrone tipped his hat. “I am searching for a missing woman. Have you by any chance seen a blind woman in these parts today?”
Her eyes darted to the young man, now leaning on his pitch fork scowling, before swinging back to the pony. “No, my lord. I’m jus’ a washer woman, see. I wouldn’t know of any noble woman wandering the forest in a storm.”
Tyrone pondered her for a moment and then looked to the sky. He didn’t mention Miss Daysland was out in the storm. “The weather is fine this morning, mistress.” When she blanched and looked at her feet, prickles of wariness rode his neck. Something was not right, he could feel it.
A thin, tight lipped man rode into the yard on a sorry nag, leading a sturdy workhorse. His eyes narrowed before he stepped from the swaybacked mount and snapped his fingers to the lad. “Can I be of service, my lord?” he asked, handing the reins of his horse and the work animal’s lead to the boy.
“I have come in search of a young woman who is missing.” Tyrone took note of the red ribbon entwined in the mane of the feather-footed draft horse. The ribbon was the trade mark of a gypsy bred animal.
“I’ve not seen any such girl, my lord. I’ve been gone these past days to purchase a new plow horse.” The man shrugged.
“A fine specimen to be sure. Where did you purchase such a sturdy beast?”
The man darted a look at the woman. “At the market in Wyatt Town east of ‘ere, my lord.”
“Really? The beast has the look of fine gypsy stock.”
“Could be.” The man shrugged again. “There were some traders there. I’ve no qualms buying from the gypsies, long as I don’t get cheated out of my coin.”
Tyrone leaned forward. “Did he cost you a goodly sum?”
“Enough. ‘Twas a good harvest this year and time to retire Samson there.” He jerked his head toward the shaggy, brown mount. The animal, little more than bones and skin now, wandered in the rickety corral beside the barn.
“Indeed.” Tyrone tipped his hat and called to the pony, “Jester, come.”
The pony whinnied again and shook his head. The woman shrank back from the door and flapped her shawl to encourage the animal from her doorstep.
Tyrone rode forward, casting a curious glance inside the one room hovel. Nothing inside seemed out of the ordinary, he noted, leaning down and clipping a lead on the disobedient pony. “I bid you good day. If you come across the miss in question, please send word to Westpoint. There will be a handsome reward for her safe return.” He rode off down the narrow, weed-filled lane, with the pony and stable master.
The stable master leaned forward in his saddle to peer at the ground. “Fresh wagon wheel ruts with the tracks of a large-footed horse between them. Someone else besides us also visited the farmer since the night’s rains.”
Had the baron been here? Tyrone studied the tracks. It was possible, yet he didn’t think the baron would come looking for Delilah in a farm wagon. A saddle horse, too, it appeared had followed the wagon.
He glanced over his shoulder before they rounded the bend. The farmer was standing there, watching him. Did the man steal the workhorse? It was possible, he supposed, however sure-fingered gypsies would be more apt to pilfer an animal. It was more likely the horse was of gypsy stock since it did display ribbons of the wanderers brand in its mane. He turned to the stable master. “Have you heard of any roving bands of gypsies in this part of late?”
“Not around Wyatt, my lord, though they do pass through this way each planting and harvest I hear tell.”
When they reached the main road the wagon tracks turned right. On a hunch Tyrone followed them to the junction of a field. The tracks crossed the open grass and entered the forest beyond. It couldn’t hurt to see just who visited the farmer this morning.
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nbsp; The coolness of the shaded forest path was an inviting shelter against the early heat of the sun. The groom reined in his horse and pointed at the tracks in the soft dirt. “Look here, my lord. There are two sets of wagon tracks, one coming out of the wood and one going back in, followed by a single horse. A top of them, as if at a later time, are the tracks of a single horse, this time leading a heavier one behind. It is clear the farmer lied. The workhorse was not purchased at Wyatt, but most likely at the gypsy camp itself. Why did the farmer lie?”
Tyrone’s gut told him it was something to do with Delilah.
In time the trail led to an open clearing where it appeared a number of wagons had been circled around the smoldering remains of a campfire. The gypsies were here as little as two hours ago, he was sure.
The groom looked to the sky. “It is getting late, my lord. Perhaps we should go back to the baron’s to see if he has yet to return. Mayhap he has found her, or can shed some light upon the situation.”
Tyrone nodded. He could follow the gypsy tracks all day, but what was the point if they didn’t have Delilah? He wasn’t even sure they saw her at all. The stable master did have a point. They were better off returning to the baron’s to seek information. He pivoted his horse and returned the way they came.
Chapter Twenty
Delilah rolled over on the narrow cot, accustoming herself to the sounds and movement of the wagon. Could she believe the visions from the crystal ball? If they were true, Augustus was a murderer. Now that she was married to him, it stood to reason he would do her harm if he discovered she knew the truth, though he already attempted to, either deliberately or otherwise, in his drunken state. Tyrone was back in London, and no longer in charge of her well-being either, so who else could she turn for help? No one would believe her. They already thought she was noddy. On the other hand, Augustus wouldn’t find her here. She would be safe with the gypsies.
The gentle sway and jingle jangle of the horse’s harness lulled her into a sense of peace. Or was it the answers she found in the crystal ball? No matter, she was a gypsy. Her place was the earth, sun, and the stars above. She wouldn’t be shunned by these people, her people, unlike the nobility that looked upon her with pity. She was safe here for the moment, until she could figure out how to foil the baron’s plans.
