She focused her thoughts once again on the branches of the trees, willing one of them to crack. The same hollow voice called to her, “Leave us be, Ancient One!”
Unnerved, Jenny got to her feet. She started back to camp, stumbling as her gaze darted in every direction, looking for whoever had followed her out to the woods. She no longer thought it was her imagination, but a real voice, perhaps one of the Gypsies, out to frighten her.
It had not sounded like Kaulo, but whoever had spoken might have disguised his voice. She shivered with unease when she realized she’d heard the voice with both her ears, even the deaf one.
Moving quickly back to camp, she was anxious to return to all that she knew was real and solid. Some of the older children were tending the fires and the pots that simmered over them. She asked a young boy for Rupa’s location, and he pointed to Bardo’s wagon, halfway down the line.
Jenny went to it, climbed the steps, and knocked on the door. Bardo’s wife opened it and gestured her inside. It was just as small as the wagon she and Matthew shared, and cluttered, but not with castoffs. There was a large bed on one side of the door, draped in dark red and gold silk. Gold tassels hung on similar red curtains against the windows, and two chairs stood neatly in place under a small table. There were two short cabinets near the stove, all of which filled the caravan with little room to spare.
There were so many people inside, Jenny started to excuse herself to leave. But Mrs. Bardo took her hand and pulled her inside, speaking rapidly in the Rom language. The three young brides had flopped onto the bed, their faces sullen and withdrawn.
Jenny caught Rupa’s eye. “What’s wrong?”
“They children. No want mens.”
Knitting her brows together, Jenny looked at the three girls on the bed and thought of Beti, likely being fitted in one of the Tsinoria caravans for her own wedding finery. Jenny could easily understand if the girl did not wish to marry Kaulo, and wondered if the Tsinoria grooms were just as unpleasant. “Your girls…They do not wish to marry?”
“They no wish to grow…to grow up. Become womans.”
Mrs. Bardo clapped her hands and spoke sharply to them. The women began to organize the clothing they’d gathered into three distinct ensembles. Since the garments had been pirated from the wardrobes of all the women in the company, they needed to be altered for the brides. Once they tried on all the frilly skirts and colorful blouses, the mothers decided who would wear what. Then Mrs. Bardo sent the brides and their mothers out, and spoke to Rupa, who nodded.
“Now we sew,” Rupa said, taking Jenny’s arm.
“Why me?”
Rupa touched the repaired shoulder of Jenny’s gown. “You sewing very good.” She smiled. “Besides, we like.”
The caravan emptied, but for Rupa, Jenny, and one other woman, a dark-haired matron named Zurama Pooro.
“Where did the girls—the brides—go?” Jenny asked.
“For bath.”
The logistics boggled Jenny’s mind. “I did not see anyone carrying bathwater.”
Rupa gave her a puzzled look.
Jenny rephrased her question. “Will there be baths for the brides in the other caravans?”
Rupa laughed and Zurama questioned her, presumably about what Jenny had said. They had a short interchange, and Zurama appeared aghast at what Rupa told her. She looked at Jenny as though she were mad.
“No,” Rupa said. “Gypsy never have bath inside. Wash in river.”
“In the river? ’Tis so cold!”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “Water flow. Gypsy way.”
Winter had mostly passed, but the thought of setting foot into one of Northumbria’s frigid rivers at this time of year made Jenny shiver. It was one thing to wash face and hands with cold water. But to immerse herself? She did not possess that kind of fortitude.
“They be quick,” said Rupa. “But no Gypsy stand in…what is word? Marimé. No tub. Dirty water.”
It seemed to be a theme of Gypsy life…nothing should stand still. They moved every day unless there was a special occasion, and they preferred most activities outside.
“Do you sleep out of doors when the weather is fine?”
Rupa laughed. “Sure. Bad to stay in. Gypsy need air!”
Jenny sat on one of the chairs while Rupa handed separate bunches of clothes to her and Zurama, along with the needles and thread that were needed to alter the garments. Their informal friendliness was vastly different from what she’d known at Bresland. Everything was more relaxed here, and even though she was a stranger, a gajo to them, the women had made her feel welcome.
Matthew did not fare quite as well with the men. They stopped at a crossroads where a small village had sprung up. It looked as though it had been there for centuries, and its people seemed familiar with the Gypsies, welcoming their commerce. A few horse trades took place while some of the men wandered to the various shops, stopping at the butcher’s and baker’s, buying what was needed for the wedding celebration. Bardo beckoned to Matthew to join him in the tavern. He greeted the Gypsies who were already there, then turned to the barkeep and ordered drinks, paying with a few coins that he took from a kerchief in his pocket.
Matthew took a long pull of the drink that was set before him and gasped, choking as it burned his mouth and throat and everything else on the way down. The Gypsies laughed as Bardo thumped his back, all but Kaulo, who jeered. “You no manhood. Not drink whiskey.”
“No’ without warning,” Matthew retorted, unfamiliar with the harsh drink. He lifted the glass and eyed it warily, calling to the barkeep. “Have you no decent ale, man?”
“Your woman,” said Kaulo. “She is satisfied with half man?”
Matthew met Kaulo’s gaze and smiled, but his expression infuriated the man, just as Matthew intended. The other Gypsies watched the two of them expectantly, while the barkeep placed a tall glass of dark ale on the bar. Matthew lifted it and drank half, all at once. He put his glass down on the bar and looked at Kaulo.
“You have your own bride waiting back at camp,” he said. “Why are you so interested in mine?”
Matthew knew the wife chosen for Kaulo was hardly more than a child, and certainly not as comely as Jenny. He leaned his back against the bar and waited for Kaulo to answer. The Gypsy gulped down the rest of his vile drink, then slammed his glass on the table and narrowed his eyes.
Bardo put his hand on Kaulo’s arm and spoke sharply to him, but Kaulo shrugged him off. He moved to stand directly in front of Matthew.
“Whatever you’re thinking, lad,” Matthew said as a strange heat prickled in his chest, “I wouldna try it.”
“Tekari!” Bardo commanded.
Kaulo did not move away, and Matthew was not about to back down, either. This was about Jenny and his ability to protect her. Since they were not in a position to leave the Gypsies yet, he needed to make clear what would happen to any man who entertained unacceptable ideas about her.
He took a step forward so that he was toe to toe with the man. Kaulo was not as tall as Matthew, but he was muscular and strong, and Matthew had no doubt he would be a worthy adversary.
The Gypsy threw the first punch, but Matthew caught his wrist with accelerated speed. The men in the tavern went silent as they watched Matthew counter every blow without striking any of his own. ’Twas too easy, he thought, as he waited for Tekari to mount a serious attack. He didn’t really know what he expected, only that Tekari Kaulo’s overbearingly threatening posturing was entirely unfounded. The man had no extraordinary fighting abilities.
Kaulo worked up a sweat, cursing Matthew as he tried blow after blow, and Matthew overheard an undercurrent of quiet muttering among the Gypsies. They seemed shocked to see Kaulo fail so miserably. Puzzled by their ignorance of his strategy, Matthew decided to end the encounter.
“If you’re about finished, lad…” he said in a deprecating tone.
Two of the men pulled Kaulo away and took him outside. Unconcerned by the strange looks cas
t his way by the Gypsies, Matthew finished his ale and placed his glass solidly upon the bar. “Are we done here?”
“You shame my nephew,” said Bardo.
“He shamed himself,” Matthew retorted. “And he had best stay clear of my wife.”
Bardo frowned. “Gypsy no like gajo woman.”
“Tell that to your lad.”
They heard women’s voices outside, and a moment later, a group of dark-eyed, colorfully dressed Gypsy females came into the tavern. They were the same women who had seemed unable to communicate with him and Jenny. They spoke English to the gajo men they found inside, and collected pennies as their price for looking at the palms of their hands and telling their fortunes.
Matthew watched with fascination, acutely aware that they were going about it all wrong. Unless they were seers, ’twould take a glass ball to do any accurate auguring. Clearly, the Gypsy women were deceiving their patrons.
’Twas not his concern. One more night in the camp, and he would take Jenny away from the Gypsies to set out for Carlisle.
Jenny helped to dress the brides. The two Tsinoria and three Lubunka girls were quiet and subdued as they waited outside their parents’ caravans. Beti seemed the most sullen, and Jenny could not fault her for it. The prospect of being tied to Kaulo was as unappealing to her as staying at Bresland would have been.
The women painted designs on the brides’ hands with berry juice, then draped the girls with necklaces laden with gold coins. It was as though they wore their family fortunes around their necks, just as Jenny had always done.
Her silver pendant was the extent of her own fortune, and she needed to find it. If the position at Darbury did not work out, she would not hesitate to leave. And if that happened, she would need to live on the money her locket would bring until she found another position. Even if all was well at Darbury and she stayed, she still wanted the locket. It was her only connection to her parents, to her mother in particular.
How different her life would have been had her parents survived their accident. She’d have been schooled at home, would have attended country balls and soirees, and would have had some exposure to the society of young men. She might have known better how to deal with Matthew when he’d crossed her path.
She found herself glancing in the direction he’d ridden, watching for his return. Some of the men had already come back with large packages of meat and rice, crates of vegetables, and bottles of alcohol. Until now, the meals she’d seen the Gypsy women prepare had been moderate to skimpy. Yet now they were busy preparing a banquet of huge proportions.
None of them seemed to suffer from their irregular meals and cold baths. They all seemed healthy, the very young as well as the old women smoking their pipes, and the grizzled men who sat on wooden crates or overturned buckets outside their caravans. The old men watched everything that went on in the camp as they talked among themselves, whittling wood or working on leather tack for the horses.
Rupa and Zurama talked Jenny into changing out of her black Bresland dress for the weddings. She put on the colorful skirt and blouse Rupa had given to her. Rupa took her hair out of its binding and brushed it, letting it fall in loose curls down her back. Zurama brought jewelry, draping rows of colorful beads around her neck and wrists, and helping her to attach heavy earrings to her lobes.
She felt different, as though heaven might strike her for being so primitive and sensual.
Once again, Jenny told herself the most prudent thing would be to pack up and leave the camp before Matthew returned, in spite of her promise to stay. Glancing quickly to the woods, she shivered at the thought of being followed if she left. Somehow, she knew it had not been Kaulo’s voice that she’d heard earlier. She touched her deaf ear and rubbed it, testing her hearing as she’d done hundreds of times after her injury had healed, not quite believing the ear no longer worked. It still did not.
Yet she had heard the voice with both ears.
She pulled her shawl tight around her shoulders and wished that Matthew would return and settle her ongoing argument with herself. Nothing was certain anymore. Perhaps she was wrong about him. His attractive appearance and obvious wealth did not necessarily mean he was already wed, did it?
“Your man return soon,” said Rupa.
Jenny blushed, embarrassed by the transparency of her yearnings.
“That one, he make you smile with touch.”
She blushed hotter.
“One day you have many children, many grandchildren, eh?”
Jenny felt as though her heart was in her throat. She swallowed and nodded, though she did not believe it. Rupa did not understand the ease with which the gajo abandoned each other.
The brides stayed hidden away while the younger children helped their mothers, gathering firewood, turning meat on the spit, carrying cooking water from the river. The savory smells of roasting meat, of leeks and garlic and spicy rice, permeated the Gypsy camp. The children of both clans, soon freed from their chores, ran together, laughing and playing, and stealing bites of food from their mothers’ cooking pots. The women set up tables and gathered plates and flatware from every caravan for the outdoor feast. It seemed too cold for such outdoor activities, but the Gypsies were undeterred by the weather. They were impervious to the cold, some not even wearing coats.
It was nearly dark when Rupa said, “Mens coming.” Jenny heard it then, the jingle of the horses’ bridles, the muffled voices in the distance. Matthew came into sight, riding the chestnut mare that had pulled their wagon to the campsite. He used no saddle, riding in the Gypsy style, but seemed even more masterful than the most expert horsemen among them. His hair was long and loose, and when he caught sight of Jenny standing in the center of camp, he smiled and rode in her direction, dismounting before the horse had even come to a halt. He was magnificent.
Jenny did not want to think about his past or the obligations he surely had. She would just enjoy the moment tonight, before she did what she must. Now that Matthew’s health had returned, she did not feel quite so guilty about her plan to leave in the morning.
The Isle of Coruain, 981
The sky over Coruain was nearly black, but for the flashes of the Odhar’s magical lòchran energy, relentlessly seeking to penetrate the Druzai shields. Alongside Brogan’s warriors, the elders managed to keep a powerful swathe of safety ’round the isles, but Ana feared it might not last. The elders were showing the strain of their sustained effort, and might actually fail. Ana could feel Eilinora’s malevolent presence and sense her evil purpose, yet she somehow knew the witch herself would soon leave.
Not that the attack upon Coruain would cease. Eilinora’s vicious Odhar would remain to bombard the isles with their evil attack while Eilinora went in search of Merrick and Brogan and the brìgha-stones.
A barrage of bright white lightning surged outside the protective shields, and Ana faltered. Each powerful lòchran blast was magnificent beyond anything she had ever seen before, and the elders struggled to hold off the attack. Ana could do naught to help them when a huge vortex of light and energy arrowed down from the sky above her. Lòchran pierced her shield and threw her off her feet, stabbing brutally through her skin and bones. Pain exploded all through her body, but she managed to hurtle an attack of her own, sending bolts of lòchran energy in the reverse direction. She rolled away, concealing herself, ignoring the tears in her skin and the pain of her shattered bones. She drew upon all her talents to close the shield above her.
Wicked laughter filled Ana’s consciousness, and she knew ’twas Eilinora. She hated that the witch seemed able to reach into her mind, to fill her thoughts with the venomous muck that dwelled in Eilinora’s own mind.
The dragheen guardians summoned help, and terrified servants came and carried Ana into Coruain House. As her body quaked in pain, the dragheen commander put out a silent call for Rónán the master healer, and every other Druzai of power who was not yet involved in their defense. Brogan’s warriors and the elders were doing all the
y could, but Coruain needed more.
Soon, Ana knew, one of her peers would emerge from their midst to add her strength to their struggle. ’Twas assumed that Aenéas’s daughter would be the one to wed Merrick and use her formidable powers to avert the disaster foretold nearly thirty years before. Merrick had shown his favor toward Sinann, yet the beautiful sorceress was conspicuously absent from the fray, which did not improve Ana’s opinion of her.
She lay still as Rónán spoke the words that would heal the shattered bones in her legs, and wished Brogan and Merrick had not been compelled to leave Coruain. ’Twould have been so much better to battle it out with the Odhar legions, to destroy Eilinora once and for all, then deal with her mentor. But with the chieftain’s scepter in the witch’s possession, the balance of power had tilted in Eilinora’s favor.
The Druzai might be able to win a few battles against the escaped sorceress, but possession of the brìgha-stones would even the odds. At least Ana hoped that was true. There was much about Eilinora and her mentor that she could not see. She could not imagine the extent of power wielded by Eilinora’s mentor, but prayed the blood stones would defeat him.
Northumbria, late winter, 1826
Matthew quickly dismounted, gathered Jenny into his arms, and kissed her despite the crowd of Gypsies that had gathered ’round them. She did not notice their audience, melting into him as their mouths melded together. He stifled a groan and let her go, taking her hand and starting toward their caravan.
A crowd of cheerful Gypsies impeded their path. “Come,” Rupa called. “Watch weddings now.”
Matthew didn’t see Tekari Kaulo anywhere, but the man’s absence did not bother him. Likely Matthew had finally managed to make it clear that he would brook no interference with Jenny. He kept hold of her hand and drew her to the edge of camp. They watched a small group of Tsinoria men walk with deliberate casualness to the caravan belonging to the father of one of the prospective husbands. Many of those who were not part of the immediate negotiations pretended to go about their own business. Yet they listened carefully, as did the crowd that had gathered at the periphery.
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