it would avail her little to beg, Gwennor was on the point of throwing herself at the gypsy’s knees when, after another rapid-fire speech by the soothsayer, Remolo paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face, and then gave a slight nod. After an elaborate curtsey, the old woman returned to Gwennor.
“He will take us?” Gwennor demanded.
The old woman smiled. “For your small gold, he thanks you. But he did not wish to bring along so heavy a burden. I told him you would work for us, playing cards and telling fortunes for the gadjo who come to the wagons where we stop. He said we have women and children enough for those things. Then I reminded him that Parry had cured his stallion—and that his favorite mare is due to foal soon. So, he will let you come for the sake of your brother’s skill and the money you promise—but he will not wait until midnight.”
Gwen’s initial exhilaration faded rapidly. “We cannot go before then! Or rather, I cannot.” A heart-wrenching choice that really was no choice confronted her. Deciding rapidly, she said, “Parry can. If I pay Remolo as promised, will he take Parry? And will you watch over my brother and keep him s-safe?” Her voice broke at the awful thought of sending Parry away alone.
The old woman came over to touch Gwen’s face. “Child of my soul, you know I will. But you would send your brother from harm and not yourself?”
Gwennor nodded. “For myself I do not care, I will figure out something. But I cannot protect Parry from Nigel if he stays.”
“You have the heart of the wildcat, my child,” the woman said approvingly. “So have you been since I met you as a little girl—brave, strong and fierce. Ah, if you had been Rom, I would have made you my mulkini, that you might carry on after me. Do not think I, Jacquinita, drabarni of the Remali Rom, will leave you to that Evil One. Come to the clearing at midnight. My grandson Davi—” she nodded toward the boy holding Firefly by the stream “—will wait for you and lead you to us. Go in the spirit, child.”
Gwennor threw her arms around the old woman’s neck. “Thank you, dya!”
Jacquinita released her, chuckling softly. “We will dress you in skirts and the kishti, with bracelets and earrings and a scarf in that dark hair. Ah, leibling, what a gypsy you will make!”
Chapter Three
Three weeks later, Gwennor dropped the last load of firewood beside Jacquinita’s wagon and brushed off her hands. With a now-expert eye, she calculated she had another half hour’s daylight to return to the stream, draw water and wash.
She flexed her tired shoulders as she trotted back to the small river near which Remolo had ordered them to make camp this afternoon. Jacquinita had promised the gypsy lord that Gwen and her brother would work, and work they had, Gwen carrying water, foraging for firewood, and assisting with the cooking, while Parry helped the men hunt for game and care for the horses. Though Gwennor had supervised her Southford staff in performing a wide variety of household tasks, she had done little of the physical labor herself. Most evenings, she was so exhausted that she fell asleep the moment she rolled into her blankets in a corner of Jacquinita’s wagon.
During the day-long rides, the soothsayer instructed Gwennor in the reading of palms, the rolling of dice and the playing of the various card games with which the gypsy entourage would entertain—and win money from—the people of the towns who came to their encampment. Around the fire on several evenings she had even, at Jacquinita’s urging and much to the amusement of the rest of Remolo’s family, joined the women in dancing to the plaintive music the men coaxed from their violins.
Her escape from Southford Manor had been almost ridiculously easy. After returning from her interview with Remolo, while Nigel slept, she’d simply walked into the estate office and, without a qualm of conscience, removed from the strongbox a sack containing almost forty golden guineas.
When she explained at dinner that Parry had remained at the barn to tend his animals, her cousin merely shrugged his shoulders, as if to indicate that her brother’s behavior proved he was the incompetent Nigel claimed him to be. The new baron also seemed satisfied with her terse assertion that everything was in train for the arrival of Lord Edgerton, and happily monopolized conversation for the rest of the meal, expanding on his plans for the modernization of Southford.
Leaving him to his brandy and cigars, Gwennor had been able to creep out of the manor several hours earlier than expected, to the delight of the waiting Davi, who informed her that Parry had departed with the rest of the family at dusk, as decreed by Remolo.
She’d feared at first that her brother might resist leaving Southford. But though he was sorrowful at abandoning his animals, he seemed to sense without her attempting to explain it that with the coming of their cousin, life as they knew it at Southford could not continue. With the sweet-natured trustfulness she found so endearing, he merely inquired where she wanted him to go, and seemed delighted to learn they’d be traveling with the gypsy band.
After much internal debate, Gwennor had decided against leaving Jenny a note. Though she hated to worry her dear friend, she was more concerned about the consequences should Nigel suspect the maid had abetted her flight. This way, Jenny’s alarm and worry would be too genuine for the new baron to suspect her former nurse had any foreknowledge of her mistress’s plans. As soon as it was safe to do so, she’d vowed, she would write to her.
Reaching the swiftly flowing river, Gwennor quickly performed her ablutions. Shivering against the chill and thinking longingly of the hip bath full of hot fragrant water back at Southford, she filled two buckets upstream to bring back to the encampment. She hoped the stew would be ready when she arrived, for Gwennor was starving, and eager to practice her card tricks for the night ahead.
By now she was quite skilled, and not nearly so nervous as she’d been the first night the gypsies had welcomed curious farmers and townspeople to their camp. She rather enjoyed leaving her curly hair long and free, unencumbered by pins or braids, she thought as she tied it back again with the multicolored scarf. Accustomed to long, straight gowns fitted only at the bosom, at first it had seemed shocking to don the low-cut peasant blouse and long skirt that hugged her waist. But now she was as comfortable in her gypsy clothes as she was with the telling of outrageous fortunes and the deft shell games at which she won farthings from gullible young farmers.
If her time with the gypsies had given her a new appreciation for the comforts of living in the Manor, still she had found appeal in their simpler life, the camaraderie of the band and the esteem with which Parry was treated for his skill.
Only one aspect of the experience made her uneasy, she thought as she hefted the buckets and trudged back to Jacquinita’s wagon. Though she’d never tasted passion first-hand, she recognized the hungry look in the eyes of the visitors as they watched the gypsy girls tell fortunes or ply the dice, a look that intensified later when the girls danced. Their steady, openly appraising stares while Gwennor dealt them cards or read their palms had at first shocked her, and often still made her cheeks redden beneath the scarf with which she masked her face.
No matter how hot their glances grew, though, most visitors were wise enough not to try to touch where their eyes lingered. Remolo permitted no carnal transactions with the women of his family, and few wished to risk the wrath of the gypsy men who watched and waited, vicious curving blades tucked casually in waistbands or boot tops. Still, Gwennor could read in the attitude of their male customers the opinion that the gypsy women were merely an exotic variety of lightskirt. Should the society to which Gwennor belonged ever discover she had traveled in a gypsy caravan, worn gypsy dress and read the palms of clerks and farm boys, all Southford’s wealth would not be sufficient to buy her a respectable husband.
