Edith Layton (22 page)

“Well I know that,” Daffyd muttered.

“I’d never been physically beaten. I couldn’t allow it. I knew my husband had kept my disappearance quiet because he’d hated the thought of a stain on his name. I knew I could return to him. Divorce would be a scandal he wouldn’t want to face, and he still needed another heir. But there was a problem.”

“Let me guess,” Daffyd said. “Me. Or rather, my advent.”

She nodded. “I couldn’t return carrying another man’s child. Even an uncaring husband has limits.”
She looked away from him and added, “It was too late for any of Keja’s potions to remedy the matter. I stayed, planning to go home after you were born.”

Daffyd gave out a crack of laughter.

She looked up, startled.

“I see,” he said. “Since I couldn’t be prevented, I was going to be presented? You planned to return to your husband, showing him such a winsome babe his heart would melt, is that it?”

“Don’t be foolish,” she snapped. “I was going to place you with a respectable farm family, and pay for your upbringing.”

“Such a pity,” he said. “I’d have made such a good thresher, too. Cut line. So you couldn’t find me. The old fox was good at hiding his tracks. I believe that. Is that enough for you?”

“No,” she said. “But you’ll never understand. I was a selfish girl, a cold wife, and a poor mother. Yet I wasn’t entirely lost to human feeling. I need you to know that. I kept looking for you, Daffyd.”

“Well, you found me,” he said as he rose from his chair. “And so?”

“And so,” she said, defeated. “That’s it. It took all my courage to summon you here and tell you this. Your eyes cut me to pieces. They accuse me and convict me. I don’t like disapproval, I suppose. I wasn’t a good mother, not remotely so. But I cared what became of you. You don’t believe me. It is nevertheless so. Still, you’re right,” she said as she turned from him. “It is enough.”

He stared at her for a moment, this beautiful, cold woman who had given him birth and then given him away. She was right. He’d had enough. He turned toward the door.

“Daffyd,” she said.

He turned again. She held out a leather case. “Take this. Go through it at your leisure, I’ll trouble you no more. I’m pleased that you and Leland like each other. He’s a good judge of character. He’s also the image of his father, too, and so I never could warm to him. A pity, because unlike his father or myself, he’s a very good person. As for me, I have ever been unfortunate in my dealings with men.”

Daffyd took the bulging case, and tucked it under his arm. He bowed. “Good day, my lady,” he said.

But it was hours before Daffyd could bring himself to open the case. He took it to his room, placed it on a table, and stared at it. Then, after a long drink he’d poured for himself, he opened it.

There were sheaves of brittle old papers there, some bundles tied with ribbon, some bound with string. He took out the papers and began reading. There were numerous reports from Bow Street, going back many years, stating that the gypsy male known as Johnny Reynard could not be found, nor could his mother or his son.

There were numerous reports from various private investigators over the years, saying the same.

And then Daffyd found a yellowed letter from
Bow Street, reporting that the boy, named Daffyd, had finally been found, and lay in Newgate prison, awaiting hanging for the theft of a pound note.

The document Daffyd found next was hardest to read, because of the tears running down his face. It was the receipt for a huge sum of cash paid to insure that the gypsy boy Daffyd was transported, along with the boy, Amyas, that he’d been sentenced with, rather than to be hanged.

Daffyd’s hand shook. He put down the letter. They’d all always known it was the future earl’s distant noble relative who had arranged to commute Geoffrey and his son’s sentences to transportation. Daffyd and Amyas had wondered how the little money Geoffrey had left had been enough to pay for the bribes necessary to buy the same sentence for Amyas and himself. Now Daffyd knew. It hadn’t been enough. It had been his mother who had bought it.

Daffyd sat back and stared blindly into the night. It was too late, of course. And though it had saved his life, it was far too little for her to have done, even so. He didn’t know how it could possibly matter anymore. He was a grown man now. His course was set. Nevertheless, he felt warmth in the innermost hidden parts of his heart.

The lady who had birthed him hadn’t been much of a mother; he doubted she could be. She was cold and self-centered, and seemed incapable of loving anyone except for herself. He doubted that would
ever change. But she hadn’t left him like a snake leaves her eggs in the sand. She’d cared if he lived or died.

It wasn’t much. But it was more than he’d ever had.

T
here was no one on the road on the way to the village, there seldom was. It wasn’t much of a road, more a path with pretensions, Meg thought with a smile. She also thought that was a fine pun and wished she had someone to share it with. Her smile faded as she again thought of that someone.

The trees were leafless, the hedgerows were brown, the autumn was fading, readying for the winter. She thought that she was, too. Her hopes were drying up and she was becoming sere in her heart, preparing herself for the long, cold rest of her life. She didn’t look for him anymore.

She didn’t look up at every birdsong wondering if he was coming whistling down the road, the way she had when she’d first come home. Which was foolish,
because even if he was gypsy, she didn’t even know if he could whistle. But then, thinking the wind knocking against the door on a restless night was him come to see her was foolishness, too. As was imagining the rattling of the shutters on her bedchamber’s windows was Daffyd, aping Romeo as he climbed to her room in the night. It was a lovely image, dramatic and just like him, but she knew it was nonsense. And it was downright stupid to think of him as she did every night as she tried to sleep. But she could no more help it than she could the beating of her heart.

She’d made a fine farewell speech to Daffyd and the earl, and was proud of herself for it. She couldn’t blame Daffyd for swallowing it whole, especially since he’d wanted to. And the truth was that it was almost true. She wasn’t sorry she’d tried to mend matters on her own, and she did have more confidence in herself since her mad adventure. That inner assurance had enabled her to stand up to her aunts’ disapproval and maintain her dignity. It had impressed them, too. They hadn’t scolded her again once they’d seen she accepted her fate and didn’t regret her actions, only how her quest had ended. And how could she ever regret knowing Daffyd?

All true. But, oh, how she missed him.

She’d left the road and he was gone from her life, and the aunts were right, it was far better this way. But when the wind blew from the east, and she smelled the smoke of faraway cook fires, she
thought of him. She thought of him when the sun shone and the rain came or the night fell. She remembered his wit and his touch, his kisses and his laughter. She remembered at night when she was alone, and in the most inappropriate daylight hours as well, though she wondered if there was ever an appropriate time to long for what she could never have again.

It wasn’t that there was no one else. For a miracle, after the aunts started speaking to her again, they’d suddenly produced a new neighbor to come calling. She couldn’t like him, of course. She couldn’t even if he were clever and handsome. George Fletcher was neither. He was a young widower with two children, no conversation, and a face she couldn’t place each time she met him again. But there he was, a man to come and sit in the parlor of an evening, take tea with them and comment on the weather and the crops. He’d be a wonderful husband for either of her aunts. Her own heart was already given, and she didn’t know how she could ever win it back, so how could poor, dull Mr. Fletcher?

Meg didn’t miss the long roads she’d traveled with Daffyd, and didn’t pine for London. In truth, she liked the calm beauty of the countryside. She just didn’t like being alone. But she knew she always would be from now on. Still, there were things that could distract her.

So she shook the reins. The old horse ignored it. He hadn’t hurried for ten years and wasn’t about to
start now. But she wished he could. Her visits to the village on market day were the most diverting things in her life, and the more time he took the less she had to spend in town. It was like trying to hurry a rock.

Meg sat back and accepted the plodding pace as she had everything since she’d returned to the aunts. She was going over the list of things she’d been sent to get, wondering what she could do with the pennies she’d saved, when the old horse turned round a bend in the road and stopped.

He couldn’t go on. Meg caught her breath and her heart raced. There was a caravan blocking the road: a bright gypsy caravan.

It only took a moment for her shocked hopes to fade. Of course. The gypsies often came to market, especially at the turn of the seasons when they took to the road. She was about to stand and call out to see if anyone could move the obstacle from her path, when she saw the profile of a man sitting on the high seat in front, holding the team of horses.

As she stared, two gypsy men hopped down from out of the back of the caravan. She’d never seen them before, and wasn’t happy to see them now. They were prototypical gypsies; the sort parents warned children to steer clear of if they didn’t want to be stolen away. In her time with Daffyd, Meg had learned that gypsies never stole children, having plenty of their own. But in her travels she’d also learned that some men, from any nation, looked
upon lone females as fair game. There didn’t seem anything innocent about either of the men looking at her now.

Both were dark, they had on mismatched, blowsy, colorful clothing, and wore bandannas tied around their necks, as well as matching wide and villainous smirks.

Meg tensed. It was broad daylight. But she was alone.

“Lady,” one said, pulling off his floppy hat, and sweeping her a deep flourish of a bow. The other grinned.

She couldn’t run, and wouldn’t scream, because neither would do her any good. But she’d fight, she vowed.

And then another gypsy leaped lightly down from the back of the caravan. He stood in the road, hands on hips, and stared at her. “Took you long enough to get here,” Daffyd said.

Meg’s hand flew to her mouth.

“It’s market day, and we’ve been here since dawn. Well, but look at what you’re driving,” Daffyd said scornfully, as he strolled over to her. “It’s a wonder you got here at all.”

“Naw, that ain’t fair, lad,” one of the gypsies said as he eyed Meg’s old horse. “That plug’s got at least another good week in him.”

“You can’t have him,” Daffyd told him. “He goes back to her aunts’ with the note. I think they’d miss him more than her. Well,” he said, stopping beside Meg’s cart and looking up at her, “are you coming?”

She couldn’t breathe, much less speak.

“Give the lass a chance,” one of the gypsies said as he ran a hand over Meg’s old horse’s bony back.

“Aye,” the other gypsy said disapprovingly. “That’s no way to woo a lass. Your father would be ashamed of you.”

Daffyd smiled. “But she knows me.”

“All the more reason to pour it on,” the gypsy chided him.

“Right,” Daffyd said. He smiled at Meg. “Meg, my heart,” he said, bowing low as the other two had done, “would you please step down from your high perch. And then, run away with me?”

“Whatever are you talking about?” she managed to ask, though she discovered it was hard to say anything because her smile trembled, and she didn’t know whether she’d laugh or weep.

“Let me tell you,” he said, and raised his arms to her.

She slid down from her seat and into his clasp, and held his shoulders as he lowered her feet to the ground. “You’re here,” she said in disbelief.

“Obviously. Listen, I’ve a thing or two to say to you. And not in front of these fellows. Cousins,” he said, turning to them, “I thank you for your help. But could you leave us alone for a minute?”

“Have to,” the man stroking the horse said. “We got to return this nag. Perry here, he got to help turn the coach so it don’t block the road no more. But when I get back, we have to move, and fast.”

“Agreed,” Daffyd said. He took Meg’s hand. She
went with him in a daze as he walked along the road. He spied a stile in a nearby field. “A seat,” he explained as he led her through the grasses.

“Now then,” he said as he settled her on it, and stood before her. “As quickly as I can say it, and as truly. Meg, my heart, my love, I’ve come for you. And I ask you to go with me.”

The shock of him made it difficult to take in what he said. He wore a white shirt, black trousers and half boots. His black hair shone blue in the sunlight; his deep blue eyes studied her intently. He could be gentleman or gypsy, and today he was dressed like a rover, the sort that could lure a lady from her bower. She steeled herself, because it was literally far too good to be true. And now she had her breath and wits back, she reminded herself that he had taught her that joy was impermanent.

“Then why did you let me go?” she asked seriously. “Are you here because you feel sorry for me?”

“No, because I was sorry for me. Well, and so was everyone who knew me.” He reached out and gently lifted off her bonnet. “There, now I can see your eyes,” he murmured, and added, with a sad smile, “I tried to drink the thought of you away. I tried carousing too, but it didn’t get further than the bottle. You have to be a little bit happy in order to carouse, you know.”

“Then why did you let me go in the first place?” she persisted.

His smile faded. “Because I was afraid I’d be bad for you. I’d never seen fidelity, and didn’t know if I
could learn it. And I wouldn’t want anything else for you.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You,” he said simply. “The constant thought of you. You wouldn’t go ’way, though you left me. And some other things too, things that made me think. I realized life is full of surprises and you have to take it as it comes. That’s hard for a fellow who thinks he knows everything. But I learned you can’t know everything. If you’re lucky, only half of what you believe is wrong. You can’t even be sure of your next breath, and I didn’t want to take many more without you. I love you, Meg Shaw. I’m not worthy of you, but you know that, I’ve told you often enough. You know all my disadvantages, too. I wouldn’t blame you for saying no.”

“So you’re saying you can’t promise fidelity?”

“Damned if I am!” he said angrily. “I’ll never stray. But the thing is, I finally saw I was finding excuses, and getting in my own way. I always do, with you. Because I knew I didn’t deserve you, and worried you might realize that one day and stray from me.”

“Never!” she blurted.

“So, you will?” he asked. “Come away with me? Run off with the gypsy Daffyd?”

She hesitated. She had some pride, and some sense, after all. She’d run away once, and ruined herself. She thought she’d learned her lesson, but here he was, and so here she was, about to utterly ruin herself this time. He’d never actually mentioned marriage.

He saw her hesitation. He’d expected it. “You don’t really have a choice,” he said gently.

Her eyes flew wide.

“You’re being stolen by gypsies. Now, you can come quietly, or be trussed up and carried off neat as a sack of chickens stolen from the henhouse at midnight. You know us gypsies.”

She grinned in spite of her surprise. “I’d like to see you truss up a sack of chickens.”

“So you would,” he agreed. “It’s a Romany art. My stealth is a thing of beauty. You wouldn’t hear a cluck. So. Docile and dulcet, accepting your fate? Or are you going to make me work?”

She frowned, and thought for a moment.

He nodded, bent, plucked her off the stile where she sat, and slung her over his shoulder.

“Daffyd!” was all she could gasp, because her stomach was across his shoulder and every stride he took pumped the breath out of her.

“My name,” he agreed.

“Good,” one of the gypsies called when he saw Daffyd and his wriggling burden come marching up to the caravan. “Stow the wench—I mean, the lass—and we’ll be off. We’re meeting up with Tony down the road, and then we ride.”

Daffyd waved his free hand. “I trust you entirely. See you when we get there. Godspeed and good luck.”

“Ah, we’ve gotten out of worse tangles,” the fellow said. “By the time an alarm’s raised we’ll be long gone. Then we travel in company, and I’d like to see the local gentry stop a caravan of caravans, I would!”

“That is, if they raise an alarm at all,” Daffyd said, as he swept back the curtain and stepped into the caravan. “I wrote a good note. Carry on!”

The interior of the caravan was dim, but Meg didn’t need light to see the blur of vivid colors on the floor, the tables, and the bed. Daffyd lightly dropped her on that bed. She scrambled to her knees and looked up at him. Her hair was down around her shoulders, her face was pink, her eyes flashed with fury and her bosom heaved with indignation.

He sat on the bed beside her and smiled. “You look exactly like a gypsy now,” he commented. “Only older than most kidnapped brides.”

She was about to shout at him, but that made her pause. “What are your intentions?” she asked.

“Oh, the usual,” he said, as he began pulling off his boots. “Rape, dishonor, indignity. You know, the customary.”

In spite of her anger, she smiled. “No, really, Daffyd. What is the meaning of this?”

He shucked off his other boot and turned his head to her. “I’m going to ruin you, of course,” he said.

“Daffyd,” she said quietly. “I am ruined, you know that.”

“Oh, not nearly. You don’t know the half of it. I mean to be thorough this time.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer until he’d pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his lean, tanned chest. Then he smiled at her. “Because I don’t want you to leave me again.
And because I really thought this would amuse you.” He frowned. “But I may be wrong. I have been before.”

He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Meg, I want you. But I don’t trust my intuition anymore and can’t be sure you want me. After all, you weren’t used to traveling or being on your own, and I was the only male you could count on for days on end. That can addle a woman’s perceptions. You may have come to your senses. You do have an independent turn of mind,” he added on a crooked smile, “worrisome in a female, as you know.”

“Still, my brothers, both those of my blood and those of my heart, kept telling me that you want me, too. And so did the earl, and he’s the wisest man I know. If they’re wrong, and I was mistaken, I’ll take you right back to where you were going. I’ll drive you straight to the local market now. You can tell the aunts you escaped my clutches. But if I was right, won’t you please stay with me?”