Gypsy Jewel (9 page)

Her heart pounding for a reason she did not yet accept, April closely studied every inch of the
gajo
‘s face. His black hair was now tied back with a blue kerchief that one of the women had coyly tossed at him earlier. He was different from the Romany men. Though also dark, he towered above the others, his height drawing attention to his lean, muscular body.

Dressed in canvas-colored trousers tied loosely about his waist, Damien’s white peasant shirt was unbuttoned just far enough to reveal the thatch of black, silky chest hair. He easily caught the eye of all the young women, including April. But she was angry at herself for being intrigued by a
gajo
, an outsider.

Damien continued to play his violin like a lover, his long fingers caressing the neck of the instrument as they slid smoothly on the strings. His notes rang clear and lovely over those of the others who had joined in, and April ached in silent appreciation of his gift, enfolding him with her gaze. The music made her more and more restless as he moved from rippling tones to increasingly bolder crescendoes, pausing on trembling high notes that sent shivers down her spine.

Then she realized with a start that he was staring directly at her. He had come around to her side of the circle, and either the flash of her jewelry or the sense of her watching him had drawn his eye. Though the smile never wavered from his lips as he led the revelry, and his bare right foot still stamped perfect time, his blue eyes halted and burned through her like a white-hot flame.

Caught in the spell, April met his bold gaze with her own. It was as if his entire being challenged her to do something, both by his confident stance and the way his blue eyes beckoned her forth.

Taking a deep swallow, April came into the circle. Several girls watching, Marya among them, hissed angrily and stopped clapping. But the rest of the camp could feel the charged air, and the thread of excitement drawing the gypsy girl to the musician was felt and encouraged with a frenzied burst of clapping.

Damien could not look away from the beautiful nymph who had materialized again from the woods. She was like a brilliant jewel set against the dark velvet backdrop of the night. When she tossed her head and took a proud stance in the circle before him, her long hair rippled like molten gold and caused him to falter.

For all her bare feet and unfashionably tanned skin, she was aristocratic, like a princess of wild but royal heritage. The uptilt of her chin and the flashing emerald-green eyes took him back to the day he had first encountered her, a little spitfire with a courage that had won his admiration.

April knew not what madness possessed her that moment, but she raised her arms and started swaying, her hips moving gently to the beat of the tambourines. Something in the night, the air, or the quivering music that flowed like silk, compelled her to dance, whirling slowly and then faster as the tempo increased.

Several of the other men took up their guitars to accompany Damien, and the women hummed in a low, sensual key that thrummed through the night. The flames leaped in perfect time to April’s movements, and before long she found herself putting her heart and soul into the dance.

Green eyes locked on his, April danced for Damien. For now, it was enough that they shared a song. He played with increased fervor, the blood hot and surging in his every limb. His mind could do little more than wonder at the fate of seeing this young woman again. Was she the king’s daughter? Her clothing was fine enough, but her fairness made it unlikely. Several others resented her presence, among them the lusty-eyed older woman who had boldly beckoned Damien several times before.

Yet there was nothing lewd about this girl’s look. She simply held him in her direct gaze until he was lost in her, and she in him. Faster and faster she spun, her eyes meeting his every time she whirled around. Her green skirts flew, her jewelry jingled and gleamed. Then as the crescendo came, she curved into a perfect arch and threw back her head, her golden hair trailing along the ground.

His bow quivered to a stop. The young woman dropped to the ground, exhausted, her breast rising and falling rapidly. Then, just as suddenly, she leapt to her feet, looking stunned and horrified at what she’d done. She picked up her skirts and bolted into the darkness. All around him was a murmur of discontent, but Damien did not hear. His eyes were fixed on the spot where she had vanished, and his hand trembled on the neck of the violin as it dropped slowly to his side.

I
N THE MORNING,
A
PRIL
awoke from restless dreams to find her mother hunched over the tarot cards in their wagon. Tzigane did not seem to notice her presence, distracted by something she saw in the spread.

“What do you see?” April asked softly.

Startled, Tzigane’s amber eyes rose and fixed on her without wavering. “I want you to lay out the arcana,
chavali
. One last time if it must be, but it must be now.”

April’s heartbeat quickened at the ominous words. “Will the decision be today? Have you heard something?”

Tzigane nodded. “Jingo came by while you were still sleeping. He has found someone he believes to be a fair judge. The
kris
will be called today within the hour.”

April rose and sat on the edge of her bed to steady her shaking legs. “Will my fate be decided at the trial?” she whispered.

“Yes, it will be decided today, for better or worse. Now choose your cards.”

This time April did not hesitate. Taking the pack of colorful pictures in her trembling hands, she sorted and shuffled the deck until it fell into the “pattern of her soul,” as Tzigane called it. Then, cautiously, she handed the reassembled cards back to her mother, who looked pale as she laid out the arcana in the form of an inverted cross.

There were ten cards laid out, each representing different aspects of past, present and future. As always, the past was muddled with mystery and intrigue, but the present and future were revealed today with startling clarity.

The first card turned over was the King of Swords. “A dark man,” Tzigane murmured thoughtfully. “A powerful man as well, but he has dangerous secrets.”

April did not speak, but she did wonder. Was it Nicky? Or Damien?

The reading proceeded, shortly revealing April’s own card, but the last one caused Tzigane to let out a little gasp before she could stop it. Both she and the younger woman stared down into the face of Death, an evil grinning skull looming over April’s near future. And though Tzigane tried to be optimistic by pointing out the King of Swords, the dark male soon to be in her daughter’s life, neither woman could tear her eyes away from that awful gloating ghoul.

April’s lips trembled as she said, “So I must expect the worst. I know everyone in camp believes Nicky. Marya is angry enough not to care what is done to me, though she once claimed to be my friend.”

“There are no friends when it comes to a man around here,” Tzigane said. “Too many of the girls are looking for husbands.” Then, as if hitting upon an insight, she mused, “Perhaps you should, too.”

April laughed scornfully. “Who would have me? Already they call me
marhime
, dishonored. But they themselves act no better than the
gaje
they scorn. Were the Lowara always this way?”

Tzigane shook her head as she put the cards away, carefully wrapping them in the square of black silk that would protect them from evil influences. “No. When I first married Bal, the tribe was small, and all were close. It did not pay to insult a friend, for you might need them the next day. I think when the tribes intermarried we started having serious trouble. Some of the other Rom who came to us were not good of heart or soul.”

April didn’t need to ask whom her mother referred to; it was obvious enough by the darkening of her amber eyes.

“If the worst happens, I want you to keep the jewel and sell it,” April said firmly, giving Tzigane no chance to protest. “It will do me no good if the worst happens. But whatever you do, don’t let Nicky or his mother find out about it. They would kill you for less than that.”

“Where are you going?” Tzigane looked alarmed as April picked up a shawl to warm her bare shoulders against the early morning breeze.

“I think it’s time. I hear a crowd gathering outside. The
kristatora
will hear my side of the story too, not just Nicky’s. They will hear the truth whether they like it or not.”

Overcome by a strong sensation of something drastic about to happen, Tzigane reached out to her only child for a fierce hug.

“Let your heritage speak for you,
chavali
. You are not only Lowara, but also of noble blood of this land. No matter that we know not who your real mother was, it is enough that you are strong and able to endure your fate. Remember, you can survive.”

April smiled sadly over her foster mother’s shoulder. “At this point, there is little else left for me to do.”

I
F EVER HE HAD
regretted his impulsiveness before, Damien had ample opportunity in the moments before he presided as the judge over a matter which had the entire camp up in arms.

For no sooner had he started for the large tent that had been specially erected for the trial, than gypsies flocked around him, calling out pleas for mercy or vengeance as each believed to be due. He plastered a noncommittal smile on his face, nodding politely to all who confronted him, trying to assure them that he would do his best to resolve the conflict. He dared not promise them anything. He already regretted having accepted Jingo’s anxious request so readily.

As he ducked into the colorful tent, Damien was greeted by a solemn group of faces belonging to a select few older men of the tribe. They had apparently been invited to listen to the testimony.

Nodding respectfully to them, Damien took the space left for him and sat down beside Jingo. The king looked drawn and pale against the bright backdrop of the tent folds, and Damien was sure it wasn’t easy for Jingo to maintain such a calm expression as the trial began.

First to testify would be the aggrieved party, then the defense. Damien wasn’t surprised to see the hard-eyed jade, who had tried for his attentions several times, enter the tent first, though he supposed she was the alleged “attacker.” It wasn’t difficult to imagine this hot-blooded
gitana
going after any man with a knife, and as he looked at her, he thought what an easy decision this would be after all.

Then to Damien’s surprise, she went to sit away from the center of testimony, and a younger man entered moments after her. Like the woman, his dark eyes were flat and hard, and they passed swiftly over Damien with something close to contempt before he stiffly assumed his position before the
kris
.

“
Vaivoides
.” The arrogant young man addressed Jingo curtly, with little genuine respect. “I am ready to tell my tale now.”

“Yes, Nicabar.” The gypsy king sounded weary. He nodded toward the woman, who had assumed a lounging position directly across from Damien and was displaying her bare legs to advantage. “And Belita?”

“My mother is also here to give testimony.”

“I was not aware she was a witness to the incident.”

Nicky’s lips tightened in suppressed anger. “My mother is an important witness. She has proof that Tzigane and her daughter practice black magic.”

Damien listened with interest. Now he saw the resemblance between mother and son, both darkly handsome, but in a hard way. The boy had taken obvious pains to make his facial wound look more dramatic than it was, with a large fresh bandage taped over his entire cheek.

Meanwhile, Damien irritably ignored the obvious efforts of the gypsy woman Belita to draw his eye. First she pretended to fuss with her skirt, exposing bare legs up to her thighs, and then she displayed her ample cleavage as she reached down to readjust a toe ring.

Nicky appealed past Jingo’s inscrutable expression to the other men present. “I have been with the Lowara now for several years. During all of this time, April has thrown herself at me. Sometimes I could not resist her. It was as if something else controlled me. My mother has seen this too, and she knows of the power of which I speak.”

April. That was an odd name for a gypsy, Damien mused. Apparently the mystery woman was one intent on seducing men and then trying to stab them. Still, Damien wanted to hear more of the angry young man’s story before he committed his opinion one way or the other.

“We will let the
kristatora
decide.” Jingo suddenly gestured to their guest, and Nicky’s dark eyes swung on Damien. “After all, Nicabar, when you asked for this
kris
, you agreed to any decision made by our visitor.”

Damien said, “I will be fair. I will hear all who wish to speak.”

With a grudging nod, seeing that was the only sensible decision, Jingo also agreed to hear Belita speak.

Nicky told his tale first, with initial calm and then increasing fervor as he detailed April’s coy approach to him in the wood, just after he had told her he would marry Marya instead. Painting a picture of a wanton strumpet that would give a run for the money to any London bawd, Nicky exhorted his story to full effect, gaining sympathetic nods and murmurs from the other five men present.