Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor

by Rue Allyn

  The wagon slowed, turning in a wide arc before coming to a halt. She sat up and swung her feet to the floor as the door opened.

  “Ah, my niece, you are awake.” Deagan’s voice carried a hint of a smile to it.

  She smiled back. “I feel refreshed. Different somehow.”

  “The visions will do that to you. Here, Delinka has asked me to give you some clean clothing. When you are changed we will talk.”

  A bundle of soft cloth was pressed into her hands. When the door shut with a click and her uncle’s footsteps retreated down the steps Delilah hurried to change. When she was dressed in the clean garments she followed the edge of the bed to the wall and then the door. She opened the door and hesitated.

  “Let me help you,” Deagan’s dry, leathery hand grasped hers and guided her down the narrow steps to the ground. A light breeze tickled her cheek, the cool dampness of the air giving tell it was evening. Crickets chirped and people talked and laughed in hushed tones, as if afraid to disturb the creatures of the night. A nearby owl hooted as Deagan led her to a wide stump to sit. She arranged her skirt and paid attention to the sounds of the people setting up camp, unharnessing horses, and striking the flint to start a fire.

  “Tonight we will rest, for tomorrow people will come from miles around to trade, buy potions from us, and be entertained.”

  Delilah sighed with wonder. “How I wish I could see the festivities.”

  “Tonight you shall feel it.”

  As if on cue a drum began to beat, accompanied by a tambourine and the soft whine of a violin. The music began slow and sensual, increasing in tempo until Delilah couldn’t resist tapping her foot to the rhythm. “I wish my pianoforte was here.”

  Deagan clasped her hand and drew her to her feet. “Nay, my little jewel, feel the music in your veins and let your body play the way your fingers once did.” Spinning her around, he put his hands on her hips in a most unsettling way, and despite her protests moved them to sway to the music. His breath tickled her cheeks when he whispered in her ear, “Feel the music, allow your body and soul finally be free, my little jewel.”

  Delilah relaxed and moved to the music. The beat invoked a flurry of movement, and when Deagan’s hands slipped away she lost herself in the visions her mind conjured. Bright skirts, flowing blouses, and unbound hair swirled across her mind’s memories. Yes, this she saw before and could remember. Abandoning all pretenses, she pulled her hair from its remaining pins, unmindful of where they scattered, and lost herself in the music, twirling and gyrating as free will took her.

  The heat from the fire warmed her flesh, the snapping and popping of the sparks igniting her passion. With reckless abandon, she threw back her head, raised her hands to the heavens, and twirled around and around. A fever took hold of her body as the skirts of her gypsy dress flapped and waved in the heat of the fire. Never would she view music, dancing, or even her own body in the same light as before. She danced until her breathing came in labored gasps and then made her way to the stump just outside the circle of warmth, glad for the coolness of the night bathing her heated flesh.

  “You did well, Delilah.”

  She couldn’t contain her smile. “It felt wonderful, uncle.”

  He patted her hand in understanding. “You will fulfill your destiny soon, under the waxing moon.”

  “My destiny?”

  “Ah, yes, my little jewel. You see, each one of us dies and comes back in another form, but keeps ties to that familiar to them during their last life.”

  “Are you referring to this thing called reincarnation?”

  “Yes, some call it that. Each one of us is re-birthed many times during our soul’s journey. Did you never wonder about your connection to Jester and the mark you both bear?”

  Try as she might Delilah couldn’t recall a mark. “I am afraid I do not understand.”

  “Have you never wondered about the stone around your neck?”

  She touched the stone, now warm from the heat of her body. “What about it?”

  His fingers brushed hers and fumbled with the stone lying between her breasts. “I have removed the lock of Jester’s hair, now feel it.”

  Returning her fingers to the stone she rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. A deep groove she never knew was there before made a ridge under her thumb. Brows bunched in concentration, she traced the lines until she thought she could make out the pattern. “A quarter moon?”

  “Yes. It is the same mark Jester carries on his head and the same as the birthmark on your hip.”

  Pursing her lips she tried to recall Jester the last time she saw him many years before. A vague remembrance of a white crescent came to mind. Yes, it did look like a moon. “What does it mean?”

  “Ah, Delilah, you have so much to learn about who you truly are.” His sigh was heavy. “He bears the mark of the quarter moon, the phase to which you were both born. He was created to be your guide, protector, and anchor to this world. He is also a part of your past.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “The moon is your talisman. Jester and you were mates in your last lives.”

  Confusion and disbelief made her wary of his words. “I do not believe in such nonsense.”

  “Never say you do not believe in fate, for fate is what brought you here to me.”

  Delilah snorted. “If Jester and I were mates in our last life, then why have I come back as a human and he an animal?”

  “It is not for us to understand but rather to accept. I believe he came back in his animal form to atone for his sins in the past life.”

  “Then my blindness is a punishment for some sin I, too, committed in a former life?”

  “No. Your blindness is a gift, not a punishment. Jester was given to you as a guide to protect you until you could fulfill your destiny as a drabardi and marry the son of the great Romo baro. Delinka showed this to me just this morning in her crystal ball. I knew it was true when you asked to come with us.”

  “Who is this Romo baro?”

  “The Romo baro is the leader of all the gypsies. You are destined to be the greatest drabardi of all time. The one who will guide our people into a time of power and freedom.”

  What was he saying? Was she supposed to be some kind of witch? “I am afraid you are too late, uncle, for I am already married to Baron March.”

  “That is no marriage. It was not done under the harvest moon and no bride price was paid to me. Besides, it is a sacrilege and can never be.”

  Delilah stood, her hands shaking with anger. “I have no wish to marry or become something of your fantasies.”

  “Are you still pure?”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. “I … yes, but it makes no difference.”

  “It does; one must be pure to marry under the harvest moon, for when the moon waxes comes a time of great fertility. The harvest moon will be upon us in five days. After which you will be who you were recreated to be. You will carry the future great leader of the gypsy people in your womb.”

  The man is noddier than a wet goose. Does he truly think I am some gypsy form of Mary, a vessel to birth the great gypsy messiah? It is impossible. I am a blind woman of illegitimate birth, nothing more. Nothing less.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I want answers!” Tyrone elbowed past the startled butler into the baron’s study.

  Augustus looked up from his paperwork with a scowl. “I say, Lord Frost, a very undignified way you have to come calling on another gentleman.”

  “Spare me the pomp and ceremony. Where is she?”

  The baron paled and then blinked. “Who is it you are referring to, sir?”

  Tyrone fixed him with a withering stare. “You know damned well whom I am referring to. Where is Miss Daysland?”

  Baron March’s gaze slid away from Tyrone’s. “If you are speaking of the baroness, she is right here where she belongs, of course.”

  “A lie. I came this morning to return Jester to her and she was nowhere to be found, nor
were you. Care to explain?” Tyrone leaned across the desk itching to throttle the man.

  “A minor misunderstanding I assure you, Frost. My lady wife is back above stairs safe and sound where she belongs. Why I only just returned home from begging her forgiveness after a small faux pas this morning.” He poured a glass of brandy from the decanter at his elbow and offered it to Tyrone, who refused with a shake of his head.

  “What kind of insult did you give her?”

  “Ah, I simply refused to allow the smelly beast … uh, pony, of hers admittance to the house. I cannot have the creature soiling my expensive Turkish rugs now, can I?” The baron downed the glass of spirits himself.

  Tyrone grunted. “The animal is housebroken.”

  The baron waved a hand. “Yes, yes, so the lady did explain after I went and apologized on bended knee. A rather touchy girl it appears, and I shall be most careful not to wound her pride again.”

  “What happened to your head?” Tyrone sat and gestured to the thick white bandage encircling the baron’s head.

  “Oh that.” Augustus touched the wrapping with a cautious finger. “I admit to getting a little foxed last eve, sir, you know how it is. All the excitement over the wedding. Tripped over my own feet like a clumsy ox and banged my head on the corner of the Chippendale table over there.”

  Tyrone followed his motion, glancing at the table by the door. A plausible story he supposed, yet one which didn’t sit right with him in the least. “Send for her so I may inquire after her satisfaction over her new marriage and inform her of Jester’s return.”

  The baron fidgeted with his limp neck cloth. “I am afraid she is resting at present. All the excitement of our nuptials and the um … lack of sleep last night.” He winked.

  Tyrone grimaced at the man’s poor taste in his reference to the marriage bed. “Indeed. Well, tell her I have returned Jester and am anxious to remove to London this day.” He stood to go but paused. “Oh, be sure to keep a sharp eye on your livestock; gypsies are afoot again. I found evidence of their camp in Westpoint woods this afternoon. It seems the farmer down in the hollow purchased a new workhorse of gypsy stock, though he refused to say the truth about where he purchased it.”

  “Dually noted, Frost, thank you and be assured I will keep my new lady wife close at hand for her protection.”

  “See that you do.” Tyrone nodded and saw himself out. He was in no hurry to return to London. Maybe he should avail himself of some gypsy hospitality. Some spirits and a bonny vixen in his bed for a night might help him forget he allowed Delilah Daysland to slip through his fingers. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought and returned to the baron’s stables. After commanding his coachman to continue on to London alone, he checked once more on Jester. The pony paced and kicked at his stall door. The animal’s restlessness concerned him, until it occurred to him Jester was not used to being confined. With a final pat he mounted his borrowed horse and headed for the town of Wyatt to find lodging for the night. Tomorrow he would return to London, gypsies forgotten, and resume his boring, predictable life. It was time he asked Miss Deval for her hand.

  • • •

  Augustus rang for the butler as soon as he spied Lord Frost riding down the driveway. By the time the sour faced man appeared, March had already formed a plan. “Benton, take that wretched pony from my stables at once. Go find the farmer in the hollow and pay him to deliver the beast to the gypsies for whatever they will pay for it. He is always willing to do a discreet favor. Be sure to be skimpy on pay for I’ll not share more than a pittance of the profit.”

  The butler nodded and left.

  “A mess. A terrible mess it all is,” Augustus mumbled, pouring himself a glass of spirits. “Blasted gypsy wench. She will cost me everything rightfully mine with her antics. I will squeeze the life from her neck before the week is out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Delilah touched the smooth orb with caution.

  “Go on, my child. You have the gift of sight.”

  Warmth spread through her fingertips. “I am afraid, Delinka, afraid of what I will see.”

  “The truth cannot hurt you.”

  Tiny pinpricks of light danced before her sightless eyes until they converged to form a picture of a man, astride a horse, leading a pony. Her instincts told her it was Tyrone with Jester. He is searching for me. The image blurred and a farmer leading Jester replaced it. The man watched the ground as if following tracks. Who has Jester and where is he taking him? Thick forest closed in on the man and pony until they faded from view. Out of the dim a new scene took shape. A man smoking a pipe lay naked on a cot, great clouds of filmy white circling his head, making it impossible to see his face. A dark-haired woman leaned forward and kissed him. The smoke dissipated and Tyrone favored her with a lazy grin. An overwhelming sense of abandonment filled Delilah. He loves another. He was not for her, nor her for him. Her place was here. She let her fingers slip from the orb. I am home.

  “Have you seen enough for now, chosen one?”

  With firm resolve she nodded. “Yes, Delinka. What else are you to show me today?”

  “There is much for you to process. First you will learn to see without the crystal ball.” Rough, wrinkled hands took Delilah’s and dropped a number of small articles in her palm.

  Delilah rolled the smooth objects between her fingers, puzzling them. Nine beans? “What do I do with beans?”

  “Have you a coin?”

  She fished in her pocket and pulled out a shilling.

  “Good, put it in your hand with the beans. Shake them gently and then let them fall as they will on the table.”

  Delilah closed her fingers around the objects, shook her fist, and dropped them to the table in a series of clicks.

  “Ah, very interesting.”

  “What is it?” Delilah leaned forward, wishing she could see what the drabardi could.

  “Your path is not as simple as Deagan thinks it is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I see a curved line and four beans in a square.”

  “What does it mean?”

  Delinka took a deep breath, letting the air hiss from her lips. “It means your path connects with one of a man. The curve means there is a problem with the path Deagan believes you are to take.”

  A man. Tyrone or Augustus? Perhaps both. Delilah sighed. “As I told my uncle, I am already married to the baron by the earl’s, or rather the king’s, command.”

  “Not to be. Deagan is wrong. You belong to this other man. Your paths were chosen when you were reincarnated.”

  “No!” Delilah shook her head. “I will not go back to the baron, he is ill.”

  “It is not the baron I’ve seen in my crystal ball, but a tall, dark-haired man. He is searching for you. He is the one with whom you belong.”

  Delilah held the tears welling up in check. “Lord Frost wants to do his duty to the king, nothing more. He does not want me.”

  The seer grunted. “Things are not always as they appear.”

  “Maybe not, but to one who is blind they are usually as they sound.”

  Delinka sighed. “Delilah, you must free yourself of all your bitterness if you seek to see your true potential.”

  Pressing her lips together, Delilah refrained from telling the elder woman just what she thought of this potential. Warm fingers curled over hers.

  “Come, today I will begin to teach you the secrets of our magic.”

  Delilah rose and followed the drabardi from the wagon with a hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “Do our people really possess magical powers?”

  The woman chuckled. “Of a sort we do, for we know the magic of the land and mysteries of the water that help us tread this world. Others could harness the powers as we have but are too limited of sight to see it.”

  The idea of a blind woman being able to see better than one with perfect vision amused Delilah. They walked for a few short minutes before the woman stopped and knocked on what she as
sumed by the sound was another vardos, as the gypsies called their wagon homes. The door opened with a creak. The heavy musk of flowers, herbs, and other musty plants drifted from within, and she wrinkled her nose at their pungent odor.

  “Is this her?” a man with a gruff voice inquired.

  “Yes, this is Delilah.”

  “Huh.” The step creaked. “She does not look like anyone special. I pictured someone more mysterious of stature, not a simple blind girl.”

  Before Delilah could defend herself the old woman hissed, “That is because you do not possess the gift of sight, Belcher. We all have talents, just stick to yours and teach her the healing things she needs to know.”

  “Do not chastise me, old woman, or I’ll put a hex on your head.”

  The drabardi snorted. “As if you could. Get on with your teachings for we are running out of time before the harvest moon.” She removed Delilah’s hand from her shoulder and placed it on a smooth wooden rail. “Belcher will take care with you, or he’ll answer to Deagan and Galer.”

  Delilah smiled, liking the woman despite her rough demeanor. “Who is Galer?”

  “He is your betrothed.”

  She stood there stunned as a whisper of fabric and the tinkle of bracelets heralded the drabardi’s retreat. “My betrothed?”

  “I see the old woman did not tell you everything. How like her.” The man grunted. “Well, come in. I have much to teach you in little time it appears.” The door creaked and the wooden rail under her hand quivered. Without much enthusiasm, she made her way up the steps.

  It was stuffy in the little wagon, almost too warm. The room lingered with dozens of different smells to tease her senses. Her hip bummed against a table, and she reached for a corresponding stool when Belcher commanded her to sit. “What is it you are to teach me?” she asked, seating herself and resting her hands on the rough tablecloth.