For Love of a Gypsy Lass (3 page)

***

Talaitha sat on the steps of the
vardo
studying the package the
Gadjo
lord had left for her. Her thoughts strayed to him, to the way his lips had felt on her own, the way his hands had felt against her back. She imagined his fingers moving softly across the skin of her shoulders as her own trailed across the smooth fabric of the top handkerchief. She could almost feel his fingers going down the length of her spine. She sighed at the thought. No, she must not think such things.

She shook the fine linen square open. She had never seen such delicate and beautiful lace work, and she most certainly had never owned anything this fine in her entire life. She rubbed the incredibly soft fabric of the handkerchief against her cheek. Then she tucked it into the bodice of her dress so only a little of the lace would show. Would he touch her here, on her breasts? Could she bear the pleasure of such a touch?

Oh yes
, she thought,
I could bear it—would bear it—and I would want more
. She sighed at the thought. Surely he would first take the time to kiss her, to press those sensuous lips against hers, hard and sure as he had before. She would allow him to run his hands over her naked body, touching her here, stroking her there. Slowly, slowly his touch would become more intimate as it traveled to her breasts, stroking, smoothing. She clasped her hands across her chest. He would find her nipples and—

She started when her grandmother, the
Puri Dai
, the wise woman of the clan, stepped out of the shadows and took Talaitha’s hands in her own.

“Pack your things,” she said. “We leave tomorrow—early.”

“Tomorrow? But
Baba
Florica, we were to stay here another week or more.”

“We must leave,” the old woman said. Talaitha thought she sounded irritable.

“But why?” She didn’t want to go. Despite her resentment that he’d thought she could be bought—though he’d offered an almost unimaginably high price—she wanted, no,
needed
to see the
Gadjo
lord again. She knew nothing good could come out of the feelings she had for him, that she could never mean anything more to him than a Gypsy lass whom he had seduced with gold—in spite of his promises—but that didn’t stop her from feeling the way she did. Nothing could stop her from that.

Her grandmother sighed. “I see danger here for you, my Talaitha.” She patted her on the cheek. “So we leave before dawn.”

“What danger,
Baba
Florica? What possible danger can there be for me here?” But she knew the answer. The fire in her belly flared as she thought of him—the handsome
Gadjo
. She would not refuse him a third time even though she knew it to be
prikaza,
bad luck. Only sorrow and regret could follow. She would be despised by her clan for the rest of her life if she consented to the lord’s wishes. Even worse, they might leave her behind, and she would never look on their faces again.

“Yes.” Her grandmother looked at her closely. “That is why.”

She wanted to cry out that she didn’t care, that she would embrace the danger; that they should stay for the time they had planned, but she knew it would do no good. The others always listened to the old woman’s advice because she was their
Puri Dai.
She never changed her mind.

Chapter Four

Talaitha sat on the steps of her family’s
vardo,
trying to think about the songs she would be singing shortly—the last of the evening. However, she could not keep her mind properly on them. Rather, much to her irritation, it dwelled on the
Gadjo
lord. He would come to Grinell Green—well, at least he had said he would—and he would find them gone. They had left, like thieves, well before dawn and traveled most of the day, then set up camp in this new town. Would he be sad? Would he come at all? Would he would he think of her often as she thought of him?

He had promised her a home, a carriage, jewels. Surely these things would include warm fires, plentiful food, and even clothing with no patches. She would never again be cold or hungry, she would no longer wish for pretty clothes. She would go about in her carriage like a fine
Gadji
.

No.
She shook her head. She must not think of these things and she must not think of him.

She flushed with anger when she thought of how Delilah had flirted with him. Perhaps if they had remained at Grinell Green, and she herself had continued to reject him, he would have paid his respects to Delilah, perhaps would have offered her some gold coins. He’d be wasting his time, though. None of the women in their clan would give themselves to a
Gadjo
. They all planned to marry
Romanichal
. None would be willing to settle down to the boring stationary life. If she had given in to her desire for him, and he had what he craved from her, then what? Her own people would despise her and his would surely do the same. She would be lost—there would be no place in the world for her.

But the handkerchiefs. The two he’d given Delilah had a boldly painted scene on it of a canal and a man in a little boat with a pole and a funny hat, while he’d given her six—each with different fine embroidery. Delilah’s, she realized, were simply a gift of courtesy and appreciation—or even a small token because Delilah was her friend.

Why was she thinking all this? That lord would never want more than an amusing diversion with a
Romani
lass. And any lass would do. And even if he did truly want her, there was no way he could learn where she was. And besides, she did not want him… Didn’t she? Oh, but she did. That was the problem; she wanted him with all her heart.

“Stop it,” she told herself. “Stop it and forget him.”

But no sooner had she said that than she thought of him again. She was driving herself mad. No man had ever filled her mind the way he did.

Delilah came running to where she sat, grabbed her arm tightly, and pulled her to her feet and over to the middle of the field in which they were camped.

“He is here, your lord is here.” She pointed up the hill. “There is his carriage. We did not hear it arrive because Cambio is playing so loudly on the stage.”

Talaitha saw it. The same perfectly matched four horses, the same coat of arms on the door.

“Aren’t you going to greet him?” Delilah asked.

“I—I don’t know what to do,” she stuttered, suddenly agitated.

“If you go to him, everyone will see you and think the worse of you. They would shun you if you let him touch you. But I can see that you think only of him—and he has found us and come all this way for you. Perhaps there is some way…”

They stood silent, Talaitha’s heart pounding in her ears as the footman, in blue livery, climbed down from his place beside the coachman, opened the door, and pulled down the steps. Then he nodded, perhaps agreeing to an instruction. He replaced the step, closed the door, and climbed back up. The coachman shouted to the horses and the carriage rumbled away.

“Wait… He is leaving! But why, if he followed us all the way to this town, why would he go now?” Delilah cried.

Talaitha shrugged, refusing to show how much this hurt her, and turned away. The fire that had started in her belly with the sight of his carriage turned to ice. Head held high, she walked across the field away from the others, aware that their eyes were following her, aware that they had seen the carriage come and go. She knew they were all wondering why and watching her reaction.

She stumbled over one of the little hills that surrounded the field and down to a stream that ran on the other side of it. No one could see her here. She crouched in the darkness beside the water. From her bodice she pulled one of the lace-edged handkerchiefs and proceeded to soak it with her tears.

***

Harry had had a devil of a time finding out where the Gypsies had gone and then had driven out to Hadley in the dark and much faster than prudence would allow.

As he approached, he saw the campfires and the guitar player on the makeshift stage. Then he made out two figures in the middle of the field—the flirtatious woman, and her, the singer. His heart beat faster at the sight of her, and he felt the heat rise ferociously within him.

Was he moonstruck? He didn’t even know her name, and yet he’d been unable to sleep for wanting to see her again. He’d risked his own life as well as those of his coachman and footman to get here, hurrying over the poor roads, urging the driver to go ever faster even after nightfall, even when the moon hid her dim light behind clouds. They stopped only to change horses. But now he hesitated to get out and join the group of men and women who stood watching the guitar player. And it would be unseemly to go directly to where she stood—and besides, his courage was failing him. He felt like a fool.

Her disinterest—no, her repugnance—had been perfectly clear. He had insulted her, assuming his money and his prestige would make her willing to allow him to seduce her. How could he have behaved so badly to her? How bitterly he regretted it.

She found him repulsive. His friend John had told him that over and over, and he had not listened; he had wanted her, lusted for her too much to be sensible. But it was more than mere lust. He had never felt like this about any woman. It was a kind of madness.

The fire of the passion that had tormented him since he had first heard her sing was starting to become dampened by the cold water of reason. But though the flames were lower now, they still licked at him. There must be something he could do, some way he could show her that he valued her, that he wanted her in every way a man could want a woman, that his life was barren without her. That he would do anything for her.

No, John, was right. He had insulted her past enduring. There was no way she could forgive him.

So he remained in the carriage, and in a low voice he told the footman to tell the coachman to return to Beresford Hall.

Chapter Five

It was midday and Talaitha sat on a blanket by her sister Naomi’s
vardo
helping feed the children when the carriage with the perfectly matched horses approached. It stopped about hundred yards from the encampment and the
Gadjo
lord stepped down and walked briskly toward them. Cambio went to meet him. Talaitha realized that all eyes were on her, so she squared her shoulders and pretended he was of no interest to her. Instead, she picked up the baby, held him against her shoulder, and began to rock him back and forth.

Cambio spoke with the
Gadjo
a short while and then led him to tree where several men sat mending a wagon wheel while a couple of the bigger children ran over to watch. Talaitha’s father got to his feet, the lord tipped his hat, and the two men walked away from the others with the children following closely behind.

“What can that mean?” Naomi looked at her.

Delilah, who had joined them, said, “I think he is trying to buy Talaitha.”

“Ha!” said Naomi. “
Dadro
would kill him before he would allow a
Gadjo
to touch Talaitha or any of us, no matter how many gold guineas he has.”

Everyone watched silently. The children crept closer to the two men. Finally, the lord tipped his hat to Talaitha’s father again and, looking neither to the right nor the left, strode back to his carriage. The footman lifted the steps, closed the door, and climbed onto the box beside the coachman and they sped off.

The children came running pell-mell to Talaitha. “He asked
puro dad
if he could court you in a proper manner!” they shouted, and they danced around her shouting, “He wants to court you, court you, court you.”

***

Baba
Florica, Talaitha’s father, and the
rom baro
—the clan leader—sat under an old oak tree talking quietly, apart from everyone else, their faces solemn.

“They are trying to decide whether to allow him to court you,” Delilah whispered in Talaitha’s ear. “The handkerchief,” she said, giggling. Even she was mildly uncomfortable discussing such things. “You gave him the handkerchief after you had wiped your face with it. Perhaps that bound him to you.”

“
Prikaza
,” Talaitha muttered. “Perhaps it was bad luck.”

“It is honorable for the
Gadjo
to seek to court you,” said Naomi, her face earnest.

“Perhaps the handkerchief will bring you good luck,” Delilah said.

“There are men and women in other clans who have married
Gadje
,” Naomi said.

“Yes,” said Talaitha, “and no one ever saw them again and no one will even speak of them.”

“I could not bear it, sister,” Naomi said, “if you were to be gone like that.”

“Nor could I,” Talaitha said softly. Her body and her heart told her she would accept the
Gadjo
lord should he ask for her, but then, alas, she would become an outcast from her people. She would live in a completely different world. One with jewels and pretty clothes to be sure, but one in which she would neither see her family nor enjoy the pleasures of the open road. This, her heart murmured to her, would hurt her grievously. She wondered for a moment if
Baba
Florica knew how to undo this spell she was under. She shook her head. She wanted to be with the
Gadjo
lord.

After he and the
rom baro
stood up
,
Talaitha’s father helped
Baba
Florica to her feet. He strode past Talaitha and the other women without speaking to them. He called to one of the teenage boys and whispered something to him.

“Your father is angry,”
Baba
Florica said, taking Talaitha’s hands in her own. “He does not want this
Gadjo
lord to court you. As for the
rom baro,
he says that this lord could protect us from those who hate the
Romanichal
.
He says this lord is a very powerful
Gadjo.
He worries that it may be
prikaza
and bring harm on you, but he also thinks that if you are honorably courted and wed that may not be so.”

“What do you think,
Baba
Florica?”

“I see in your eyes that you could deny him nothing, that this
Gadjo
is the man you dream of at night. I think that if he wants to make you his whore; that is
prikaza.
The reason we moved away from his town
was to protect you from that. Even when he followed us—and I sense it was at great cost to himself—I was not completely sure of his intentions. But we know, and he knows, that he could simply take you and do what he chooses with you. We
Romanichal
have no power against the
Gadje
—especially such a powerful lord as he. It is not for nothing that your father watches with a knife at his side every night when the
Gadje
come to be entertained by our people. We have no lawful defense against them—especially the highborn.”

“But now this lord comes humbly, as an ordinary man. He begs permission to court you and, if you agree, to marry you in honorable fashion. He asks for nothing more. I see no
prikaza
in that. But your father fears for you, he thinks you could never be happy in that world. In that world there is little dancing, little singing. There is no joy of the open road.”

“I have seen how this
Gadjo
looks at you, and I have studied his palm. I see
Gadji
in his past, but none in his future. I do not fear that he would set you aside for some highborn lady. But I do not want to lose you. And if you marry this lord and become a great
rawni,
you will be lost to us.”

“What did they decide?” Talaitha squeezed the old woman’s hands.

“The
rom baro
gives him permission to court you.” She pointed to the horse and rider galloping up the hillside. “See, Tobar rides to the inn where the
Gadjo
is staying to tell him our answer. Your lord will return in a few hours and speak with you then.”

“Will you read my palm,
Baba
Florica? Tell me what the future holds for me. Tell me, what I should do?”

The old woman shrugged. “I do not like to read the palms of those close to me.” She pulled her hands out of Talaitha’s grip. “You must decide.”

A few minutes later, Talaitha still stood as though rooted to the spot, clasping her hands. She thought her heart might beat its way out of her ribcage. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. The lord wanted to marry her. The thought had never even crossed her mind. She ran back to the
vardo
and climbed inside. She found the tiny mirror that had been her mother’s and studied her face in it. Serious, dark eyes stared back. Her black hair curled about her flushed face. She saw nothing there that would make a great
Gadjo
lord to want to marry her. She bit her lips. Could she make them redder? She ran fingers through her hair.
Gadji
ladies wore their hair in complicated ways she’d never thought of doing for herself. She wondered if Delilah had pins to hold it up. Would she or her sister help her put it up? She put the mirror down and trailed her fingers through her hair again. Would he do that? Her fingers followed the curve of her neck down to the hollow at its base. She sighed. Would he touch her like that? She took her fingers lower, running gently across the swell of her breasts above her dress.

Then she brought her hands to her waist and slowly up toward her breasts. She wore no corset.
Gadji
wore corsets. Would he despise her for wearing none? If she married him—her heart seemed to flip over at the thought—would she have to wear a corset? She had noticed that they pushed up the breasts of the fine ladies who wore them. She used her hands to push her breasts toward her chin. Then she burst into laughter. She was being ridiculous—and she was ridiculously, wildly happy.

Suddenly, she remembered that she would be leaving her family, the
vardo,
and life on the road forever, and she burst into tears. But then she thought about being with the
Gadjo
lord and laughed again.
This is absurd! I don’t even know his name.