Eochaidh - Legend of the Horsemen (Book One) (5 page)

The Gypsy encampment was a thirty-minute ride from the manor
house. It sat in a lovely dell halfway between the forest and the village
square.
 
Seven enormous oak trees
surrounded the area, their trunks so wide that four adults holding hands around
them just spanned the width.
 
Their ancient
boughs spread outward in every direction and then finally twisted up into the
sky like maidens performing a May Day dance. The leaves on the trees were
bright green, and the young acorns were nestled securely within their
folds.
 
Beneath them lay the remnants of
many seasons of fallen leaves and acorns, creating a brown rug below the green
canopy.

Ten brightly colored caravan wagons formed a circle inside
the protective cover of the oaks and within the circle, small tents and booths
had been set up so the Gypsies could encourage the throng of villagers to try
their hands at games of chance, purchase wares, enjoy the Gypsy dancers or even
have their fortunes told.

Pausing at the top of the ridge above the dell, Jepson
turned to Meaghan and Monty and cautioned them. “My people have had to learn to
live by their wits,” he said. “They will not steal from you. But if you are
foolish enough to try to win a game of chance with a Gypsy, then you will not
only lose your money, but gain an education.”

“I’ve been told I’m quite good at games of chance,” Monty
replied. “I cannot believe uneducated Gypsies can best me.”

Jepson bowed deferentially. “As you say, my lord,” he
answered.

Meaghan turned on her horse and punched Monty’s arm.

“
Owww
,” he cried, rubbing the
contact spot.

“You dolt,” she said, exasperated. “Jepson was merely trying
to help you, not criticize your intelligence or your abilities. Gypsies are not
uneducated; they are the cleverest people I’ve ever met.
 
They might not have had the advantage to go
to Eton, but they understand things far greater than the things you can learn
in a book.”

“I don’t understand,” Monty said.

“The Gypsies have had to learn cunning in order to survive,”
Jepson explained. “They have no home country. They are travelers, and in order
to protect themselves they have become excellent at understanding and reading
others.”

“Reading others?” Monty asked, his nose wrinkling in
confusion. “Like a book?”

Meaghan turned quickly in her saddle toward Monty, and he
flinched and pulled back on his horse’s reins.
 
She grinned and nodded. “See, you just read me,” she said.

“No, I moved because I didn’t want to be punched again,” he
countered.

“But you understood that before I punch you, I turn in my
saddle,” she said. “You read my clues. Gypsies read clues like that, facial
expressions, body movements and even the way you move your eyes.”

“Really?” Monty asked, intrigued.

“Aye,” Jepson replied. “They can tell if you have a winning
or losing card in your hand by the way your pupils dilate.”

“That’s like magic,” Monty said.

“Gypsy magic,” Jepson agreed. “But they have also developed
an intuitive sense about danger and have been blessed, or some may say cursed,
with the ability to foretell the future.”

“My mother says that’s nothing but poppycock,” Monty
replied.

Jepson paused for a moment and looked down at the camp. Then
he shook his head slowly. “I have seen the fortunes the wise women predict come
true too many times for me to dismiss it so easily,” he said. “However, that is
an individual choice. You can believe or not.”

Monty shrugged. “Well, it certainly can’t hurt.”

Jepson turned to him. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t,” he
replied, clicking to his horse and starting down the hill toward the camp.

“This ought to be interesting,” Meaghan said, urging her
horse to follow Jepson.

Monty nodded. “Very interesting indeed.”

They cantered their horses down to the camp.
 
Meaghan felt a light frisson of magic brush
over her as she passed by one of the oaks, and Jepson, riding alongside her,
turned, met her eyes and nodded.
 
“You
feel it too?” she whispered.

“Aye, it concerns me that my people have felt the need to
camp in a place of protection such as this,” he replied. “If you will allow, I
will seek out the elders of the camp and hear what they have to say.”

“Yes, please, Jepson,” she agreed. “I’ll keep an eye on
Monty and make sure he doesn’t gamble his mother’s home away.”

With a quiet laugh and a nod, Jepson urged his horse forward
and galloped ahead of them.

“Where’s he going?” Monty asked.

“To speak with the leaders of the group,” Meaghan said
casually. “What would you like to do first?”

They rode to a makeshift hitching post and slid off their
horses.
 
After tying them securely, Monty
looked around the camp.
 
Then he lifted
his head and sniffed the air. “There are delicious smells coming from over
there,” he said, pointing toward the middle of the camp.

“You just ate,” Meaghan replied, incredulous. “You can’t be
hungry.”

He grinned at her. “Oh, can’t I?” he asked.

Sighing loudly, she shook her head in amusement. “Oh, very
well, let us be led by your stomach,” she said. “But I insist that after that
voracious appetite is appeased, I would like to have my fortune read.”

“Sounds like fun,” he agreed, lifting his arm toward her.
“Shall we proceed?”

She slipped her hand through his arm and smiled. “Yes, my lord,”
she replied properly. “By all means.”

Laughing, they strolled arm in arm toward the center of the
camp.
 
The first tent had music pouring
from it.
 
Peeking in, they saw a
half-dozen gyrating women dressed in colorful loose flowing skirts and
petticoats, tightly-laced black leather corsets, and white cotton blouses that
exposed their shoulders dancing to the fast-paced music.
 
Their hips, necks and even ankles were draped
with chains of spangles that caught the light and sent it dancing throughout
the tent. The women drummed on spangled tambourines and flirted shamelessly as
they sensuously danced near the audience of cheering men. Monty was dumbstruck.

“Hey, you want to see, you buy a ticket,” a large olive-skinned
man called as he stepped from the folds of the tent.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Meaghan replied, pulling on Monty’s arm
with no response. “We were just on our way to the food tent and got
sidetracked.”

The man laughed and nodded at Monty. “Your friend is more
than sidetracked,” he said. “He is mesmerized.”

Meaghan looked up at Monty, his eyes locked on the women,
his mouth dropped open in awe and his breathing slightly constricted.

“I dare say you are correct,” she agreed with the man. “But
I know the magic words to break the spell.”

She tiptoed as close as she could get to Monty’s ear and
whispered, “Your mother is here.”

The spell was immediately broken as Monty turned quickly,
flushing bright red, and ducked behind Meaghan. “Where?” he stammered,
panicked. “Where is she?”

The olive-skinned man laughed loudly, nodded to Meaghan and
disappeared back into the tent.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Monty,” she said. “I was mistaken, it
wasn’t her at all.”

“Oh, Meggie,” he exclaimed, wiping his brow. “I nearly died
on the spot. If my mother had caught me here—”

“She would have killed both of us,” Meaghan inserted,
pulling him forcibly away from the tent. “So, really, we should be on our way.”

He glanced back over his shoulder to the tent. “But weren’t
they…amazing?” he asked, his eyes glazing over once again. “The way they moved…,”
he put his hands in front of him and waved them side to side imitating the
women’s hips, “was utterly hypnotic. All I wanted to do…”

“Monty, I don’t think I need to know about what you wanted
to do,” Meaghan interrupted. “Suffice it to say you were immensely intrigued.”

“Oh, yes,” Monty agreed heartily. “Immensely.”

He had stopped walking and was turning back toward the tent
when Meaghan pulled on his arm again. “So intrigued that you forgot about the
food?” she asked.

She could see the internal war going on inside him and bit
back a smile, but her smile was short-lived as just beyond Monty she caught
sight of a group of armed men riding toward the campsite, the local magistrate
leading the pack. “Monty,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she
pulled on his jacket. “Look over there.”

Hearing the urgency in her voice, Monty immediately turned,
frowning when he saw the men. “What in blazes are they doing here?” he asked.

“From the look in their eyes, they don’t seem to be here to
sample the food,” Meaghan replied, taking in their grim and angry looks.

Meaghan didn’t like the Magistrate. Although sworn to uphold
the law in the area, she found him to be a bully rather than a peacekeeper, and
all too many times an innocent villager was beaten into an unlikely confession
or, even worse, sent to the gallows. Her father had filed several complaints
with the Duke, the member of nobility who oversaw the magistrates in the area,
but had never received a response.

Monty stepped toward the men. “Ho, Magistrate Murphy,” he
called. “What goes on here?”

Noticeably surprised to see Monty, the Magistrate reined in
his horse and halted the other riders. “Lord Montague,” he replied, nodding
deferentially, “What brings you here?”

“A bit of fun and some food, of course,” Monty replied
evenly. “What brings you here?”

“We’ve had reports of thievery and witchcraft,” he replied,
“and have been sent to question these vagrants.”

Meaghan, who had been blocked from view by Monty, stepped
forward. “And, may I ask who sent you? Surely not my father.”

Taken aback, the magistrate looked discomfited and sat back
in his saddle to recompose himself. “Well, Lady Meaghan, I bid you good
afternoon,” he said, his smile forced.

“Good afternoon, Magistrate Murphy,” she replied politely.
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”

The smile hardened marginally. “You’re right. I haven’t,” he
replied. “But only because the person who issued the complaint preferred to
remain anonymous.”

“Probably my mother,” Monty whispered to Meaghan.

“An anonymous complaint?” Meaghan asked. “And the evidence
produced was?”

“There was no evidence, Lady Meaghan,” he sneered. “But at
the Duke’s request we have come to investigate.”

“The Duke requested that you investigate a Gypsy camp?”
Meaghan asked skeptically.

Murphy smiled inwardly, remembering the hold Lady Strathmore
had on the aging Duke and repeated his lie with more assurance. “Aye, Lady
Meaghan, we are here at the Duke’s own bidding.”

“And what do you intend to do?” she asked.

He leaned forward in his saddle and looked down on Meaghan.
“First, we will send you both on your way before things become too dangerous,”
he said. “Then we will round up the vagrants and take them in for questioning.”

“These people have my father’s permission to camp on his
land,” Meaghan insisted. “If there is to be an investigation, it should be done
here, without causing any distress to my father’s visitors.”

“Ah, well then, since my orders are from the Duke, I suppose
your father’s visitors are going to have to be discomfited for a while,” he
said, his eyes gleaming with pleasure, and then he turned to Monty. “And if you
don’t want your mother to hear of your adventures, I’d suggest you leave sooner
than later, my lord.”

Monty sent an apologetic look at Meaghan. “Meggie…” he
began.

She nodded and sighed. “I understand,” she said. “Don’t
worry. I’ll get Jepson, and we’ll ride back home and inform my father.”

Monty turned away and hurried to his horse. Meaghan waited
until he mounted his horse and rode off, then started to head toward the tent
she had seen Jepson enter.
 
No sooner had
she stepped in that direction than the Magistrate moved his horse in front of
her, blocking her way.

“I beg your pardon,” she snapped. “You will remove your
horse.”

“I said you needed to be on your way, missy,” he growled,
losing all pretense of civility. “Your horse is back the other way.”

She glared up at him. “Yes, and my groom is down this way,”
she said through gritted teeth. “So, if you will remove yourself, I will fetch
him and then return to the estate.”

The Magistrate scanned the area. “I see no groom,” he said.

“He is in the tent at the far end of the site,” she
explained.

“That’s the head tent,” he sneered. “No one but their people
enter that tent.”

“Jepson is one of their people,” she mocked, rolling her
eyes.

“Sorry, missy, the Duke told us to pick up all the vagrants
in the camp,” he said. “And we can’t tell one vagrant from the next. So, if
he’s in the tent, he goes with us.”

“No!” she cried, fearing what they might do to him if they
had him in custody. “He’s not part of this group.
 
He has the protection of my father’s name.”

“Well, then, missy,” he taunted. “Why don’t you just go run
and tell your father, and we’ll see what he can do about it.”

Looking around, finding no other way to rescue Jepson, she
glared back at him. “Don’t worry. I will!”

Murphy watched Meaghan run across the field, lead her horse
over to a large rock, scramble up and mount her horse without any help.
 
She then clapped the reins against the
horse’s neck and urged it to gallop.

“It’ll still take her the better part of an hour to get to
the estate and then back to the village,” he muttered, and then he turned to
his men. “I want you to round up the men in the lead tent.
 
Don’t worry about the others; these are the
ones we want. But don’t let any of them escape!”

Sitting back in his saddle once again, he waited, watching
his small army of followers ride toward the tent.
 
They were an incompetent group of fools and
ne’er do wells, but they were willing to follow his orders and commit all kinds
of mayhem at his request.
And
, he
thought as a smile widened on his face,
they
are totally expendable
.

The men slipped off their horses, and, with weapons ready,
rushed the front entrance of the tent.
 
Hearing the surprised shouts of alarm, he shook his head and
waited.
 
He didn’t want to be part of the
initial onslaught because he knew Lord John’s Gypsy, and most of the others in
his company, were able fighters and had great skill with knives.
 
The others could be sliced and poked; he
would wait until the commotion settled down.

Noise from the main tent was drawing attention from other
areas of the camp.
 
Men from the village
were jumping up from their entertainment, scrambling away from the ruckus and
leaving the grounds in droves.
 
They did
not want to be caught in the Magistrate’s net and have to explain to their
wives why they were found here in the middle of the day.
 
But the Gypsies, who had been otherwise
occupied, were now heading toward the main tent, their knives and cutlasses
drawn.

Murphy raised his Blunderbuss over his head and shot into
the air.
 
The explosion of black powder
and shot halted most in their tracks. Trotting his powerful horse forward,
positioning himself between the oncoming reinforcements and the lead tent, he
laid his spent gun on the front of his saddle and pulled its companion from his
waistband. “I’m here at the request of the Duke,” he growled and then spat out
a stream of chewed tobacco. “Anyone who defies me also defies the Duke, which
is a hanging offense.”

He could see anger and defiance in their eyes, especially in
the younger men; they wanted to fight.
 
But the few older men recognized a trap when they saw it and pulled the
younger ones back, whispering into their ears and nodding in the direction of
the tent.
 
The men retreated a half-dozen
feet and waited.

Smiling, Murphy nodded at them and waited for his
prize.
 
He didn’t care about the vermin
that inhabited the camp. Jepson was the reason for this trumped-up raid on the
camp. Jepson was Lord John’s first line of defense, and without the cunning
Gypsy warning him, he was much more vulnerable.

An errant query crossed his mind. How had Lady Strathmore
known he would be here?
 
An icy finger of
apprehension ran down his back, and he shuddered.
 
It was best he not ask too many questions,
especially questions he really didn’t want to have answered.

Pulling the reins to the right, Murphy moved his horse so he
could watch the front of the tent as well as the growing group of Gypsies.
Finally, he was rewarded by the sight of five of his men wrestling Jepson out
of the tent.
 
Two men held his arms
behind his back, and one beefy bloke had his neck in a stronghold, but Jepson
was still fighting and winning.
 
Murphy
could see that in another moment or two, Jepson would have bested his men.
 
Galloping over to the skirmish, Murphy lifted
his Blunderbuss and brought it down sharply on the back of Jepson’s head. He
crumbled to the ground.

“Tie him up, quick-like,” Murphy ordered his men, disgusted
at their heavy breathing and obvious exhaustion. “And sling him over the back
of my saddle. Then gather the rest of the Gypsies together and keep them
corralled here at the camp.
 
I’ll be back
in a few hours to begin the investigation.”

“What are you going to do with Jepson?” the beefy bloke
asked once Jepson was on the horse.

Murphy looked down, and an evil smile spread across his
face. “Unfortunately, Lord John’s man was killed while trying to escape,” he
said. “But not before I was able to beat some information from him.”

He kicked his boots into the sides of his horse, and the
horse leapt forward and charged out of the camp, leaving a cloud of dust in
their wake.

Meaghan pulled her horse to a stop at the top of a hill and
looked out toward home.
 
Her mount must
have sensed her tension. Meaghan was sure that Jepson’s life was in danger, and
the horse had responded heroically, covering the ground in less time than
Meaghan had thought possible. But now she needed to sacrifice a few of those
gained minutes to decide on her best plan of action.
 
Scanning the countryside, she spied a cloud
of dust on the road ahead of her. It had to be another rider who might be
willing to help.

Patting her horse’s neck, she leaned forward. “Good girl,”
she whispered. “Let’s go save Jepson.”

She guided the horse off the road and to the edge of the
hill.
 
Looking down, she saw a fairly
even incline scattered with small brush and boulders, and a narrow path that
was probably created by a herd of sheep.
 
“We’re taking the fast way down,” she said to her mount.

Tightening her leg around the sidesaddle pummel, Meaghan
leaned back as far as she could, trying to provide a counterbalance as she
urged her mount down the steep incline.
 
Not hesitating, her mount burst forward, careening down the hillside
with power and grace, her hooves skimming the surface as she thundered
ahead.
 

When they reached the bottom of the hill, Meaghan leaned
forward, her body nearly parallel to the horse’s back and, once again,
encouraged her mount to speed toward the dust in the distance. In a matter of
minutes, she could see it was the horse and cart from the estate.
 
Urging her horse again, she drew alongside
and found Daisy, one of the chambermaids, driving it.

“Daisy,” she called out, breathless. “Please stop.”

Pulling back on the reins, Daisy pulled the horse and cart
to the side of the road, her eyes wide with surprise. “Miss Meaghan, what’s
happened to you?”

“Daisy, Jepson is in trouble,” Meaghan said, her voice coming
out in short gasps. “I need you to tell my father that the magistrate has taken
him.”

“The magistrate,” Daisy replied. “Oh, he’s an evil man, Miss
Meaghan.”

Meaghan nodded. “Yes, he is,” she agreed. “And I need to
ride into town and see what I can do to stop him until my father arrives.”

“Excuse me, miss,” Daisy said, reaching behind her in the
cart. “But these might be useful to you.”

She pulled out a long item wrapped in rough burlap. “I
noticed these were lying out in the stables when I went to fetch the horse and
cart, and thought I ought to be hiding them so your mother didn’t find them.
It’s lucky that I did.”

She unwrapped the burlap and handed Meaghan her sword and
sheath.

“Daisy, you might have just saved the day,” Meaghan replied,
buckling the sheath around her waist. “Now ride quickly and have Father bring
some men with him.
 
I have no idea what
will meet him once he gets there.”

Daisy turned immediately and picked up the reins. “You be
careful, now, miss,” she called over her shoulder as she slapped the reins
against the back of the horse and hurried toward the estate.

Meaghan took a deep breath, turned her horse in the other
direction and galloped toward town, praying with all her might that she would
arrive there in time.