Thunder and Roses (55 page)

He laughed. “The Rom are very eclectic. They’ll adopt any custom that pleases them.”

The fiddle struck up again, and this time everyone joined in the dancing, from old
Keja
to all children who could walk. Circles formed, then split into smaller groups. The musicians took turns so no one would miss a chance to dance. For Clare, it was a revelation. This was not dancing as mere amusement or sinful temptation; this was dance as the breath of life.

And Nicholas was the most ardent of all. When he caught her hands and swung her about, she felt his energy pulsing through her like a river of fire. She responded with all of the passion that had so recently blossomed within her. Before she had been the maiden; now she danced as the temptress, a woman proud of her femininity and utterly confident of her ability to please her man.

Later, after the exhausted children had been put to bed and even the adults were too tired for another tune,
Kore
brought out a small Welsh harp and handed it to Nicholas.

Gently he strummed the instrument, tuning the strings while he considered what to play. He chose a long Romany ballad that seemed to be woven from the haunting joys and sorrows of his wandering race. Clare sat beside him, her eyes closed as she absorbed the beauty of his deep, rich voice. At the end, he sang a verse that he must have translated to English for her sake.

Worldly goods possess and destroy you, Love must be free as the blowing wind. Capture the wind between four walls and it dies. Open tents, open hearts, Let the wind blow …

The poignancy of it caught her heart. Though she doubted that he meant the words as a message to her, she sensed that the way to hold Nicholas was never to try. Love must be free as the blowing wind. …

Then they retired to their bed, which they had laid some distance from the others. Sandwiched between the soft warmth of two
dunhas
and roofed only by stars, he made fierce, possessive love to her. Desire had been intensified by their mating dance, and now it was raised to fever pitch by the silence with which they came together.

Wishing that words of love were not forbidden, Clare let her body speak for her. Later, when he slept, his head upon her breast, she caressed his thick black hair, filled with wonder at the man she had married. A Gypsy, a Welshman, a nobleman, a bard—he was all of those things, and more. And she knew that she would love him until she died.

 
The next morning Clare felt a little fragile. She had been most immoderate the evening before: eaten too much, drunk too much wine, danced too long, and had had wildly intemperate sexual congress with her husband. More than once, in fact.
John
Wesley might not have approved. However, now that Clare had developed her own inner guidance, she checked directly with the Divine and concluded that He didn’t mind at all, for love was the wellspring of her passion. Nonetheless, the slight headache was a useful reminder that moderation still had a place in her life.

As the kumpania was breaking camp, old
Keja
walked up and announced, “I must talk with you. This morning you ride in my wagon.”

Clare was happy to accept. Though she had scarcely exchanged a word with
Keja
, she had often felt the old woman’s gaze on her. They had the wagon to themselves,
Keja
having used her influence to procure privacy.

For a long time
Keja
simply stared at Clare, puffing on her pipe. Abruptly she said, “I am cousin of the father of Marta, Nikki’s mother.”

Clare’s interest quickened. If so,
Keja
was one of Nicholas’s closest relatives. Wanting to take advantage of this opportunity, she asked, “Why did Marta sell her son?

That knowledge has been a wound in Nicholas’s heart.”

“Marta was dying of lung sickness,”
Keja
said with equal bluntness. “She should have left Nikki with us, but she had made a vow to her husband to see that their son learned the ways of the Gorgios.” The old woman grimaced. “Because it was what Kenrick had wanted, and she knew that soon she would no longer be able to care for Nikki herself, Marta took him to his grandparents, who were his closest blood kin.”

“The fact that she sold him for a hundred guineas makes it hard for me to believe that she was acting selflessly,” Clare said, her voice hard. “How could any woman sell her child?”

“The old Gorgio offered the money of his own will,”
Keja
said with disgust. “Marta almost spat in his face, but she was Rom—if the Gorgio wanted to be a fool, she would let him.”

Thinking of what she had learned about the Rom, Clare said hesitantly, “In other words, the two transactions were separate—she took Nicholas to his grandfather for Kenrick’s sake, and in her mind, the money really had nothing to do with Nikki.”

Keja
gave a gap-toothed smile, her head bobbing. “For a Gorgio, you have good understanding. I show you the proof that Marta did not sell her son for gold.” She opened a chest and delved in, withdrawing a heavy leather pouch. Handing it to Clare, she said, “She left this with me to give to Nikki when the time was right.”

Clare opened the pouch, then sucked in her breath at the sight of the gold coins.

Keja
said, “It is all there, except for a guinea or two that Marta used to buy food on her way back to the Rom. Mine was the nearest kumpania, so she stayed with us.”

“What happened to Marta?”

Keja
puffed her pipe hard, smoke wreathing her head. “Marta died with the winter, in my arms. The gold I have kept for Nikki all these years.”

Bewildered, Clare asked, “Why was he never told that his mother gave him up because she was dying? The knowledge would have made a great difference to him. And why didn’t you give him the gold earlier? You’ve seen him often over the years.”

“Marta made me swear an oath to tell only Nicholas’s wife, for a woman would understand that a mother must do the best she can for her child,”
Keja
said softly.

“But Nicholas had a wife before me.”

Keja
looked as if she would have spat if she had been outdoors. “Bah, he bedded that one, but she was not his true wife. You are the one Marta foresaw. She had the gift, and she said that a woman would come who would heal her Nikki’s heart.”

Clare stared at the golden coins, tears stinging her eyes. Had Marta really foreseen Clare? She had been young when she died, perhaps younger than Clare was now.

Would Marta have left Nicholas with his grandfather if she had known how cold and abusive the old man was? Perhaps she had assumed that Kenrick’s mother would care for Nicholas. But the old earl’s first wife had already fallen into the long twilight that had clouded her mind for the last years of her life, leaving her unable to love her grandson.

“Poor Marta,” Clare said with deep empathy. “It must have been terribly difficult for her to choose between her own people and her promise to her dead husband. And even more difficult to give up her son to a stranger. I hope she is resting in peace.”

“She is,”
Keja
said matter-of-factly. “She is with Kenrick. Now that you have come to take care of Nikki, she will no longer worry for her son.”

Clare felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle. As a Christian she believed that spirit was immortal. She also knew that there were rare individuals who manifested “gifts of the spirit”—the ability to know things beyond the visible realm. It was said that
John
Wesley’s own mother and sisters had been so gifted. Nonetheless, it was eerie to hear someone speak of the supernatural with such calm acceptance. She was learning more from the Rom than she had expected.

“I love Nicholas, and I will always do my best for him,” she said quietly. Remembering the form for Gypsy oaths, she added, “May you burn candles for me if I fail in this.”

”
Bater
,”
Keja
said gravely. “May it be so.”

The wagon rumbled to a stop and Nicholas called, “Clare, we’re home.”

She closed the leather pouch and deposited it in an inner pocket. Since Nicholas had more pressing concerns at the moment, she would wait before telling him Marta’s story. But she would not wait long; though he might find it painful to have the old scars probed, she hoped that ultimately the knowledge would take away his feeling that his mother had betrayed him.

She kissed her companion’s leather cheek. “T
hank
you for trusting me,
Keja
.” Then she climbed from the wagon.

The kumpania stood in front of Aberdare. Williams was on the steps. Apparently he had come out to shoo the Gypsies away, then been bemused to see his employer emerge from a wagon.

There followed an orgy of farewells. Clare hugged Ani particularly hard. “You’ll come back?”

The other woman chuckled. “Oh, yes. Like the wind, we come, we go, and we come again.”

After waving good-bye, Clare and Nicholas climbed the stairs to the house, his arm around her waist. Expression as bland as butter, Williams held the door open for them. Clare found herself very aware of the lowness of her blouse and the shortness of her skirts. But she held her head high and swept past the butler as calmly as if she had been respectably dressed.

By tacit agreement, they went directly to their bedchamber. Clare pulled off her boots and wiggled her toes with pleasure. “I’m going to ring for a bath. Though I really enjoyed your kinfolk, there was a sad shortage of hot water.”

He smiled, but there was an abstracted expression in his eyes. Dropping her levity, Clare said, “Nicholas, what are you going to do about Lord Michael?”

He sighed. “Lay evidence before a magistrate. Michael will be arrested right away, I imagine. If he can’t come up with some damned good explanations, he is going to be in serious trouble.”

“He’s a wealthy and powerful man. Will that protect him?”

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “I am the Earl of Aberdare, and my wealth and power exceed his. If he is behind the attempt on our lives, he will not escape justice.”

It was the first time she had seen a resemblance to his formidable grandfather. Relieved that he was willing to use his influence to protect himself, she said, “I’m glad that you’re leaving justice to the law rather than taking it into your own hands.”

“I don’t believe in duels. They’re a barbaric remnant of the Middle Ages.” He took off his Romany vest and scarf. “Your class meeting is tonight. Are you going?”

She had forgotten herself. “Yes, unless you’d rather I stayed with you this evening.”

“No, go to your meeting. I want to start working on that song to commemorate the mine explosion. I had some ideas over the last few days. But since we’ll be spending the evening apart, I think I’ll monopolize your time for the rest of the afternoon.” He ran his gaze over her with blatant carnality. “Order the bath. Interesting things can be done in a tub.”

Blushing, she did as he asked while he withdrew to his dressing room. But instead of disrobing, he slipped out of the other door, went down to his desk in the library, and jotted a hasty note. After sealing it, he rang for the butler.

When Williams appeared, Nicholas handed over the missive. “Have this taken to Lord Michael Kenyon. Most likely he’s at the mine at this hour. If not, I want the messenger to track him down and wait for an answer. And
 
don’t tell anyone about this—especially not Lady Aberdare.”

“Very good, my lord.”

With that attended to, Nicholas made his way back to his dressing room. Nothing could be done for several hours, so he was going to use the time in the best possible way.

31

 
Recognizing the seal, Michael Kenyon’s mouth tightened as he slit open the note. The words were terse and to the point:

Michael: I must speak with you alone. I suggest 7:00 this evening. The ruins at
Caerbach
are convenient and neutral, but I will meet you at any time and place of your choosing as long as it is soon. Aberdare.