My Own True Love (6 page)

Toma drew her closer and his hand strayed upward to just below the undercurve of her breast. To distract herself from the half-formed hope that his hand would do more than just linger, she asked,

"Those boats, what are they?"

"Those are the prison hulks," he said. "Where the
bitcherin mush
send little girls like you if you get caught. You've never seen them before, have you?"

"Prison hulks?" She'd seen a documentary on the history of Australia. She knew about the hulks.

'When the prisons got too full the British government locked criminals up on abandoned naval vessels.

Sometimes they were there for years before they even had a trial. The conditions were terrible, hundreds died. Then the poor people who lived long enough to be tried were packed into ships that were almost as bad and shipped off to live like slaves in New South Wales." She looked across the river at the horrible reality of the statistics the television narrator had so calmly explained.

Toma turned her to face him. She could see his concerned expression in the moonlight. "That's right, sweetheart," he said. "That's exactly what happens. The sending man comes and puts you on the boat; then they send you to sea. Pretty little girl like you would be whoring for lags and guards alike on your first day." He pointed at the boats. "They scare you?"

Sara tried to disguise her disgust, but she heard her voice shaking with fear when she answered,

"Those aren't my idea of first-class accommodations to Australia." When she realized that Toma didn't understand her comment any more than she did some of his, she explained, "They scare me, all right."

"Better not get done cracking the glaze on the Philipston house, then."

She really wished the man would speak English she could understand.

“You'd better not get caught breaking into Lord Philipston's house," he said. "I'd hate to see you imprisoned and transported for stealing from the
gajos.
Let's get back to the fair," he added, as he led her back down the street.

Sara considered the situation while they walked along, hand in hand. Of course, she told herself, it really had nothing to do with her; these people were expecting things from an entirely different person.

Dangerous, illegal things. She'd be back in the twentieth century soon, and they would get on with their dangerous, illegal behavior without her. Of course, there was a nagging little fear itching at the back of her mind, a faint worry that maybe she wouldn't get back home.

It was in response to that worry that she said to Toma, "I'm not a burglar. Or a pickpocket. I've never stolen anything from anybody and I'm not going to start now."

Toma laughed. The sound was as silvery bright as the moonlight on the wide river. "That's rich, sweetheart. Lord, what a fine joke."

"I'm not joking."

Toma stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. "But sweetheart—" he began, but a sudden shout from the mouth of a nearby alley interrupted his words. There was another shout, then the fleshy sound of blows, shuffling feet, and angry curses.

"Help! Someone help me!" The pleading voice was that of an old man; the words were in Romany.

Both Toma and Sara ran into the alley. He had his knife, and she grabbed up a loose cobblestone.

When she saw the two men she paused, took aim, and let fly, trusting to a lifetime of experience pitching in softball leagues for accuracy. The stone hit the man on the back of the head. He grunted and went down. Sara hoped she hadn't done more than knock the attacker unconscious. She hunted around for another rock as the second attacker turned toward Toma.

She didn't have to worry. The man saw the glitter of steel in the moonlight, glanced quickly down at his felled partner, and ran for the other end of the alley. Sara rushed up to the old man who was leaning against the wall of a building. He was panting and shaking as he clutched a canvas sack for dear life.

Another bulky sack rested at his feet.

"They would have taken all I had, Sara. I should never have agreed to come here," he said as his frightened gaze focused on her. "All my stock, my whole livelihood's in this bag. You'd said it would be safe."

He must be some sort of peddler from the fair, Sara decided. Here was someone else she was supposed to know. "You'd better go home," she advised. He looked at her as if he were waiting for her to say more. Toma came up and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned her head to look at him.

He stroked her jawline with his thumb. "We'd better all get home," he said. "Before that one wakes up. What are you doing out so late, Evan?"

The old man pointed at her. "She said to wait for her here." He waved his hand at the bag at his feet.

"I brought it," he said. He edged away from them toward the mouth of the alley. "I brought it. Now I'm gone." And he was, disappearing into the night with one last angry grumble.

Sara wondered what was in the bag, but didn't pick it up to look. Whatever it was wasn't really her property, probably not old man Evan's either. It was probably something the girl had stolen and asked Evan to keep for her.

"Well?'' Toma asked her, nudging the bag with his foot.

"Let's get back to the fair," she said. She wanted to return to the tent where she'd woken up. She wanted privacy. She wanted to have a long talk with the magic ring.

Toma called after her as she walked back toward the street. She heard him pick up the bag and follow after her. She waited for him. Not only did she enjoy his company, she needed a guide.

They walked in silence until they reached the still-busy fairgrounds. Torchlight illuminated the thick crowds. The hawkers and entertainers were still busily at work. Toma guided her to the quiet, darkened area behind the stalls where the workers made their camp. They stopped next to a fence separating the public walkways from the makeshift dwellings.

"Better separate before your father sees us," he told her. He glanced back toward the fair. "Time for me to give another show before the constables close the place down. It'll keep Sandor from being too angry at my leaving." He put the bag down and took her in his arms. "But before I go ..."

He brushed his lips against hers. She opened her mouth and kissed him back, her tongue slipping teasingly inside his mouth as he opened it in surprise. She found herself clinging to him while her senses threatened to reel out of control. It happened so incredibly fast, she didn't quite know what she was doing. One moment she was preparing to say good night to the man, the next thing she knew she was all over him, burning with passion at the touch, the taste, the scent of him. He filled her senses, intense hunger for him setting her afire. She pressed closer to Toma, her hands feverishly caressing him, compelled to—

Compelled.

Wait a minute.

Her self-control kicked in as quickly as it had disappeared. Her panting hunger flashed out of existence with an almost audible pop. She blushed hotly as she stepped away from the stunned but dazedly smiling Toma. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I don't normally act like that on the first date."
We have
to talk,
she added to the ring.

"You've been wanting to do that all night," the ring answered.

"I don't need any help with my sex life, thank you. You pervert," she added angrily. Just what she needed, a magic ring with an aphrodisiac attachment. It was a good thing she'd noticed the unnatural feel of the ring trying to control her.

"I'm not a pervert, but I am very tempted. We'd better get married quickly," Toma said, thrusting the bag into her hands. He backed away from her. "Before you make me forget you're a good girl." He turned and
was gone before she could say a word.

She smiled fondly after him. A gentleman, she thought. Toma the Magnificent was a nice man.

"He carries a knife," the ring pointed out.

Yeah,
she thought as she made her way to the tent where she'd woken up,
it's kind of sexy. He's
very protective. Sweet, really.
"I'm going to miss him," she added as she lifted the tent flap and went inside.

"Not necessarily," the ring responded.

"Well, I can't very well take him home with me. And just where have you been the last few hours?"

she demanded. She put down the bag, then sat down in a shaft of moonlight let in by the overhead smoke hole. She could make out the small form of Beth, sleeping on a pile of quilts next to the dark bulk of the clothes chest. Not wanting to wake the sleeping child, she thought her next comment at the ring.
Well?

"Recharging," it answered. "You and your true love have been getting to know each other, I trust?"

You've been putting a spell on me, haven't you?

"What? Me? What do you mean?"

You fogged my brain, or gave me temporary amnesia or something, didn't you?
she accused.

"What? How? What would I do to—"

I've been trying to get you to take me back home. You haven't paid the slightest attention and
now I understand why.

"Oh?" There was a definitely suspicious tone in the ring's sarcastic metallic voice.

You,
Sara thought at it,
are a wish ring. I know you 're a wish ring. I've been asking to go home

—
asking, demanding, pleading
—
but I haven't been wishing. You put a spell on me that made me
forget that you have to grant me whatever I
wish.

"I was matchmaking," it answered, not denying her charge. "Giving you time to get to know each other."

Do you know what kind of day I've had? What his girl is involved in? I could have gotten killed
while you were taking a little nap.

"Toma was with you."

"So what? You're driving me crazy," she told the ring. She held it up so that the orange stone caught he light. She wasn't going to argue with it. She wasn't going to hesitate, because if she did the memory of how right it felt to be with Toma might override ill the things wrong with the circumstances of their meeting. It was going to have to be enough to have met him. She swallowed the lump of regret in her throat and said firmly, "I wish to return to my own time and my own body. Right now."

"Sorry," the ring responded. "No can do."

"What? Get me out of here. I made a wish, you have to obey it."

"Sara?" Beth questioned sleepily from her pallet.

"Go back to sleep," Sara responded to the note of concern in the little girl's voice. "It's nothing. Why aren't you obeying me?" she whispered to the ring.

"It's after midnight," was its cryptic answer. "I don't do wishes after midnight."

What's the time
got to do with anything?
Sara demanded, her words an angry shout inside her head.

/
wish to go home. Please,
she added in case politeness would have any effect on the magic ring.

"I would if I could," it answered, "but it's too late."

/
don't get it. What's too late? Why don't you work after midnight? Union rules or something?

"It is now August twenty-fifth. St. Bartholomew's Day is August twenty-fourth."

Yeah, so?
Even as she thought the question, Sara guessed what the answer would be.

"I may only grant wishes on St. Bartholomew's Day. The day I was made, actually; the saint's day doesn't have anything to do with it. I'm a one-day-only wish ring. Sorry."

It wasn't sorry, she could tell by the way the silver felt against her finger, all cool and smug. She was tempted to pull the ring off and hurl it across the tent. Or stomp on it. Rather than give in to impulse she sat very still and tried to think. From beginning to end nothing had made sense today. All she'd planned on was spending the day at the Renaissance Faire, then going home, maybe ordering a pizza, practicing guitar for a while, and watching television. No adventure, no excitement, no threats of violence. No Toma, either, but so what? She'd never expected to get what she wished for, not even before she met a magic ring.

"I want to go home," she whispered. The words filled the darkness of the hot, still night. "I just want to go home."

"You can," the ring replied. There was something almost sheepish about the way it felt on her hand.

Relief surged through her.
Thank God! How? What do 1 do? What do I say?

"All you have to do is wish."

Fine. I wish to go home.

"No, not now. On St. Bartholomew's Day."

But—

"All you have to do is wait a year."

A year!

"Make any wish on St. Bartholomew's Day and I must grant it. You've only got to wait three hundred and sixty-four more days."

Sara stared at the ring in stunned disbelief. What the ring was suggesting wasn't a solution, it was a sentence. She was condemned to spend a year in this hellhole? No. Impossible. There had to be another way.

You can't do this to me.

"It's only a year, Sara. A year with Toma."

She ignored the seductive suggestion in the ring's tone.
Why didn't you tell me?

"Why should I tell you everything?"

Because.. . because you're magical, that's why!

"You been watching Disney movies, girl? What gave you the idea magic is benign?" The ring's metallic voice grated along her nerve endings. "Magic is power," it went on coldly. "Power just is. It isn't power's job to teach people how to use it. You're stuck in the past for a year. Maybe by then you'll figure out how to use me properly."

She wasn't interested in hearing lectures. She didn't think arguing was going to do any good, either.

She thought violence might be an appropriate response, but she didn't know how to go about slapping around a little silver ring. /
hate you,
she told it. /
really, really hate you.
She waited for it to answer, but the ring just circled her finger, barely visible in the fading moonlight. It didn't care what she was feeling; her emotional devastation meant nothing to it. "Power just is," she whispered. "Fine. Be that way."

There had to be something she could do, some way out. Maybe it was all just a weird dream. Had to be, she decided. She stretched and yawned. She was so tired she could barely move, let alone think straight. Hallucination. Nightmare. That's all this whole thing was. She groped her way to the pallet where she'd first woken up and curled up on it without bothering to take off her clothes. This wasn't real, she assured herself as she buried her face in a feather pillow. She was going to wake up in her own bed. It was just a dream.