Gypsy Jewel (18 page)

Had they been in Turkey, where fair women brought a high price, he knew he should have never survived the day. As it was, he still cast frequent glances back over his shoulder, hurrying April along to her protests and cries of dismay.

“Oh, Damien, look at that cloth.” April stopped once to stare at an open stall where silks and velvets were displayed in a rainbow of colors. “Look, that’s just the color of my wedding dress, remember? Tzigane used green to match my eyes.”

Suddenly the owner of the stall came hurrying over, bleating in thickly-accented Russian, “Get away, gypsy. Do not touch my goods!” His verbal attack was accompanied with threatening gestures that caused Damien’s eyes to darken. “You will drive away my honest customers.”

Though April withdrew her hand, her smoldering green gaze turned full upon the vendor without a trace of fear. Obviously, she was used to such prejudice from childhood. And, Damien thought with a chuckle, she already knew how to deal with it very well.

“A pox on you for cursing the daughter of a Romany king. May your days be fruitless and your loins equally so. May your goods rot before they sell. May your nights be dark and troubled —”

“No, no!” The man was suddenly pleading with her, holding out his gnarled hands in supplication. “Do not curse me, girl. I am a poor man and have many mouths to feed.”

“You should have thought of that before insulting the princess,” Damien said, playing along for April’s sake. “As it is, she must receive an apology at least.”

April concentrated on looking aloof and offended while the vendor groveled piteously. Finally, in desperation, the man seized several bolts of material and, thrusting them at her, babbled, “I saw you admiring these trifles. Please accept them with my humble apology. I need you to bless my family, not curse us.”

Trying very hard not to smile, April hesitated as if weighing the gifts against the insult, and then nodded regally that she would accept the “trifles.”

Later, as they walked on with the bolts tucked securely under Damien’s arm, she could not help but grin, imagining how proud her people would have been of her performance.

“You are an excellent actress,” Damien said.

“But not without your help. You are an actor worthy of a prize yourself.” April did not see Damien frown slightly, and she continued teasingly, “You have earned a reward of your own, I think.”

His eyebrows rose with anticipation. “I wouldn’t presume to argue, little girl.”

Together they hurried back to the stables. In the dark privacy of the wagon, bolts of cloth tumbled aside as they fumbled with each other’s clothes.

Grabbing April by the shoulders, Damien drank deeply of her sweet essence. Perhaps she was a witch, for she kept luring him back to her bed time and time again. Despite his best intentions he could not resist her warmth, nor the small hand that often strayed to touch him in the night. Since he had first initiated her, April had proven to be a quick and eager pupil, and there had been only one night thus far that they had not made love as man and wife.

Brushing his hands down her smooth, bare arms, he sighed with pleasure at the feel of her silken skin. April bathed every day, twice when she could, and was always perfumed and sweet for him. With a barely restrained moan, he lifted her up and laid her on the bed.

Her hands and lips were already busy arousing him. Now that she no longer feared love making, April was impatient to become one with her husband again. They moaned softly in unison as they were finally joined. Rocking her gently in the bed, Damien perfected his timing so that when April finally saw the crest of passion, only then did he join her in the grand finale.

As they lay snuggled closely in the cold night, they murmured softly about their shared life and of plans to come. Damien, however, thought of other things that he dared not share with his lovely gypsy bride. He must release one of the pigeons to Lord Raglan the next morning, without April noticing or asking why.

His message would be brief, but smack of success. Finally he had the cover necessary to begin his covert activity, and Lord Raglan would be pleased. If all went well, Damien could probably complete his mission in as little as a month.

But as he nuzzled April’s violet-scented hair, Damien felt the sharp twinge of guilt and regret. Were she anyone else, he should have been proud to take her back to England as his bride. April was lovely, bright, and a quick learner. She could likely sail through society with practiced ease. But he would never find out. Soon he must disappear, leaving his young wife bewildered and alone.

The whole plan reeked of deceit, which Damien did not like. It was one thing to dupe strangers into believing he was someone he was not, but April? How could he crush this young woman’s dreams and ideals? Right now as her eyes closed and she snuggled up against him, he wavered in his duty to the Crown. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in his new wife, to delight in her happiness and their life together, however brief.

Tomorrow was soon enough for breaking hearts. For now, Damien was content just to hold April and ease her gently into the wonderland of dreams.

W
ITH A GLANCE AT
the forbidding gray sky over the city, Damien finished forking hay to the horses before he went back to the wagon to call April.

“Maybe we should put our performance on hold. It looks like it’s going to snow.”

He spoke up to the closed canvas flap, but when she whipped it back and smiled down at him, something in his chest tightened painfully. She was beautiful, her golden hair falling loosely around her, shimmering in the vestige of sunshine left. She had used the material the stall owner had given her to sew a new dress, and it fit her perfectly. The heart-shaped bodice was dark green velvet, the skirts, bright layers of blue and green taffeta.

“What, a few snowflakes stop our plans?” She laughed, a carefree sound. “And you supposedly a
romani rei
. Don’t you know that Rom love bad weather? The wilder the better, for it only means our ancestors are taking note of our efforts.”

Her cheerfulness lifted the frown from Damien’s brow, and he nodded in resignation. “I might need a tarp, though, or an overhang to keep my violin from getting water-damaged.”

“That’s no problem. The stall keepers will no doubt give you space once they hear the sweet music you make.” April saw Damien wasn’t as optimistic as she about performing, and wondered at the cause. Surely he wasn’t shy about performing in public? He had done so well for the Lowara, throwing his heart and soul into the music as if he were full-blooded Romany.

Quickly she finished perfecting her attire, slipping a few colorful bands on her wrists. As Damien swung her down to the ground, she lovingly bussed his cheek. “Everything will be wonderful, don’t worry,
mon cher
.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. Picking up his violin case, Damien accompanied her to the town square.

Already crowds were beginning to assemble. Besides the gypsy couple, other entertainers gathering promised a carnival of activity, complete with food stands and colorful vendors hawking a variety of goods. Always quick and clever to spot opportunity, April had overheard several merchants discussing today’s event in the square, and she had immediately planned their appearance.

Though by no means the only gypsies present, she saw now that she and Damien were a breed apart. The other Romany had set up
ofisas
, fortune-telling booths, and
boojos
, where unsuspecting
gaje
lost untold amounts of cash in the money-switching games. Such things were not unknown to the Lowara, but as her tribe usually avoided large cities, April was not used to seeing deception practiced on such a grand scale.

As they passed through the crowd, she felt the eyes of the other Romany following her and Damien. The dark-eyed women stared boldly at her husband, and she felt a shudder of anger. She was startled to realize she was jealous, but now she understood why. She loved Damien with all her heart and soul.

April decided to ignore the others in the square and get on with her performance. She knew she was talented, and the new dress molded her figure to perfection. Men’s eyes, Rom and
gaje
alike, had already found and marked her as a point of extreme interest.

Shrugging off their stares, she lifted her chin and stepped into the center of the square.

S
OME FEET AWAY,
D
AMIEN
noticed a small figure dressed as a harlequin in black and white watching the festivities. Behind the spangled mask, a pair of dark eyes intently followed April as she passed by. Damien felt a flicker of unease. The thick-set lips protruding beneath the nosepiece of the mask were not those of a child. They twisted with satisfaction or a mocking sneer as April ran lightly to the center of the square.

“Damien!”

At his wife’s call, Damien brushed past the harlequin, and hurried after April with the violin tucked under his arm. She was jostling for position with a three-man ring of acrobats who were loathe to surrender the spotlight. Finally, she ignored them and simply nodded to Damien. The violin rose to his shoulder and settled into place like an old friend. When the sweet peals of music wafted out over the noisy crowd, there was instantaneous silence.

Soon the acrobats shuffled aside a little sheepishly to make way for the roving musician. With a nod of thanks, Damien marked his territory in long strides as he walked about, wooing the crowd with his song.

April blended into the background for a moment, letting her lover take his due. She never tired of listening to Damien, or watching him coax the haunting strains from the worn old instrument.

A minute later she entered the charmed circle in a bright swirl of skirts. Pleased by the expectant murmur that ran through the crowd at her appearance, she nodded at Damien and he abruptly switched from sweet melancholia to torrid, rising crescendoes that sent shivers up those who watched.

Suddenly April was no longer a beguiling wallflower, but a fierce and desperate dancer, demanding her audience’s attention. In a blur of blue and green she cast a powerful spell over the crowd, her flying feet and hair too fast to capture in a blink, and the hypnotically clawing music gave a rush of adrenalin to all who listened.

The crowd pushed closer, drawn by some inexplicable magic, perhaps unconsciously noting the loving glances tossed between dancer and musician. For the handsome, dark-haired man played to the beautiful blonde, coaxing her body to respond with each slither on the violin, moving her like a marionette through the motions of his strings.

Of those who watched the gypsy dancer, the harlequin was no less intrigued, and yet excited for a different reason than the others. His gaze marked April from where he stood on the edge of the square, peering around a tall marble statue. He could feel the blood pounding and surging through his frame, giving him an intense, but welcomed headache. For here, after four years, he had surely found a way to ingratiate himself into the services of Count Ivanov again.

The girl was perfection incarnate. Pavel had seen many beauties, but this one was special. He had choked in shock when he had first seen her dash laughing through the square.

Though he disliked women himself, the dwarf nevertheless saw his chance in this one. This gypsy wench was the mirror-image of someone the count had lost long ago, his only love, and the woman who haunted him still.

Of course, the girl would likely demand a high price for her services. But so would Pavel, once Count Ivanov had caught a glimpse of this rarefied creature. The trick would be to lure the girl to Ivanov’s residence outside of Moscow as soon as possible. Would she be willing? Pavel assumed so, but if not, there were ways to persuade gypsies, and he would see to it that she was taken to Count Ivanov, even if it was in chains.

A thin smile twisted his lips as the crowd erupted into frantic cheers and encores for the breathless beauty now taking her bows. As if in echo, the overcast sky suddenly broke, and hard, fast flakes of snow started falling. As the crowd scattered for shelter with a shout of dismay, the gypsy hurried to sweep up her shoes and her booty.

April’s tambourine, set aside on the edge of the square, was overflowing with coins and cheap jewelry. She swept it up and grabbed Damien by the arm. Together they melted into the crowd.

As they ran laughing in the snow flurry, neither were aware of the small diamond-paned figure trailing them down the streets and alleys strewn with trash.

They thought themselves separate from the world, caught up in life and laughter and love. But soon, Pavel thought a little maliciously, soon he would prove to them both that nothing in life is free — especially love.

A
PRIL WAS CHANGING CLOTHES
inside the wagon when she heard voices coming from the nearby stable. Damien had left to feed the horses again.

She peeled off the new dress, quickly hung it up to dry, and donned warm, brown woolen skirts and a shawl over her blouse. She went to the wagon flap and looked out, just in time to see a pair of figures disappearing into the stables. One, she saw, was Damien. But behind him tagged a colorfully costumed child. She wondered if the lad was looking for work. Usually
gaje
children avoided gypsies, after being told horror stories by their parents. Curious as to the reason for the child’s presence, she decided to join them in the stables.

Before April arrived, however, Damien had already exchanged introductions with the dwarf who had approached him as he was headed to the stalls. Pavel was trying to entice him into meeting his employer, a
boyar
aristocrat who lived on the outskirts of the city.

“There’s money to be made, and plenty of it,” the odd little man insisted, He removed his mask to reveal a misshapen, twisted face with an overbite and pointed yellow teeth that reminded Damien of his wolfhounds back at Mistgrove.

Pavel regaled Damien with stories of riches and renown to be had if his music was favored by an aristocrat.