My Own True Love (26 page)

She'd left a small supply box next to the wagon. She got tea out of it and tossed dry leaves into the pot.

She let the aroma drifting up with the steam fill her senses. There was something very soothing about the scent of tea. She was sipping on a strong cup of it while gazing into the fire when she finally let herself think.

What was she going to do?

"The answer to that is obvious, isn't it?"

The flames danced and crackled.
I
wasn't talking to you,
she complained.

"Oh, then what were you doing?"

Crying out in anguish to the universe, I guess.

"I see. Feeling sorry for yourself, were you?"

Yes,
she admitted unashamedly.
You got a problem with that?

"No, no indeed. Everyone deserves a bit of self-pity sometimes. Just don't be too long about it, all right?"

She obviously wasn't going to get any sympathy from the Bartholomew Ring. "You're a real pain, you know that, don't you?"

"Magic is not easy. I've mentioned that before."

Yes, it had. Nothing was easy. Life wasn't. Love was impossible. "He doesn't understand," she heard herself whine at last. "And, honestly, neither do I. We do not communicate on the most fundamental level."

"Oh, yeah? What about junior in there?"

She felt as if she were being poked in the abdomen with a sharp finger. "That isn't communication, that's sex."

"It's a fundamental way of communicating."

Maybe,
she conceded.
Sometimes. I don't know.
Okay, Lewis and I communicate on a primal
level.
How do I communicate with him on a more objective
level?

"Who says you need to be objective?"

"I—" She took a sharp breath. "I don't know. We need some kind of compromise," she admitted.

"Some middle ground where we can just be ourselves."

"His world won't permit it."

"I figured that out."

"Neither will the Rom world."

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled. She drank more tea. "Something ought to be done about that, you know?"

"Yes, I do. That's why you're here. To do something about it."

"Me?" she asked skeptically. "What?"

"You're being deliberately obtuse again. I brought you here to be the Heroine of the Revolution and I think it's about time you got to work."

"But—"

"What you have to do is simple, and it isn't even for the good of the people. You, Sara, if you love the man the way I know you do, have to create a middle ground where the two of you can exist as equals.

That's it. Turn Bororavia into the place you need to be happy."

"That's
it!"
The ring was out of its little rock-headed mind. "You're crazy!"

"You're sitting in a field on a cold winter night yelling at a ring, and I'm crazy?"

"You're the ring. Besides, I'm not yelling." She knew her voice hadn't been raised above a whisper during the whole conversation.

"Inside your head, you're yelling."

Sara made herself calm down, to think logically. "You brought me here so I could live happily ever after?"

"Correct."

"But I'm the one who has to make it work?"

"Of course. Why should happily ever after come easy? Everything's got a price, kid."

"Thank you, I'm so happy to hear that." She rubbed her jaw, then tapped her finger against the tip of her chin thoughtfully. "What about the brooch?"

"What about the brooch?" came the wary reply a few seconds later.

"What's in it for you and the brooch? What happens when Lewis returns it to the mad duke? What’s going on with you and the brooch? Is it magical too?*

"Never mind the brooch," the ring responded stubbornly. "We're discussing you and Lewis."

"But it's all connected, isn't it?"

"All right." It sighed. The sensation was like a warm breath across the fingers of her right hand. "While Lewis wears the brooch and you wear me. we're all united. We need you and Lewis to live happily ever after so we can."

"Aha. I suspected it was something like that. But what happens when the brooch is given back to the duke?"

"We'll get it back. I have faith in you and Lewis."

She wished she did. She also decided to concentrate on her own problems and let the ring worn about its ruby companion. It obviously didn't want to answer questions about the brooch. She wasn't sure she wanted it to. "This magic stuff is so complicated."

"That's why so few humans have ever been am good at it. Let's concentrate on changing our little part of the world, shall we?"

The ring was right. The only way she and Lewis could be together was in a world they made for themselves. She didn't know if he was willing to help make that world; he hadn't been favorably disposed toward the notion of changing anybody's status quo so far. It was time she got started, though.

"Okay, so what do I do?"

She felt the ring tingle with pleased anticipation. "You need an organization. There's a man named Alze who came in with the refugees. Talk to him. He's got some ideas, and contacts with the village councils.

He was in Jurmla before the soldiers arrived. He got most of them out of town and on the road to Duwal before the place was destroyed. He brought the rest of the people here."

Alze sounded like a man of action. The village councils, she recalled as she stood, were the traditional ruling body of the Bororavian peasants. The village and town councils, the
kris,
which was the Rom tribal council, and the noble class had formed the congress during the revolution. They'd turned the country into a constitutional monarchy, well, duchy. Or rather, they would, once she was through with them.

She tossed the rest of the tea into the fire, which hissed and smoked as she turned away. "Let's wake up this Alze," she said confidently, "and get this show on the road."

******************

She didn't return to the
bardo
until after dawn. Lewis wasn't there. He'd left a note for her on the bed, but when she sat down to read it she couldn't make out a word. She shook the paper in frustration. "The man should have been a doctor! Do you know what this says?" she asked the ring. "Where is he?"

"He needs to think," the ring answered. "That's a good sign," it offered helpfully.

Maybe it was, she agreed reluctantly. At least he hadn't just walked out on her. Still, the narrow living quarters of the wagon seemed larger without his presence. She was instantly lonely. Even when she'd been making him sleep under the wagon she'd at least known he was there. The bed was going to be cold without him. And empty and lonely, and she didn't want to think about it.

She got up and rummaged through the clothes chest. "At least he took warm clothes. I wonder how long he'll be gone?"

"Don't worry about it," the ring advised as she sat down and picked up her guitar. "There are plenty of other things for you to think about."

Yeah, she thought, like why did Alze act as if he knew her? She'd woken the man out of a sound sleep and he'd greeted her like a long-lost friend. He'd given her a report on the underground movement without waiting for her to ask. It hadn't made a lot of sense.

"Correction," she said as she carefully tuned the metal strings of the guitar, "it didn't make any sense."

"They're hungry for a leader," the ring offered.

"An outsider? A woman?" She played a few chords. "Well, it won't hurt to have their trust from the beginning."

She and Alze had talked for a long time. He'd told her about the violence against all the villages, not just the Rom. About the nobles' worries over the duke's bringing in German mercenaries. The duke had fired all the aristocratic officers except for the captain of his palace guard, replacing them with hired outsiders. He was negotiating with every power in Europe. There was fear that his bungling diplomacy could bring down the wrath of everybody on tiny Bororavia. He was consulting mystics and fortune-tellers while persecuting the Rom for being mystics and fortunetellers. Maybe worst of all, he was holding a continuous rowdy party while the people faced a harsh, hungry winter. It was said that entertainers summoned to the palace didn't come out again. She'd come to the conclusion that Alexander was known to history as the mad duke for good reasons.

Alze had advised that she return to lead the resistance in Duwal while he continued to rouse the countryside. To talk to Mikal the silversmith. "Return?" she questioned now as she played. "What did he mean return? I've never been to Duwal."

"It's probably a language problem," the ring responded. "You two were speaking different dialects, you know."

"Yeah, it was pretty hard to understand him sometimes. But why'd he act like he knew me?"

"Perhaps it's just his way. He seems like a friendly sort."

"I guess." She started playing her favorite blues song. "You think Lewis will be back soon?"

******************

A shadow crossed in front of her. "Oh, there you are," Sara said. She went back to stirring the pot hung over the fire. She was wearing a pair of worn gloves and two shawls to fight off the cold. Her head was covered with the scarf worn by all married women.

Married. Lewis sighed.

"I hate taking care of horses," she said as he stood silently by her side. "You know I hate taking care of the horses. It's been two days," she added, looking up at him. "You want me to rush into your arms and show how happy I am to have you back?"

"I'd like that," he answered. "Are you?" It wasn't an easy question to ask.

She sat back on her heels and smiled. It warmed him more than his nearness to the fire. "Yes."

He held a canvas bag out to her. "I brought you a chicken for the pot."

"Did you pay for it?" she asked suspiciously.

"What?" He was so surprised at the question he almost dropped the bag. "Of course."

"You can never tell with Rom," she told him. "They're a thieving bunch."

"Point taken," he agreed. He knelt beside her and leaned forward to sniff the steam rising from the pot.

Potatoes, and probably not very many of them. The meat would be a welcome addition to the meal.

"There's a joke in my family," she said while he tried not to grab her into a fierce embrace.

"Oh?"

"Do you know the recipe for gypsy stew?"

"What?"

"First, steal a chicken." He looked at her, a smile tilting up his lips. She pointed at him. "It's only funny if we Rom tell it," she told him. "Remind me to explain political correctness to you sometime."

"I missed you," he said. "I missed you very much."

"So," she asked, her words sounding too carefully casual, "where have you been?"

He'd been traveling alongside the caravan, actually, as it moved toward the outskirts of Duwal. He'd been worried about the large number of green-coated soldiers patrolling the countryside. He'd passed more burned villages and bands of refugees as his course paralleled his own gypsy band's. He'd wanted to be close enough to be of any help if there was trouble, far enough from Sara to clear his mind. When his thoughts refused to cooperate with his plan to get them sorted out, he gave in and came back.

"I suppose you thought I'd struck out for the city on my own."

"No." She reached forward to stir the pot.

He took her hand, rubbing his thumb restlessly across the rough material of her glove. "It would be faster, I know. You probably thought I'd left you."

"No," she said again.

This time the word actually registered with him. "Oh." He narrowed his eyes as he peered at her.

"Why not?"

"You said you'd be back."

She trusted him! He almost laughed with delight. "The fool girl trusts me when I don't trust myself!" He drew her into his arms and a deep, sorely needed kiss. Just the touch of her tongue gliding against his lit fires in him. "I can't leave you," he said when they stopped kissing. "I can't."

Sara rubbed her fingers across her lips. They still burned with pleasure. "I'm going to get chapped lips if we keep this up," she told him. She grinned. "I'm willing to risk it." She stood and held her arms out to him. "Let's go somewhere quiet where we can fool around."

"In private," he added, bouncing lightly to his feet. "What about the chicken?"

"This is no time to be practical." Still, she picked up the bag and took it to the communal fire in the center of the camp. After she'd handed it to one of the women working there she came back and took Lewis's hand. As she led him into the
bardo
she explained. "There's a party later tonight. Molly and Hadari are getting married."

Married, he thought, and sighed. He tried not to think about it as he followed her to the welcome homecoming inside.

******************

Their reunion was bittersweet and delicious. Lewis just wanted to lie on Sara's breast and sleep when they were done. Sara, however, had other plans for the evening. She kicked the quilt aside when he tried to wrap them in a warm cocoon. He complained with a weak moan.

"We have to get dressed," she said, pushing him to sit up. "I'm not missing Molly's wedding." She chuckled. "She risked a lot not to miss mine."

There was no getting out of it, he supposed. He rolled over and his stomach rumbled. The gnaw of hunger reminded him of the chicken stewing on the central fire.

"Never mind the wedding," he said, getting up as she lit the lantern. "I'm hungry."

Her eyes went round. She swore. "My soup!" She hadn't taken off many clothes for their lovemaking.

She straightened them hurriedly before she ran out to check her forgotten cooking.

Lewis took his time about getting dressed, taking Toma's finest shirt, vest, and silk headband out of the clothes chest. He washed, shaved, and carefully combed the snarls out of his long black hair. When he was presentable, he put his heavy greatcoat on over the gypsy finery and went outside.

Starlight glinted coldly overhead, along with a sliver of moon. There was a glow of light on the horizon from the port city a few miles away. Britain wanted that port. The grand duke's palace was in the center of the lighted city, with embassy buildings clustered closely around it. He belonged at the British embassy.