The Gypsy Bride

by Sandra Madden

  “Ivan,” Henrietta repeated. “’Tis a name that conveys strength. It’s a fine name.”

  “Aye.” Mila hobbled over to Henrietta and held up the lantern for a closer look. Henrietta blinked as the healer studied her as if she were an unidentified herb. “You sound out of sorts, girlie. Did you drink your tonic, tonight?”

  Henrietta had been drinking Mila’s special tonic before she went to sleep every night since she’d joined the caravan. While she hadn’t noticed any difference in how she felt, the old Gypsy vowed the sweet liquid would give her the strength she needed to travel with the Gypsies—and more.

  Although she had asked what the more was, Mila had never explained.

  “I forgot,” she said, pushing herself to her feet. Her body felt as if it weighed more than Jassy’s mama bear. Rather than argue with Mila, she poured half a cup of the thick tonic.

  “And did you forget to read Lucien’s palm?”

  “No.” She stared into the amber liquid. It was quite similar in taste to nectar. Could this special tonic be an aphrodisiac? Could it be possible, for whatever purpose, Mila’s special mixture had something to do with Henrietta’s feelings for Lucien? No!

  It seemed ironic now, that in order to explain their dangerous attraction to one another, just hours ago she had speculated to Lucien that they were victims of a special potion or a spell cast by Mila. In doing so, she had given him little choice but to make love to her. She was to blame. Her naiveté had brought her to this. She had lived too long in a sheltered world.

  Though why Lucien considered her suggestion to be plausible, still puzzled her. Why would Mila encourage passion between her king and an English runaway?

  She put the cup down without drinking from it.

  “Well?” Mila prompted.

  “I read Lucien’s palm.”

  “Was he pleased?”

  Henrietta’s unsettled stomach lurched slightly. “I ... I think so.”

  “But you are not pleased.” Mila’s dark, jet-bead eyes narrowed to bare slits. She pointed a gnarled finger at Henrietta. “You are plagued.”

  “It is true, I feel unwell. Something I ate, I fear.”

  “Let me see your hand.” Without waiting for leave, the old woman snatched Henrietta’s hand and turned it up, twisting it closer to the light.

  “What do you see?” Henrietta asked, despite herself.

  “I see confusion.”

  “No. I feel no confusion whatsoever.”

  “I see doubt.”

  “Tonight, my mind was freed of all doubt.”

  “I see danger.”

  “Danger?” Henrietta caught her breath. The pulse at her wrist pounded in a swift unnatural beat. “Where? What kind of danger?”

  “I see danger for you ... and Lucien.”

  An icy shiver skipped down Henrietta’s spine.

  Once again, she could feel the tears building, stinging hot behind her eyes. A lump rose in her throat. No matter what he had done, she could not bring harm to the man who had rescued her from a bleak fate and given her one glorious night of love.

  She drew a deep breath. “Mila, I have attempted to go my own way and failed. Will you help me leave the caravan?”

  * * * *

  With his hands clasped firmly behind his back and his gaze fixed on his boots, Lucien angrily paced his tent, marching a precise circle. Steffan idly watched as he reclined upon his pile of velvet cushions and soft cashmere blankets.

  “I cannot believe you allowed this to happen, Steffan.”

  “How could I have prevented it? Sabina has her way with the old king. If I don’t miss my guess, her father has never denied the princess her way.”

  “Well, I shall,” he growled.

  Steffan’s eyebrows shot up. “You cannot jeopardize the union of the tribes, Lucien.”

  Lucien spun on his brother. “You do not need to remind me.”

  “Something other than this news of Sabina has upset you,” Steffan declared. “Did you quarrel with the Englishwoman? Have I interrupted a lovers’ quarrel?”

  “Lady Hadley and I have had a minor disagreement,” Lucien acknowledged curtly.

  “Cheer up, old fellow. She leaves us soon, at Stoke-on-Trent, isn’t it? The lady shall bedevil you no longer.”

  “I told her we would take her to Liverpool.”

  “What?” Steffan bolted upright.

  “I gave my word we would deliver her safely to the ship.” Lucien’s gruff, clipped response was meant to dissuade argument.

  He could not bear the thought of any harm coming to Henrietta, either from Oster, her guardian, or some unknown villain. Once they arrived in Liverpool, he had determined to hire a companion to travel with her to North America. He would never forgive himself if any harm befell her.

  “Why?” his brother demanded. “Why did you promise to take her to Liverpool, knowing we were going to York, which is nowhere near the port city?”

  “Henrietta Hadley is an innocent who needs our help.”

  “You are taken with her,” Steffan accused.

  “Nonsense!” Lucien scoffed.

  “It is true.”

  “Steffan,” Lucien said, returning to the business at hand, “prepare a welcome feast for Princess Sabina tomorrow evening. We shall celebrate her presence in our camp. And in the meantime, let us hope she comes to her senses.”

  “Yes, let us.”

  “And since she has insisted on traveling with you to see me, I shall not keep her waiting. Will you fetch her?”

  “The princess might be in a better humor if you gave her time to rest.”

  “Are you trying to tell me Sabina is an ill-tempered harridan?”

  Steffan’s expression grew grave. “She is a strong-willed woman, Lucien.”

  Hadn’t he had enough of strong-willed women? Lucien heaved an impatient sigh.

  “In fairness, Sabina is exceedingly beautiful,” his brother hastened to add. “She can seduce a man with one look. In her camp the tales of spurned lovers are legion. She has been breaking hearts since a babe.”

  With another, heavier sigh, Lucien relented. “We will delay the feast for a day so that she may rest. But I will speak with Sabina tomorrow.”

  “Wise decision. Besides, I have been dwelling on an alternative solution to our unification problem that I wish to discuss with you.”

  While he was surprised to hear his brother wished to speak to him of serious tribal business, Lucien was relieved to turn his mind to other matters.

  But later that night, hours after Steffan had fallen asleep, Lucien remained awake. It had been weeks since he’d suffered from insomnia, but a disconcerting push and pull held fast in his head. He could only blame his sleeplessness on his argument with Henrietta.

  Tonight there were also physical symptoms accompanying his insomnia. The heart he had guarded so well these past years felt hollow. How disconcerting to learn he preferred pain to the emptiness he experienced now. Lucien’s head ached as well, a constant dull throbbing.

  He tried to turn his thoughts to the welfare of the clan, but his mind stubbornly returned to the quarrel with Henrietta. He considered rising from his bed and slipping outside where he wouldn’t disturb Steffan. He wished to walk alone and consult the stars, but his soul had gained the weight of an obese man. He felt too heavy to move.

  After arriving at a perfect solution, a way for Henrietta and him to stay together, he’d been taken aback by her angry reaction to his proposal.

  By choosing to travel to North America, the lady was willingly relinquishing her due and all the privileges that went with her birthright. She seemed prepared to do that, to sacrifice her standing in the aristocracy without an ounce of remorse.

  That being the case, Lucien had reasoned she would not take affront with his offer to become his mistress. He had felt certain she cared for him and would wish to be with him. He had expected she would make the extra sacrifice to be treated as his true queen for the rest of her life.


  Not only had he badly misjudged the situation, he had for a time forgotten his Gypsy heritage. Evidently Henrietta had not. She obviously held the role of mistress or wife to a Gypsy in the utmost disdain. Hadn’t he learned that lesson with Charlotte when he was still a callow youth?

  Lucien had nothing to offer Lady Hadley except his apologies.

  * * * *

  Henrietta gathered twigs for Mila’s fire. The old woman planned to cook a special dish for the evening feast honoring Princess Sabina.

  For the second day, the caravan buzzed with the news that Sabina had returned with Steffan. Speculation ran high as to the meaning of her unexpected appearance. Henrietta’s spirits sunk lower than Mercury’s fat belly. It was an effort for her to rise in the morning.

  Only the knowledge that Mila had agreed to help her leave the caravan enabled Henrietta to put one foot ahead of the other.

  If she hadn’t been so disheartened, she would have appreciated the splendid day. Buttercups bloomed in the glen, and the spring grass, a rich shamrock green, blanketed the rolling hills. Still wet with morning dew, the soft blades shimmered under the sun.

  Listlessly, Henrietta bent to retrieve some sticks she’d found at the edge of a copse of ancient oaks. When she straightened, ready to start back to camp, she saw Lucien headed her way.

  Her broken heart pulled itself together to leap at the sight of him.

  Tall and compelling, he strode purposefully toward her. She took him in as she took in the sun, through her pores. Sleek and untamed, like the noble stallions he bred in Wales, he advanced on her, his lips compressed, his eyes hooded. A soft breeze stirred his loose raven hair. His golden earring glinted in the sun. Strength shimmered from his broad shoulders. He was all good things in one learned man: warrior, lover and leader.

  Her knees turned to dust. A kindling of warm embers, an exquisite ache stirred deep in her soul. If matters were different between them, she would lie with him in the glen without urging.

  As Lucien drew closer, she saw his jaw was set in a determined line. Henrietta drew herself up, presenting him with a picture of utmost righteousness and dignity.

  “Good morning, Lady Hadley.”

  “Good morning.”

  He frowned, looking down at her bare feet.

  “What is it?” she asked, keeping her head at an aloof angle.

  “Are you aware that you are standing in a patch of poison oak?”

  Her first reaction was to run from the spot. Her second was to maintain propriety at all costs. She swallowed and lifted her chin a trifle higher. “Poison oak does not affect me in the least,” she lied.

  The truth was, the plant affected her dreadfully. Had she not been so caught up in her misery earlier, she would have watched where she was walking. Surreptitiously she lowered her eyes.

  To be certain, she literally stood in a field of poison oak.

  Lucien nodded and replied quite formally. “I am relieved to hear as much.”

  The rapid beating of her heart as she met his gaze, dismayed and alarmed her. Lucien aroused emotions she did not choose to feel any longer.

  “You have taken me by surprise once again, my lord. What brings you so far from camp?”

  “It is not so far.” He stood with his feet planted apart, his hands behind his back.

  The King of the Gypsies appeared to be as ill at ease as Henrietta.

  “I have heard Princess Sabina arrived with Steffan.”

  “You have heard correctly. Although her presence is an unplanned event, she indeed is here with us. We celebrate the occasion tonight.”

  Sabina’s arrival might be unplanned, but Henrietta had definite plans. She would be suffering from a dreadful headache by dusk. There would be no feasting with Princess Sabina for her. But that was something Lucien did not have to know at present.

  “I know. I am gathering firewood.” Despite her efforts, she spoke in stilted tones. “Mila wishes to prepare a special dish for the princess.”

  A muscle in Lucien’s jaw constricted. His dark eyes were flat. It was as if a curtain cloaked whatever feelings she might read in his gaze. “Henrietta, please accept my apologies. I understand now that becoming my mistress would be wholly abhorrent to you.”

  Her stomach knotted. Tears that seemed to be ever present for the past two days, welled within her. But she refused to show her pain.

  “I accept your apology,” she said stiffly, softly, over the lump in her throat. “You have been most kind to allow me to travel with your caravan and hide me from my guardian.”

  “We shall leave for Liverpool in the morning.”

  Without another word, without the semblance of a smile, he turned on his heel and marched away.

  * * * *

  By dusk the celebration had begun.

  The terrible itching Henrietta had experienced even before she could discreetly jump out of the poison oak patch and run back to camp had finally abated.

  Twice that day, Mila had rubbed an evil smelling salve over Henrietta’s legs and feet. She had also gulped down a potion the old woman promised would sooth her raw nerves.

  Now, she stirred the ingredients of a quail stew in the black iron pot. Her assiduous mentor was off tending Jassy and the bear cub, Ivan.

  Mila spent a great deal of time of late with the bear trainer. While difficult to envision, a permanent bond between Mila and Jassy would delight Henrietta. He would make a caring companion for the old woman.

  Although Henrietta had not as yet seen Princess Sabina, the intangible excitement in camp proclaimed her presence, as well as the ornate, gilded bow-top van stationed near Lucien’s tent. Why had she come? Was she so eager that she could not wait a week more to marry the King of the English Gypsies?

  Unable to shake her ill-humor, Henrietta looked about her, committing the camp to memory. She had learned that despite their uninhibited, nomadic life, the Gypsies were devoted to family. They treasured old and young alike, afforded the utmost respect to their elders and council, and no matter which clan they belonged to, they revered the royalty of all tribes.

  She regretted the seemingly relentless persecution of the complicated culture. She admired the Gypsies’ love of fun, and envied their ability to abandon all the rules of polite society. They possessed free souls, free spirits. She would never fear them again. And she knew she would always love the Gypsy King, who was indeed a thief—he had stolen her heart.

  Mila had promised Henrietta that her voyage to Liverpool would begin later tonight, when everyone slept, or had passed out from the drinking and feasting.

  A deep sadness burrowed into her heart. Her stomach felt heavy, as if she had eaten a plate of leaden scones. She would not be saying good-bye to Lucien.

  But perhaps she could see him one more time.

  Leaving the pot of quail stew unattended, and with Mercury trotting at her heels, Henrietta made her way toward Lucien’s tent. She did not know what she would say to him. Perhaps she would say nothing. Perhaps she would simply brush her lips against his cheek in a farewell kiss.

  Twenty feet away from Lucien’s tent, Henrietta stopped in her tracks.

  A beautiful, dark-haired woman also approached the Gypsy King’s tent. The striking stranger could only be Princess Sabina. The lovely bride-to-be dripped with gold and made a tinkling musical sound as she walked. A silver bracelet of tiny bells was wrapped around her ankle.

  Tern bowed deeply.

  The flap opened and Lucien emerged, smiling broadly. He also bowed, and taking the Princess’s hand, he raised it to his lips.

  Immobilized, Henrietta watched as Lucien pulled the Princess into his tent.

  Her knees buckled, her head reeled. The pain could not have been greater if Lucien had plunged a knife clear through her heart.

  She turned quickly and made her way back in a daze of devastation. Retreating into Mila’s tent she sobbed until her tears ran dry. She could only wait with Mercury until it was time to go.

  ****

  T
he entire tribe entered into the celebration of Princess Sabina. The dancing and drinking had been going on for hours. The crescent moon had almost reached its pinnacle.

  While Lucien searched for Henrietta, Steffan danced with Sabina. There were hours to go before the celebration would end.

  Lucien found Mila first on the edge of the dancers. “Where is your English apprentice, Mila?”

  “She is unwell.”

  “And you have been unable to make her well?” He had always been wary of the old, witch-like woman. She possessed mysterious powers with and without her potions.

  “Henrietta has the headache.”

  “Go fetch her,” he demanded.

  “I do not—”

  “Fetch her!” he growled. His patience had been severely tried during the past twenty-four hours. He had none left. “I’ll be at the pen.”

  Mila had a fast hold on Henrietta’s wrist when she pulled the girl toward the pen.

  He nodded curtly. “Leave us.”

  Henrietta’s eyes were red and swollen. What he had thought a ruse, was apparently true. She appeared to be suffering with her headache. He understood. He too, felt tormented.

  “Why have you made me come here?” she demanded in a raspy voice, as if her throat was raw. She tilted her chin defiantly.

  Whatever malady accosted her, she remained proud and obstinate. Lucien could not help but admire her spirit. Her full lips were parted expectantly, but he knew they did not await his kiss. He desperately wanted to kiss her, to soothe and comfort her until her pain disappeared.

  “You accepted my apology, Henrietta, but I do not believe you have forgiven me.”

  She lowered her head. “I have forgiven you.”

  Her words did not persuade him. He could still feel the dissension between them and he could not bear it any longer. “I did not mean to be disrespectful when I asked you to be my mistress—”

  “It was a compliment then?”

  He nodded slowly. Her tone did not make it sound like one.

  “You are forgiven your compliment.”

  “But that’s it, I don’t feel forgiven. Have I done something more to offend you? Have I erred in word or action and do not realize it?”