Potent Charms (25 page)

If a gypsy had placed a curse on Stephen, couldn't a
gypsy remove it?

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Phoebe studied the
narrow serpentine track shadowed by a dense wall of trees
on either side.

"Yes," Elizabeth confidently answered. "At least I
believe so," she added. "In fact, it shouldn't be much further." She consulted the scribbled map in her hands then
pointed to a wooded slope to the left of the carriage.
"There is the stone cross set into the rocks. According to
that farmer, we have only a mile or so left."

"We had best continue then." Phoebe kept her voice
cheerful. Her idea to seek a band of gypsies had seemed far
better when they had been sitting in Elizabeth's salon back
in London. Oh, well, too late now. As Phoebe fought to
avoid a gaping hole directly in their path, the carriage
lurched to the right. Her efforts were rewarded with a jarring thud and a resounding thwack, which left the carriage
tilted precariously to the left. "Goodness gracious," she muttered as she peered over the side. "It seems we've
cracked a wheel."

Both ladies stared down the dirt road that suddenly
appeared far more uninviting than a moment ago. Determined to follow her course and help Stephen, Phoebe
scrambled down to survey the damage. The carriage wasn't
going any further. "If we're traveling in the right direction,
it shouldn't take us long to find the camp. We'll simply hire
one of the men to fix our wheel. Can you walk?"

"I'm pregnant, not crippled." Elizabeth's shoulders
slumped as soon as she spoke. "I'm sorry. That was
unbearably rude. It's simply so bothersome, not to mention
embarrassing, to be ill in the mornings. And with his questions and constant worry, Winston is driving me to distraction." Climbing down to solid ground as well, she asked,
"What of the horse?"

"He'll be needed to bring the carriage to the camp."
Phoebe unhitched Flash from the buggy and led him to the
side of the road. She tethered him to a large elm that was
already in blossom. To bolster her confidence, she fingered
the small pistol tucked in her purse. After all, she had
learned how to use a gun at an early age and wasn't above
doing so if the need arose.

Together, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, the two
women picked their way down the path, doing their best to
avoid the holes, ruts and pockets of mud. When they
crossed an old gray bridge, Elizabeth tripped over a loose
stone, twisting her ankle.

Guilt pricked Phoebe's conscience. If not for her, Elizabeth wouldn't be here. Once Phoebe had revealed her plan,
Elizabeth refused to be left out. Together, they had
inquired into the whereabouts of a gypsy camp, informed
Elizabeth's maid of their true destination, and then told
Dee, Stephen and Winston that they'd be gone shopping
for the remainder of the day. Now they were stranded.

Well, there was nothing for it.

After resting for a time or two, they reached the crest of
another small hill. To their relief, nestled in the valley
below was a circle of lavishly decorated wagons with odd
rounded tops. Several men tended to horses while three
women prepared a meal over a central fire. Two boys and a
dog chased a young girl, who squealed in delight as she
darted in and out of the wagons, cleverly avoiding her pursuers.

Elizabeth stared at the scene, her hands tightly wrapped
about the parasol she had insisted on bringing. "Are you
sure about this, Phoebe? What if they truly hate the English?"

"Nonsense. Besides, what choice do we have? Even if
someone can't fix the carriage, you certainly can't walk
back to the village. We must secure a ride." Her chin tipped
with determination, Phoebe marched down the hill. Elizabeth limped awkwardly behind. Like the setting for a stilllife tableau, a hush fell over the camp and all activity
ceased.

"Good afternoon," Phoebe called cheerfully. No one
uttered a sound. Not even the dog.

"What if they don't speak English?" Elizabeth whispered.

Lands alive, Phoebe hadn't considered that. "Of course
they do. However could they trade horses?" Beaming her
friendliest smile, she turned the gypsies. "Our carriage
broke a wheel a ways back and we were wondering if
someone would be able to retrieve the carriage and, well,
fix it. We'd be happy to pay for the services." She was
greeted with blank stares and muted conversations spoken
in a language she didn't understand. "Excuse me, does
anyone here speak English?"

Silence.

Elizabeth lowered herself onto a rock. "What now?"

The hems of their dresses were covered with leaves and
mud, their shoes were completely ruined and Elizabeth's
ankle had begun to swell. A precious hour or more had
already been wasted. "You can barely walk," Phoebe said.
"Even if I thought it best, I refuse to trudge through that
muck back to the carriage, then back to the village for help.
I came here for answers and I intend to find them."

A shaggy dog the size of a small pony growled. A burly
man with thick eyebrows and a faceful of hair crossed his
arms and grunted. The dog scuttled under a nearby wagon
and laid his head on his paws. Everyone else just continued
to stare. Phoebe thought the dog just might have the right
idea. Retreat seemed the better choice, but she'd come all
this way for a reason. One grumbling male, an oversized
mutt and a little hostility wasn't going to scare her away.

A rumbling of conversation began as everyone gazed
past Phoebe. She spun about and spied a gorgeous woman
with midnight hair, who wore a brightly colored skirt and a
white blouse that fell sensuously off her left shoulder. The
gypsy ambled toward them, her expression a mixture of
arrogance and what Phoebe thought might be contempt.
Smiling her brightest smile yet, Phoebe said, "Good afternoon."

The gypsy girl sauntered right past Phoebe and Elizabeth without a backward glance, Flash in tow.

"Pardon me, but what exactly are doing with my horse?"

Shrugging her shoulder, the gypsy girl said, "I found
him wandering free. He is mine now."

Phoebe was unsure of what shocked her more: the fact
that the girl claimed Flash as her own or that she spoke
heavily accented, but otherwise intelligible, English. "I
think not. I left my horse tied to a tree beside my carriage."

"You dare call Ariana a thief?" The girl's eyes heated
with anger.

Given the sudden turn of events, Phoebe decided to give the girl the benefit of the doubt and continued as diplomatically as possible. "Never mind, Ariana. May I call you
that? Anyway, if Flash was found loose, then someone else
obviously freed him. Thank you for finding him for me."

Ariana's dark eyes flashed before she simply walked
away. She bandied comments back and forth with people
in the camp, rousing a few chuckles, as she crossed the
clearing. Then she tied Flash beside a magnificent white
horse.

"Goodness gracious," Phoebe muttered.

"Now what?" Elizabeth whispered.

"I'm certainly not going to allow that woman to keep
my horse." Phoebe marched to Ariana's side and tapped
her on the shoulder. "Excuse me. You obviously didn't hear
what I said. That horse is mine. If you'll just answer a few
questions for me, I'll take Flash and be on my way."

"Enough, gadjo. I weary of your company. You go now."

They had been dismissed as regally as Phoebe assumed
one might be if dealing with the King of England. Ready,
willing, even eager to teach the black-haired witch a wellneeded lesson in manners, Phoebe stepped forward.

Suddenly the ground shook. Both Elizabeth and Phoebe
whirled about to witness a man gallop into camp seated
atop a stallion very similar to the one beside Ariana. He
rode directly toward them and swung from his horse with
the ease of a man long accustomed to riding, his movements lithe and fluid. He glanced beyond Phoebe and Elizabeth to Ariana, then to the assembled group that watched
the scene with avid fascination. Grinning in a manner that
had likely turned the heads of young girls aplenty, he
bowed. "Good afternoon. My name is Rhys. I did not know
visitors were coming today. Why are you here?"

Phoebe was quite weary of explaining herself. However,
this man spoke perfect English with only the slightest
accent and his bearing clearly demanded she answer. Maybe he could help them. She explained that Ariana had
her horse, casting an accusatory glance toward the girl,
who merely turned up her nose and continued to groom
Flash. Though her cheeks were beginning to tire, she plastered a smile on her face and added, "So, if you'd be kind
enough to answer a few questions and convince that
woman to give me back my horse, we'll be on our way."

Crossing his arms, Rhys studied Phoebe intently. He fingered a loose curl lying over her forehead. "I like your
courage, little one."

"You ...I...Of all the..." She sputtered like a dried
up fountain. "You may call me Miss Rafferty, and this is
Lady Payley." She emphasized the lady part. "How dare
you take such liberties."

"I dare, because you, a beautiful woman who obviously
belongs in one of the finer salons of London, has landed in
my camp without the benefit of a chaperone or a man.
Since you are here, I will tell you I am accustomed to taking what I desire."

And she'd thought Stephen was arrogant. His behavior
paled by comparison to this libertine. "Well, you can just
undesire me. Our companions are overdue. That's all."

He snorted.

His voice softened to a caress. "If you were my woman,
I would never allow you from my sight."

"Good thing, that. I'd surely die from boredom, and
quick-like."

He was still chuckling when Ariana flounced for there
was no other way to describe the way she walked to
Rhys's side. Under Phoebe's watchful eye, the two spoke
heatedly to one another until Ariana tossed her hair over
her shoulder and advanced on Phoebe.

Before Phoebe could question Ariana's motives or her
intentions, she found herself tumbling to the ground in a
heap of green linen to land with an unladylike plop in a puddle of mud. Her screech and Elizabeth's startled cry
filled the glen.

Rhys yanked Ariana to one side and spat a string of notso-subtle threats. She merely crossed her arms beneath her
breasts and matched his stare with her own. He took a menacing step forward. "Your jealousy is unfounded and your
actions could very well have undesired consequences."

"Jealous? Hah. I take what is mine. Nothing more, nothing less."

Shaking his head, he said to Phoebe, "I am most sorry.
Ariana's temper often causes poor judgment. Come. We
shall find you new clothes."

"No."

"Blessed saints" he threw his arms into the air
"spare me from stubborn women. Do not argue with me."
He extended his hand. "Come."

Pushing away his hand, Phoebe pressed herself to her
feet. She shook the mud from her hands. Enough was
enough. She didn't want new clothes. She wanted her
questions answered, her horse released and she wanted to
leave. In that order. It was apparent that the situation
required an entirely different strategy. She reached into her
purse and withdrew her pistol, which she leveled at Rhys's
head. By God, if anyone made a single solitary move,
she'd plant a bullet between his eyes.

Stunned silence was her reward. Both Rhys and Ariana
appeared suitably shocked and thoroughly subdued. At
least that was what she thought until Rhys's stark appraisal
gave way to a mischievous grin, and finally deep rumbling
laughter.

"I swear I know how to use this, and don't think I won't.
Now give me my horse."

Wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, he said, "I cannot
do that, little one." Within the space of a blink and a sigh,
he lunged, trapped her arms at her sides and wrested the gun from her hand. As Phoebe struggled against his
embrace, he loosened his hold and stepped back. "You are
full of surprises, gadjo. Unfortunately, Ariana believes the
horse to be hers. I cannot intervene. We shall have to find
another way to settle this matter."

Elizabeth planted herself beside Phoebe. "We won't
leave without our horse. You may torture us or starve us,
lead us into the forest to be lost forever, but I warn you, my
husband will hunt you down and tear out your heart with
his bare hands."

Phoebe had never believed her friend to be so dramatic.
But their options had dwindled from zero to none. Gripping Elizabeth's hand in hers, she faced the chortling, rude
barbarian, whose behavior in Phoebe's mind now equaled
Ariana's. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Phoebe," cried Elizabeth, "you can't think to"

"I want nothing more than to ask my questions and leave
this place. We are quite on our own. We have no choice but
to bargain."

"The horse is mine," Ariana spouted, her hands on her
hips, reasserting her claim as boldly as possible. "I am the
one to strike a bargain."

"Hah!" Phoebe snorted. "You're a thief. I certainly have
no intention of giving you coin for my horse."