A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (14 page)

Trevelyn sped the car through the fading twilight. An odd sense of urgency drove him to bury the tachometer into the red, almost as if he raced to reach Raven before sunset. He glanced over at the white, rectangular box on the passenger seat. The reason he’d changed his instructions to Agnes about sending the rose: he wished to give it to Raven himself. A florist’s delivery was a bit impersonal. Instead, he wanted to watch her expressive brown eyes light with pleasure at the small gesture when he presented her with the single, perfect bud. He wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling Raven would love white roses. The artist in her would adore any color, but white was somehow in keeping with her simplistic lifestyle.

All afternoon he’d fought calling Raven. When he’d left this morn, he’d said he’d ring, and he intended to do so. Only, what could he say? Raven and he had jumped headlong into the fires of passion but they were still strangers, and after a rocky start to the morning he had a feeling she’d be furiously rebuilding those protective walls around her life. Not calling her was also—as Julian pointed out—his means of regaining a measure of control over himself. Which rankled more than he cared to admit.

Julian was right. He couldn’t get Raven out of his mind.

So being an arrogant arse, he’d put it off until the last minute. When he dialed her number before leaving the office, there had been no answer. Well, what did he expect—that she’d spent the whole day hanging by the phone waiting for his call?

He glared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Bloody fool.”

The sun was setting behind Colford Hall as he took the turn. A burning sensation filled his stomach, an ulcer flare of hatred. Even so, he didn’t slow but zoomed on past. Seeing the hall made him wonder about Des, how he was doing on Falgannon. There was a bloody fortune at stake in Mershan International’s takeover of Montgomerie Enterprises, but it was more than the money that drove Des in this desperate toss of the dice; revenge was a demon.

Before, the concept seemed clear cut. Now Raven was more than a series of photographs and a report. She’d become important to him in ways he wasn’t prepared to examine.

Trev swung the Lamborghini into her little lane, growling because he had to go slow, which left him alone with his thoughts. He’d gone through most of his life without being too concerned about how his actions affected others. Outside of Des, Jago and his mother—and maybe sourpuss Agnes—there simply wasn’t anyone he cared for. Things were different now, at least with Raven.

The house was dark save for two very dim lights. Pulling into the drive, Trev parked behind the red MGB. Poor thing had to be over thirty years old, though Raven seemed to keep it in mint condition. As he recalled, an MGB wasn’t too reliable a car. Of course, it was a collector’s item. So few were produced, the percentage of “moggies” surviving over three decades had to be rather small.

The car was part of Raven’s rescuing things, he supposed. Trev was glad of Julian’s extensive research, for it gave him a greater insight into this unusual woman. Her pony had been saved from ill-treatment at a petting zoo. The seagull had flown into the side of the house during a foggy night. Raven had wrapped him in a towel and rushed him to an animal hospital. The vet couldn’t save one leg and said the seagull would never fly again, and
had recommended the bird be put down. She’d had none of it, and nursed him back to health at home. Both of the cats were foundlings that someone had dropped and left to fend for themselves.

He shut off the car, sat for a moment and listened as he had the first night he’d come to watch her. That night he’d known Raven was inside, felt her presence even though he couldn’t see her. That same sense told him there was now a coldness to the cottage, as though it missed the vital spark of her presence.

Climbing out through the gull-wing door, he closed it and walked to the front of the cottage. The doorbell didn’t work, so he used the brass knocker. He chuckled as the orange tabby popped up in the window and meowed. “I guess a doorbell is another of those electric devices that fail around Raven, eh, Chester?”

He waited, knocked again, impatience surging. He should’ve called early in the afternoon instead of being an arrogant jerk. Standing at the door holding the box felt awkward, like he was a prom date coming to call. He glanced to the side of the house and then stepped off the stoop to look up at the bedroom window.

“Screw this.” Going back to the door, he curved his hand around the doorknob and found it turned easily in his grasp. Inside he was greeted by The Three Amigos: Chester, Pyewacket, Atticus. All stared at him, though not in a challenging manner. Chester finally padded over and gave a welcoming rub against his leg.

“Raven!” Trev called, though the stillness in the dark house told him what he had already sussed.

Swallowing his frustration, he placed the box down on the hall coat tree and then strolled toward the dim light in the kitchen. Raven’s car keys were on the counter, next to a brochure for metal roofing. No other sign of her was about. Pyewacket rubbed against him, which caused Trev’s nose to tickle, but then the puss waddled over to the unopened sack of cat food and gave a soft meow.

“Hint, hint? Wanting bribes, are you?” Trev picked up a knife from the wooden rack and cut an opening. There were two ceramic bowls with the cats’ names on it, so he poured them each half full. “Hey, Atticus, you don’t have one with your name on it?” The bird hopped over and pecked the vamp of his shoe twice, then pushed between the two cats to steal a piece of their chow. “Silly bird, haven’t you ever heard it’s not nice to peck the foot that feeds you?”

Walking back to the living room, Trev searched for a clue as to where Raven had gone. Nothing. Irrationally, he wanted her here, waiting for him. A jumble of emotions roiled up. He put a hand to his abdomen and rubbed, disliking the sensations.

“Or, maybe I’m just getting an ulcer,” he said, trying to dismiss Raven’s effect on him.

Seeing a soft glow coming from the larger greenhouse, he followed the light. Raven had placed a canvas window awning over the top of the fortune-teller booth and hidden a banker’s lamp under it. With that presentation, it lent an eerie realism to the mannequin that sent a shiver up his spine. There was something about her, especially the—

A hard peck to his foot broke his concentration. “Damn, Atticus! I almost had it.”

He hesitated a moment, then shoved his right hand into his pocket, fishing for a coin. Coming up with one, he dropped it into the slot and watched, mesmerized, as the crystal ball began to swirl. The bluish fog shifted, twisted and began to take on a shape. He didn’t even draw breath as he waited for it to coalesce into a recognizable form. Even Atticus pecking at his foot didn’t break the spell. Then the mechanical works clicked and the Gypsy opened her eyes.

Trev stared, spellbound for an instant, unable to draw breath. Then it hit why she seemed familiar. The eyes were just like looking into Raven’s. The face was similar,
though the dummy had black hair, long and wavy. The image that flashed into his brain was of Raven as he carried her up the stairs last night.

A card was ejected with a loud snap, drawing his attention away from the carved figure. When he glanced back to make sure his imagination wasn’t playing tricks, he found the eyelids on the mannequin shut. Taking the card he stared at it: The World. He didn’t know a lot about tarot cards. The Lovers had been easy to decipher. With this one he could only hazard a guess. On his way to work he’d passed a bookstore, an old church that had been deconsecrated. He’d pick up a book tomorrow.

The fortune on the reverse read:

What you seek is at heart’s end—if your eyes are wise enough to see.

When his shin was pecked, he winced and glanced down. “Wonder what all that means, Bird-Brain?”

A flash of red, outside in the garden, caught his attention. Thinking Raven might be with her pony, he hurried to the outer door and out into the gloaming. He scanned the large garden. Part was neat and cared for; the other section encompassing nearly an acre was wild, obviously once part of the nursery intended to supply Colford with the shrubbery and plants needed to maintain its regal splendor. The splash of color rippled on the other side of climbing roses, moving away from the house.

Trev followed. Laughter softly echoed through the warm autumnal air. A time that was neither night nor day, the evening here had a supernatural feel. He almost anticipated seeing fairies flit about, dancing on the last rays of the sunset.

“
Trevelyn…
” His name hung and floated on the dust motes. Or perhaps they
were
fairies and he wasn’t looking hard enough.

The melodic laughter and the distant flap of red material
lured him on. Again, he caught site of that brilliant hue—either a scarf or a shawl—as it disappeared into a stand of ancient trees. The air was cooler as he moved under their intertwined limbs, most still holding on to some of their foliage. Dry leaves rattled and crunched as he followed a worn path that threaded through the tall trunks. The scent of smoke reached his nose, causing his steps to slow. More laughter was carried on the soft breeze, but this time it seemed to be from several people.

“Trevelyn. Come.”

The ancient beeches, oaks and horse chestnuts were closer together here, seeing it darker, damp. Yet, unhesitating, Trev followed the gentle summons.

As he broke free of the wood, he spotted a small circle of painted wagons. Putting his hand on the smooth bark of a silver birch, he paused and allowed himself to study the situation before charging headlong into the group.

Giving a light sneeze, he realized he had company. Glancing down, he saw Chester curled around his ankle. “Brishen’s Gypsy camp I take it, Puss?” he asked. The cat looked up with soulful eyes and meowed.

Pushing away from the tree, Trev headed toward the camp. He approached, noticing the flickering of the flames seemed from more than just air currents. As he came alongside a turquoise wagon, he saw two bodies moving around the fire, creating a distortion of shadows. A man and a woman danced before the small bonfire, their bodies swaying to the haunting music.

Trev only had eyes for the woman. She leaned and then spun in rapid movements, graceful, sensual. His muscles clenched, and he felt as if he’d taken a blow to the solar plexus, knocking all air from his lungs.
Raven.
And she was dancing with Brishen.

Jealousy was an acid that burned in his blood. There was such an earthy, primitive power in her lithe body, such a strength and confidence that it seemed at odds with the woman who’d sworn she held nothing to interest
a wolf. “Well, this wolf is interested,” he muttered. “Damn interested.”

“You jealous?” a voice asked to his left. Sitting on the steps of the turquoise wagon was Raven’s sister, Paganne. When Trev didn’t reply, her impish smile widened. “Good. I see the look on your face that I wanted to see on Brishen’s last night. That’s the expression I want a man to wear for me. Brishen’s lack of jealousy tells a lot, don’t you think?”

Trev steeled himself against the conflicting emotions storming through him. “Perhaps it should tell you that he’s a reasonable man and is sure of you.”

“Ah, but then no man should ever be sure of a woman. He becomes too cocky then and doesn’t call when he should.”

Trev just stared at the goddess dancing about the campfire, not sure of anything—except that perhaps Raven was unique and he wanted to possess her, to brand her as his. Oh, he could tell himself they were barely more than strangers, or that as they grew to know each other the magic of their relationship would lose its fascination, but that would be lies. All lies. He could almost hear Agnes mocking,
“I shan’t wonder these Montgomerie women might teach you Mershan men a trick or two.”

Oh, yeah, this wolf’s heart was learning to roll over, sit up and beg.

“I am Magda Sagari. Cross my palm and I will tell you about yourself, Trevelyn Sinclair.” The old woman who’d appeared gave a faint smile as she stopped before him.

“You know my name.” Trev was faintly surprised.

She tilted her head to one side, regarding him. “No mystery. Raven spoke of you, as did my grandson. I figured her wolf would be tracking her trail.”

By the shape of her mouth and chin, Trev knew instantly this was Brishen’s grandmother. His heart went out to the woman who had cared for her grandson the best way she’d known how, same as his own mother had fought to survive and keep her sons with her. Magda’s frame was small; her head barely came to the middle of his chest. She was thin to the point of being frail, yet there was strength to her.

“When I was young and pretty enough to turn your head, I said cross my palm with silver. Alas, coins these days have little silver, eh? Still, winter comes and my needs are many. Thus, I accept what the
Gadje
use as payment.”

Taking his eyes from Raven, where she danced with Brishen, Trev reached for his wallet. Extracting five hundredpound notes, he laid them in her upturned hand. Her eyes locked on the bills, and then, with thoughts unreadable, returned to his face. He had only meant to lend aid to Brishen’s grandmother. Day-to-day existence couldn’t be easy lived in this nomadic fashion. Only, he wondered if he might have presented some grave insult by offering so much money.

“The reading is the same no matter the sum. You possess a kind heart. But already you’ve proved this in buying my
grandson’s horse. The money will do good for many children, eh? Maybe help my Brishen in the same breath?” The corner of Magda’s mouth lifted faintly, as she curled her gnarled fingers around the bills and then stuffed them in the pocket of her intricately embroidered vest. “Are you left- or right-handed?”

“Right.”

“Hold out that one.” She took his large hand between her small ones, which were twisted with age and arthritis, and then shifted so that the firelight warmed his palm. “My eyes—
harrumph
—are not as sharp as they used to be. Still, they serve me. See? Four lines of your palm reveal who you are. Your heart line”—she stroked her dry thumb pad over the deep crease at the top of his palm—“begins close to your index finger. This says you will fall in love easily when you find the right woman. Hmm…strange. Another line, fainter, comes from closer to your middle finger. These two merge here. It’s almost as if you have known or will know two great loves in your journey. Somehow, they twine together like ivy. Only, when love finds you, sadly you’re selfish. This holding back of yourself causes emotional trauma.”

Trev laughed uneasily. It was clear the woman was simply giving him a show and didn’t know the first thing about his past or present. “Two loves would cause trauma for any man,” he jested.

“Go ahead, do not listen. One day you shall understand I speak truths this night. The second crease is your head line. Your mind is clear, focused on the tasks ahead. Even so, you allow others to propel the direction of your life, thus steering you headlong into a coming emotional crisis. This line crossing it signifies you’ll face a momentous decision—perhaps life-threatening. It’s not clear if you’ll make the right choice when the time comes. You are divided. Notice how it forks, as if you are looking at two paths, and then they fade almost as though your fate
has not been written, or you have already chosen wrong and must fight to get back to where you belong.

“Do you believe in Auld Souls?” Magda rubbed her fingers over the spot in his hand as if to assure her the lines were true.

Trev answered, “I’m not sure what they are.”

“A belief held by many: We have lived before, and we repeat cycles trying to atone for mistakes we made in previous lives.”

“Reincarnation?” Trev shifted uncomfortably. He’d never spared much thought for such ponderings, being a person too content with the here and now. The past—especially some vague, semipossible past—was only a waste of time, same as playing games of what-if or might-have-been. Contrarily, images crowded his mind, like a damn ready to burst. He didn’t care for them.

“Some call it by that name. My people speak of them as Auld Souls. The spirit, the essence of a person endures and can come again and again. Some souls travel similar paths and are drawn to each other. Some are doomed to this endless pattern because they will not change.”

Trev tried to laugh. He was too materialistic, too in tune with this life to worry about riddles from another.

“This is your life line,” Magda continued. “Its length does not determine how many years you have on this earth, as most assume. It’s elongated and arched, but it breaks here. You face a sudden change in lifestyle. Much of what has brought you to this crossroads are the actions of others. Your fate has been shaped by those who hold great sway over you—a father or a brother perhaps. Again, you almost have two lines. You will be forced to make a choice. The question lies before you: Will you choose wisely or repeat errors made in the last life?”

A shiver crawled over Trev’s skin, even if the words were little more than a harmless Gypsy con. He couldn’t help thinking of Desmond’s blind quest for justice.

Magda’s eyes held a touch of pity. She believed. She also doubted that he’d heed her wisdom.
Fool.
He heard the word as clearly as if she’d spoken it.

He turned away. Hunger burned bright within him, and Trev cast his eyes about for Raven. She had stopped dancing and gone over to speak to a lovely woman sitting on the steps of another bright blue wagon. This young woman gently rocked a baby that restied upon her lap. Raven lifted the edge of the colorful blanket back and then gently caressed the small head.

“What you seek you will find, Trevelyn Sinclair—if your eyes are wise enough to see,” Magda intoned.

Trevelyn’s head snapped back, and he stared unblinking at the white-haired woman. Her words nearly mirrored his tarot card.

“Now, give me your other palm and I will reach your fortune that comes from the soul,” the Gypsy said, taking his hand. “I see three men. One has a dark heart and means ill. One has a heart of gold, loves, but knows he can never have. And the last…?” She gave him a crooked smile. “One has a heart of the wolf. He hungers to claim his lady, wants to possess her, and he does. But he will lose her if he doesn’t give her the one thing she needs above all others.”

Trevelyn wanted to dismiss the woman’s words as prattle. He couldn’t. “And that is?” he asked, hanging on her answer.

She thumped his chest, over his heart. “Already your heart knows these truths, Trevelyn Sinclair.” Leaning closer, she tapped his forehead. “Your mind is cluttered with things that should not matter, ancient business unfinished.”

“What is it she needs most?” he pressed.

Magda’s body lifted with her snort. “You are a rich man. Coins will never give what Raven needs. Won’t give what
you
need, either. Will you be wise enough,
Gadjo,
to make the right choice when the time comes? Or are
you doomed for eternity to repeat the same mistakes? Auld Souls come again and again. They seek to put right what they did wrong in the past. Don’t repeat the same mistakes. Listen to your heart, Wolf.”

“You never said what it is she needs most!” Trev groused.

Magda gave a small laugh. “You do not listen with your heart.”

“Tell me—what does she need?” Trevelyn felt a desperation pricking at the back of his neck.

“Love. Your fate line is strong. You might have much happiness before you…if you break free of the chains that bind your soul to the past and cease allowing others to control your life.” The Gypsy’s face was rapt, sadness filling her eyes. Then Magda tilted her head with resignation. “Brishen’s cousin has come to stay, with her baby. Come, we go see the newest member of my family.”

The old woman took Trev’s arm and strolled with him to the other side of the encampment. Strange men and women, sitting before their wagons or around the campfire, watched as Trev passed. Their expressions were guarded, some troubled. A couple men gave a reserved nod. The women stared until he neared, then quickly looked away and refused to acknowledge his existence.

“Pay them no heed,” Magda remarked. “It’s not often we have a
Gadjo
other than a Montgomerie pay us a visit. Raven’s grandsire long ago granted us permission to stay in this grove as long as we want, and as often as we wish. We are permitted to cut trees for our use. In return, we save half the wood we split for them to use at Colford. We do other things as well: help train or care for their horses, repair buildings, thatch roofs and such chores that need doing about the vast estate.”

Magda’s face hardened as she added, “Some in the village never liked old Sean permitting us to stay part of the year. Grumbled we would rob them blind.” She paused angrily. “Treat a Roma like trash and you get no esteem
in return. Meet us with kindness and respect, and you will get that back measure for measure.”

As they approached, Trev noticed Brishen cutting a long lock from the underside of Raven’s hair. He looked up from his task, his blue eyes watching his grandmother. With deft fingers he plaited Raven’s severed tresses and wove them into a small circle. Then he slipped the tiny bracelet around the baby’s chubby wrist.

“My people believe red hair gives luck,” the Gypsy explained. “Since Raven is the godmother of my cousin’s child, it gives extra protection.”

Trev moved closer so he could view the child. The babe was healthy, judging by how strongly it waved its arm, and the head was covered with a riot of thick black curls. “I thought most babies were bald,” he remarked.

“Some are. Some come with a full head of hair. My name is Katrina, and this is my son Emile.” The beautiful woman with black hair and eyes spoke. She asked, “Would you care to hold my son? Go ahead. He does not break like glass.”

Trev shook his head, ill at ease around something so small and helpless. But hesitantly he reached out a hand that seemed huge compared to the child’s black head and lightly stroked the thick curls. “Thank you, but I know absolutely nothing about children. No nephews or nieces to practice on. Both my brothers are bachelors.”

As he looked down at Raven, who was holding the child to her breast, a flood of emotion assaulted his mind and heart. Trev understood why Des had never married. Since he’d assumed the job of father to two younger brothers, Des had often claimed to have already raised one family. Jago and Trev had been too busy being bachelors.
Or, we just haven’t met the right women,
his mind whispered. But Magda had said he’d fall hard when he met her.

“You look natural holding a baby,” he told Raven,
moved by the gentle image. Seeing how she cared for her menagerie of misfit pets, it didn’t take a huge mental leap to know she would be a loving mother. Watching her stirred instincts he hadn’t known existed within him.

A small tremble ran through Raven’s body, and then she turned to transfer the boy back to the waiting arms of his mother. “He’s beautiful, Trina. You’re very lucky. I’ll come again soon with more things for you and the child. And please…with winter coming, think on what I suggested.”

“She will,” Brishen replied.

Raven leaned over and kissed the baby’s forehead. Her eyes were shut tight, almost as though she squeezed them against pain. Turning away, she pressed her lips together and finally said, “I’m ready to leave now, Trevelyn.” And without waiting for him to agree, she started off.

Trev hung back. Reaching into his wallet again, he took out another five bills. He tucked them into the edge of blanket. “A gift for the child. Babies need many things. Let that help.”

A hand patted his back. “You are a kind man—for a
Gadjo.
” Magda laughed. “Now catch our Raven before she flies away. She needs you now.”

Trev nodded. “If ever
you
need anything, please do not hesitate to let me know. I sincerely mean that.”

Brishen hopped a step to catch up with him, leaving Magda to trail behind at her own pace. “I’ll walk with you since I need to see Paganne back to Colford.”

“Very well.” Trev could see Brishen had a burr under his saddle, and figured it had to do with Raven. He almost laughed when Brishen opened his mouth then snapped it shut as if deciding not to speak, for they had reached the turquoise wagon and it was too late.

Raven was at the bottom of the wagon steps, waiting for Paganne. Her sister passed over a bulky sweater she carried. In answer to the younger woman’s questioning look, Raven replied, “It’s okay.”

“You’re certain?” Paganne gave Trev a glare full of daggers. “I’m back to not liking you again, Trevelyn Sinclair.”

He gave her a winning smile. “Me? What did I do?”

Paganne pantomimed opening a cell phone and punching in numbers. Lifting arched brows, she said, “Give you a hint?”

“I was detained,” he offered in feeble defense.

“Doing what?” Paganne challenged, not missing a beat.

“Actually, I was at the doctor’s this morning, getting some work done and a script for pills and nasal steroids so I can be around felines.” He arched a brow and looked down at Chester rubbing against him. “So I don’t end up sneezing my head off just to be with your sister.”

“You’re allergic to cats?” Paganne’s chuckle was musical.

He nodded. “Pet dander, but I’ve heard you don’t get that unless you have the pet.”

“Granted—good excuse, but what about the rest of the day?”

“Relentless, aren’t you?” he teased, though he figured he deserved a little scolding. “A meddling Montgomerie.”

Raven scowled. “Paganne, knock it off.”

Her sister ignored her and nodded. “I’m nothing compared to my sisters. You’d best be glad B.A. is in Scotland, Asha is in Kentucky and LynneAnne is in France hunting abandoned carousel ponies. You haven’t understood the definition of relentless until you’ve met them.”

“I look forward to the pleasure.” Trev winked at Raven, but got a bit of the cold shoulder. “To account for the rest of my day…I had lunch with my business associate, and then he and I went to look at several locations that would serve as a nice studio for Brishen.” He glanced over at the young Gypsy standing to his right. “If you’re free tomorrow for breakfast, you and I might go look. See if they suit your needs.”