Emerald

by Lauren Royal

  Murmured conversations sprang up all around him. Though he didn't know a word of Romani, he did know admiration when he heard it. Emerald was a—gaujo, had she called the house-dwellers?—becoming one with their Gypsy music.

  He shifted on his feet, his eyes riveted to her lithe body, a blur against the backdrop of colorful clothing, tents, and trees. She'd come alive, an effervescence he'd been unaware of spilling out…and lodging somewhere in his heart.

  Here was a small piece of England where she was more comfortable than he. What a difference it made. And, in contrast, how difficult it apparently was for her to operate in his world.

  When the music ended and she stopped, the Gypsies burst into wild applause. Her cheeks reddened, she made her way over to him, stumbling and laughing at her dizziness. Another tune took up where the last one had left off, and she swayed to the beat.

  "It's like a fair, isn't it?" she said breathlessly. "Except we're the only ones in attendance." She twirled in an exuberant circle, her arms wide, the daisy chain flying again. When she stopped, her eyes sparkled to rival the sunshine. "Imagine living like this every day."

  He moved closer to resettle the ring of flowers around her neck. "It would be exhausting."

  A frown flitted across her features. "There you go again, seeing the world in black and white."

  "Right here I see it as most colorful." He tugged on one of her plaits, then set the hat back on her head. "And quite lovely."

  She blushed prettily. Why had he never noticed before how very pretty Emerald was? The milkmaid had bloomed before his eyes.

  "I've never seen anyone dance quite like that," he said, struggling for the words to describe it. To describe her. "So…free."

  "The dancing brings the freedom, aye? While I'm dancing, I don't care."

  "About what?"

  "About anything."

  Their eyes locked, and a moment of silence stretched between them. The Gypsy music pumped in the background. Slowly he nodded, and she smiled, then sighed. "I suppose we must get back on the road. It's been more than ten minutes."

  "Wait, me lady." The old woman came out of nowhere and plucked Emerald on the sleeve. "You buy first."

  "I told you I have no money," Emerald said firmly.

  Jason laid a hand on her arm. "I have money."

  The woman's lips curved up in her gap-toothed grin. She led them to an area between the tents, where carts were piled with goods. "Basket, me lady?"

  "We cannot carry that," Emerald told her. "We're on horseback the next few days."

  The woman frowned. "Livin' like you are, you got no need for a broom or a rake, then."

  Emerald smiled. "Nay."

  "Cooking utensils?" the woman asked hopefully. "Nails? Tools?"

  Now Emerald laughed. "No nails or tools, either."

  A foot tapped the grass beneath the woman's colorful skirt. "Me lady like silver?" Her gaze fastened on Emerald's amulet. "Or gold?"

  Emerald grasped the green pendant. "Nay."

  Not for a moment did Jason believe her. "Show me what you have," he told the Gypsy.

  The woman ducked into a tent and came out with a handful of black velvet. She pulled up a stool and sat, opening the fabric in her lap to reveal a heap of gold trinkets.

  Leaning over, Jason stirred the pile with a fingertip. The jewelry gleamed in the sunshine. Every piece was embossed or engraved with elaborate designs, and some of them were set with gemstones besides. "They are lovely, madam."

  "You buy one?"

  He selected a flat engraved band embedded with tiny, bright green emeralds. Turning to Emerald, he took one of her hands and slipped it onto the fourth finger. It fit perfectly.

  Her pretty mouth hung slack for a moment. Her eyes turned a cloudy blue, and a frown appeared between them. "I cannot take this."

  "Of course you can. Keep it as a memory of this day."

  "I'll remember without it."

  "Then as a token of thanks. From me. I enjoyed watching you dance."

  Her cheeks flamed red. She twisted the band around her finger. Another Gypsy tune was playing in the background, but she didn't move to the music. "I…I cannot take it," she said again.

  "Go away, then," he said with a wave of his hand.

  "Pardon?"

  "Over there." He pointed to the next tent.

  Looking bewildered, she solemnly backed away until he nodded.

  "How much?" he whispered to the Gypsy woman. When she told him, he dug out his pouch and paid her, then beckoned Emerald back over.

  "You're supposed to dicker," she informed him. She tugged off the ring and took one of his hands in hers, turning it palm up as she leaned close to whisper in his ear. "She thinks you're an easy mark," she added, depositing the ring in his hand and folding his fingers firmly around it. "Did you notice she didn't even show you anything made of silver?"

  He shrugged and put the ring in his pouch. He would give it back to her later.

  "Come, me lady." The Gypsy woman stood. "I tell your future."

  "I think not," Emerald said—but somewhat wistfully, Jason thought.

  The woman held up one of his coins, her gap-toothed smile appearing again. "No charge."

  "Go ahead," Jason urged.

  "Have we the time? The Gothards—"

  "The Gothards ought to be rolling out of bed right about now," he said dryly.

  He could tell Emerald was intrigued. As he was himself—he'd never seen a fortune-telling. It ought to be entertaining. And if the brothers were already on the road, it wouldn't be such a bad thing should they get ahead.

  He felt more comfortable as the pursuer than he did as the pursued.

  "Are you sure?" Emerald asked, and when he nodded, she added, "Come with me, then."

  He grinned. "You couldn't keep me away if you tried."

  The Gypsy woman motioned for them to follow her to the edge of the encampment, near where Chiron was grazing lazily. "Milord does not believe in dukkerin'?"

  "My lord," Emerald said, nearly stumbling over the two words if his ears didn't deceive him, "is a confirmed skeptic."

  He swept off his hat and ducked his head to enter the woman's tent. Inside he couldn't stand straight, but the Gypsy motioned him into a beautifully carved gilt chair. Two lamps set on a low table threw glimmering light into the small space, which, in contrast to the clutter outside, appeared immaculate.

  Waterproofed canvas lined the ground, and a fringed cloth, patterned with costly metallic thread, covered the table. His hat in his lap, he leaned back and stretched his legs, content to watch the show.

  The woman settled Emerald on a low stool, then sat herself on the other side of the table. Emerald swept off her hat and set it on the floor.

  The Gypsy reached across, took Emerald's hands, and just held them for a minute, smiling into her eyes. Then she leaned close, her gaze darting from one palm to the other. "Ah…a long life you will see." Her voice sounded different than it had outside—low and soothing.

  Emerald smiled, slightly swaying to the music that drifted in from the clearing.

  "And children. Many children."

  Emerald stilled and shook her head. "You cannot tell that from my hands."

  "The hands tell all." The woman's tone brooked no argument. She measured Emerald's white fingers against her own brown ones. "Middling," she declared. "Life is balanced." Then, "You." She swung on Jason, pointing a craggy finger with a curved, lacquered nail. "Your fingers long. Very responsible. Too responsible. You plan too much."

  "Hmm." Emerald looked toward him speculatively.

  He fisted his fingers to hide them, crossing his arms. He hadn't come in here to be analyzed. He'd come in here to be entertained.

  And he'd kiss a ghost before he'd believe such nonsense.

  The fortune-teller hitched her stool forward and made a humming sound deep in her throat. Laying Emerald's hands palm up on the table, she traced the lines with a crooked finger. "One of a kind. You go your own way." She looked
closer. "Fate line is broken. A great life change."

  "Oh." Jason strained to hear Emerald's whisper over the lively beat of the music. "My father recently died."

  "We all lose our folks." The fortune-teller shook her head. "Something more than that."

  Outside, the musicians slid into something slower and faintly sensual, the violin rising above the other instruments in long, poignant notes. With a light touch, the Gypsy indicated a spot on Emerald's hand. "A grille, like bars." Her voice shifted too, matching the rich tempo. "The bars of a gaol, where your heart hides, locked away. You must open the bars and trust." She stole a glance at Jason.

  Uneasy beneath her gaze, he leaned to part the tent's opening and look outside. A whir of life bustled past the narrow slit: a woman sauntered by with a basket of laundry; a man rolled a wagon wheel along; a child chased a dog in the bright sunshine.

  It seemed darker inside when he allowed the tent to close.

  "Ah." The woman nodded, her bobbing earrings gleaming in the lamplight. She touched another place on Emerald's palm. "A cross. A happy marriage in this lifetime." Pausing, she looked up. "Far from home."

  Emerald blinked. "Aye, I'm far from home. I live in Scotland."

  An enigmatic smile creased the fortune-teller's face. She turned Emerald's hands and lightly skimmed her nails over the backs, making Emerald visibly shiver. "Sensitive. Your body begs to be touched."

  Jason swallowed hard as the woman turned Emerald's hands again. "Mount of the Moon, high and full. A lover bold, creative, beguiling."

  Though Emerald turned red, Jason thought that the most accurate thing the woman had said yet. Bold—last night flashed into his mind—and beguiling.

  Alarmingly so.

  Black Gypsy eyes fastened on his and held steady while the music pulsed in the background. "A man in love with you," she said to Emerald while still commanding his gaze, "must respect your independence…if he wishes to hold your heart."

  "I'm not—" Jason started.

  "Shush!" The harsh word vibrated in contrast to the sensuous violin. The woman swung back to Emerald and pointed a finger at her chest. "That green talisman…" Emerald's hand went to her amulet, and the woman nodded. "When it changes hands, a change of heart."

  Emerald's fingers clenched around it. "It will never change hands, not while I live."

  The Gypsy shrugged, a movement so expressive it spoke volumes without words. The music stopped. A hush of silence enveloped the tent.

  Emerald rose, breaking the spell. "I thank you."

  "My pleasure, me lady."

  "I think we should leave," she said to Jason. Her voice was very quiet. "It was time to go almost before we arrived."

  Rising, he bumped his head on the low ceiling. The woman stood as well. "I come see your pretty horse." She followed them out and watched them mount.

  "My hat!" Emerald clapped a hand to her head.

  "I get it, me lady."

  The Gypsy disappeared into her tent and returned with the feathered hat. Moving closer, she rose to her toes and set it on Emerald's bent head, then put a gnarled hand on her arm. "You not like your fortune?"

  "It was very…interesting." Jason heard the catch in Emerald's voice. "I'm afraid, though, I found it a wee bit confusing."

  "All will come clear in time," the woman predicted. "Wait here, me lady." She hurried off toward the fire, returning with one of the lace handkerchiefs the women were working on there.

  "It's lovely," Emerald said sincerely. "But I told you I have no money."

  "We've been paid." Black eyes sparkled up at Jason. "You keep, to remember."

  Emerald tucked the intricate hanky into her sleeve. "I won't forget."

  "You come back?"

  "Not here, I'm afraid. But I will dance with your people again. At home."

  The woman reached to grasp Emerald by the hand. "Farewell, me lady." With a nod at Jason, she ducked back into her tent.

  Jason steered Chiron toward the road. He remained mute until they were out of earshot. "So…you've danced with the Gypsies before."

  "Aye, many times."

  "You've camped with them, then. During your travels." It made perfect sense.

  "My travels?" Her laughter floated back on the breeze. "Until now, I've never been farther from Leslie than Edinburgh. Twice. I told you, Jase—a group of them camps by Leslie each year."

  Damn if she wasn't convincing.

  He almost believed her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  "I don't believe it," Caithren said later when they'd stopped at the Lion in Buckden for dinner.

  Jason spooned soup into his mouth, following it with a gigantic bite of bread. "But you believe in ghosts."

  "What do ghosts have to do with it?"

  He rolled the dice and took two markers off the backgammon board they'd set on the table between them. "Why should you believe in ghosts but not fortune-telling?"

  "Dukkering," she corrected crossly. "They say what you want to hear." She poked at her Dutch pudding, using her spoon to flake off bits of the minced beef. "Or rather, what they think you want to hear. But the Gypsy woman misjudged me."

  His compelling eyes looked speculative over the rim of his tankard. "Did she, now?"

  "Aye." Avoiding his gaze, she tossed the dice and made her move. "I don't intend to have children at all, let alone many."

  He stuck the dice back in their cup and rattled it, his gaze straying to the window beside them. "Do you not like children?"

  "I like them fine. It's the necessary husband I'd as soon do without."

  He set down the dice cup, raising a brow. "So much for the happy marriage she predicted."

  "Are you going to take your turn?"

  Slowly he reached across the small table and traced a fingertip across the back of her hand. A shiver ran through her. "But are you not sensitive to physical touch?" he drawled in a voice low and lazy.

  She was sensitive, all right. It took everything she had not to leap across the table and kiss him. Struggling for control, she forced herself to remember last night. "Why today should you want to touch me?"

  "Perhaps I've had a change of heart." He chucked her under the chin. "Like you will when your precious amulet changes hands."

  She took the dice cup and firmly wrapped his fingers back around it. "The amulet will not change hands. The Gypsy was wrong."

  Even with the noises of conversations and dishes rattling around them, the dice sounded loud as Jason shook them and spilled them onto the leather board. Two more of his pieces made their way into his haphazard pile. "Someday—"

  "Nay. I won't ever take it off." She bit her lip, then decided to come out with it. The terrible words she'd thought to herself but never said aloud. "My mother took it off only once. To wear a pretty necklace my father had just brought her from Edinburgh. She died that day. Broke her neck when she was thrown from her horse."

  "You blame your father for her death," Jason said flatly.

  "I don't." She shook her head. "I never have."

  He was silent for a minute, watching her drop the dice back into the cup, slowly, one by one. "You blame her," he finally said.

  "Nay." Maybe she'd thought it, but she didn't believe it. "Though I won't tempt fate by making the same mistake."

  "It's naught but metal and stone," he said gently.

  "It's more than metal and stone," she disagreed. "It's been in my family for centuries."

  "Has it?" He dipped a piece of bread into his soup. "Is there a story behind it?"

  "Of course. We Scots have a story for everything." As he glanced out the window again, she touched the amulet and rolled the dice, smiling when they came up double fives. She moved her last two markers into home court and stacked another two neatly by the board. "I was made to memorize it word for word before the necklace could be mine."

  He grinned. "I enjoy your stories. Tell me."

  She handed him the cup. "In 1330, Sir Simon Leslie set out to accompany James, Lord Dougla
s, who was charged with returning the heart of King Robert the Bruce to the Holy Land. On their way through Spain, they fought with the Moors, and Douglas was killed." She paused for a sip of ale. "Leslie went on to Palestine, and there he fought the Saracens and captured one of their chiefs. When the chief's mother came to beg for his release, she dropped an emerald from her purse and hurried to scoop it up. Leslie realized it was of great importance to her, and he demanded it as part of the deal for the release of her son."

  She stopped, because Jason was staring out the window again. "Go on," he said, looking back to her.

  "That is it, really." Gazing down at the amulet, she traced its scrolled setting with a finger. "He had it set in this bezel and brought it home, claiming it had miraculous powers for seeing him through the journey. It's been handed down through the generations. People once came from far and wide to obtain water it had been dipped in. They would put a bottle of this water by their door, or hang it overhead, for protection against the evil eye."

  His bowl empty, he set down his spoon and rolled the dice. His last two pieces clicked as he dropped them onto his pile. "But not anymore?"

  She shook her head. "The old ways and beliefs are dying."

  "Yet you won't take it off."

  "Maybe it's nothing more than unwarranted superstition." She wrapped her fingers around the emerald. "But there will be no change of hands."

  Nor, she thought fiercely, would there be the change of heart the Gypsy had predicted.

  His gaze had returned to the window yet again. "You won," she said, and he nodded without looking at her. Idly she started making his pile of markers into two tall stacks. "Are you seeing something?"

  "Not exactly." He lifted his tankard of ale. "I'm just getting that feeling I had last night…"

  One of the stacks toppled over. "You mean that strange feeling that gives you an excuse to kiss me?"

  His tankard hit the table with a thud. "I mean the feeling that we might be followed."

  Cait looked out the window at the red-brick walls of the George Inn across Buckden's busy High Street. People rode or strolled by. Ordinary people. No one appeared suspicious or familiar. "I see nothing."