Perhaps it was the magical influence of midnight, or the brilliance of stars reflected in her entranced eyes that was responsible for Rom's rasped-in breath, his sudden jerk to a standstill.
'When you decide to give you always give generously, my gitanilla? he admitted roughly.
'With you there are no half measures either of passion or patience. It must have been someone with a nature as sweet as your own that inspired the gypsy belief: "Don del tut o nai shai dela tut wi o vast"—he who willingly gives you one finger will also give you the whole hand!'
With a suddenness that barely left her time to emerge from her euphoric daze or, more mercifully, for her mind to dwell for more than a split second upon the significance of the actions of every member of the tribe rushing to range themselves into a route leading directly up to the entrance of the flower-lined bridal tent, Rom swept her off her feet and began carrying her in triumph along the path of destiny, being assailed on all sides by enthusiastic yells of encouragement and earthy predictions of nuptial bliss from gypsies who saw beauty in nubile nudity and considered the act of making love as natural and as necessary to life as breathing…
When he laid her down upon a pile of silk-covered cushions stuffed with dried, scented herbs gathered from wild woodland dells and lush, green meadows, Frances' pale, stricken face immediately assumed the vivid pink blush of a shy, startled flamingo. Ranged around the walls of the tent were piles of wedding presents—woven baskets, hand-thrown pottery, lace-trimmed pillowcases, frilled petticoats and a layette, complete with waterproof sheet, spread out in front of a crib holding a plaster figure of the Holy Child with the crown of blossoms she had discarded earlier in the day clutched between plump, dimpled fingers.
'How beautiful you look, cami mescri, with your eyes reflecting the misty blue colour of rosemary in full bloom,' Rom husked, haughty hidalgo completely routed by the passionate, romantic Romany.
Forgetting her vortex of shame, her resolve to hold fast to a few tattered remnants of self-respect, Frances offered her lips to be crushed, as sweetness had been crushed from albahaca petals so that the bridal tent could be flooded with the heady incense said to have been favoured by Aphrodite, goddess of sensual love…
CHAPTER TEN
Cautiously, Frances wriggled her toes in an attempt to relieve cramped leg muscles, at the same time being careful to keep her binoculars trained upon the nest she had discovered after days spent monitoring the to-ing and fro-ing of a pair of Spanish imperial eagles.
The first sighting had been made by one of the estate workers who had then reported to Rom the approximate location of the nest. He, in turn, had arranged for a hide to be erected in the woods, close enough to allow her to study the eagles' habits yet far enough away from the nesting birds to remain undisturbed.
As they were moving towards a season during which a profusion of ferias were due to be held, a time of round-the-clock festival fever marked by daily bullfights, cattle fairs, dancing, singing in the streets and fairground razzmatazz, the gypsy dancers and singers were to be much in demand in nearby towns and villages, therefore schooling had been temporarily curtailed—which was why, for the past fortnight, while the children were on holiday, Frances had been able to return each day to keep vigil at the nest site, to watch the birds moving through the ritual of courtship and the early stages of egg laying.
She stiffened when above the sounds of chirping birds and the rustling of small, unseen animals in the dry undergrowth, she imagined she detected the sound of a car being driven along the road skirting the edge of the wood. She glanced at her watch, knowing that it was too early for the arrival of the estate worker who dropped her off each morning with her binoculars, thermos flask full of coffee, and a sufficient number of sandwiches to keep hunger at bay until she was transported back to the Palacio in time for the evening meal.
Once, Rom had promised—rather idly, she had thought—to share her vigil for a day. But during the two weeks that had elapsed he had not bothered to put in an appearance.
In spite of the warm humidity inside the hide she shivered and turned aside to grope for her pack of sandwiches, hoping to assuage hunger gnawing deep inside her, even though she was perfectly well aware that the pangs knotting her stomach until she felt faint, that caused her to feel weak and trembling, that had been responsible for fourteen wakeful, lonely nights, had no connection with lack of food. Impatiently, she brushed a hand across her wet cheeks and forced herself to bite into one of the sandwiches Sabelita had reluctantly prepared and then handed over with the tight-lipped comment.
'It is not right that a bride of two weeks should be spending all her days alone in the wood! And as if that in itself were not worrying enough,' she had snapped with an anger that had hidden real concern, 'each morning I discover that there are two beds to be made, two rooms to be dusted, two sets of pillows lying smooth and unused!'
Taking the coward's way out, Frances had grabbed her sandwiches and run away from questions that she, too, would have liked to have had answered, away from the husband whose glaring indifference was breaking her heart.
When her leafy hide rustled she did not look up, deciding in her misery that the cause was probably one of the sudden gusts of wind that the gypsies attributed to the devil sneezing.
'No wonder you appear to be losing weight when your lunch consists of no more than bread and tears, amiga!' Rom's voice accused dryly.
Like the wings of a startled bird, her lashes rose from her tear-dampened cheeks and all movement froze as instinctively she retreated behind the barrier of seclusion that was her only defence against the husband who had just addressed her as 'friend' when previously, even though for one night only, he had whispered cami mescri, the Romany term for lover, as he had transported her to heaven in his arms.
The cold, dead tenor of her voice sounded shocking when she forced out an excuse that was not a total lie.
'There are occasions still when I grieve over the loss of my father, especially in surroundings such as these,' she waved a shaking hand, 'where everything combines to remind me of the many conversations we shared relating to his work.'
The bleakness stamped upon Rom's features by her instantaneous withdrawal lightened a little as he slid on to the makeshift bench he had insisted upon having erected so that the spartan discomfort of the hide might be alleviated.
'What's happening at the moment?' He trained his binoculars in the direction of the eagles' nest.
'The male has just come back,' she told him, eagerly following his example, enthusiasm surging into her voice as she peered through the lenses. 'The female has come off her eggs… I think the male is bringing her food.'
'Yes, he is,' Rom nodded, focusing keenly.
'He's a wonderful provider,' Frances enthused, able for the first time since their wedding night to shake off the paralysing shyness imposed by the realisation that, like a new toy, she had provided a few hours of amusement and then been discarded in favour of better loved, more exciting pursuits. 'Before egg laying, the male was making as many as thirteen trips a day fetching the female food far in excess of the amount that she would normally need, but now that the eggs have been laid and she has been incubating for the last three or four days he's enjoying a well earned rest, catching only a few lizards a day to keep her going. Doesn't she look excited! And just listen to the noisy mate— I'm certain he's saying, "Here you are, darling, I've brought you your lunch!" '
She could have bitten out her racing tongue when Rom lowered his binoculars and reached towards hers, moving them away to ensure that he could rely upon her complete attention.
'Motherhood, even prospective motherhood, appears to cast a potent spell over females. Fathers, on the other hand, strike me as being in the unenviable position of having no hold upon their children's affection other than the need they have of his protection.' He hesitated, appearing to consider his words carefully. 'I've heard it said that a woman forgets to be a wife once she becomes a mother, Frances. Is
this true, do you suppose? Could you find happiness and fulfilment within a tightly knit world that neither requires nor desires the intrusion of a husband?'
She swallowed convulsively, feeling humiliation fastening a tight grip upon her throat. Yet at the same time, she experienced a small spurt of gratitude for the delicacy with which he had managed to indicate the course he wished their marriage to take. He could have been brutally frank by pointing out that she had received everything he had promised she would receive in return for a son, that he had been both angered and embarrassed by the slavish adoration she had lavished upon a bridegroom who had made love to his bride on their wedding night in the manner of a rapacious Moor. This way, he had at least allowed her to keep a little of her dignity, had given her a chance to retrieve a few shreds of pride.
'How could I help being happy were I to be the recipient of love given without reservation, a love that does not have to be fought for, and may not even be deserved,' she responded simply, 'I've prayed that I might be allowed to fulfil my side of our bargain, and if ever I should be blessed with the good fortune of giving birth to a child, the supreme happiness of knowing that for the rest of my life I shall have someone to love, someone who loves me, will be all the reward I shall need.'
Her sole aim had been to relieve Rom of an unwanted burden of responsibility, yet when he handed back her binoculars so that she might resume her vigil his features looked even grimmer than usual, his eyes masked with the closed-in look of a hooded eagle.
Made nervous by a depth of silence she could not begin to fathom, Frances began babbling an endless stream of questions to which, whenever politeness demanded, he responded with stiff, stilted answers.
'I know that the Spanish imperial eagle is classed as one of the rarest birds in the world, but what does that mean in terms of numbers?' she asked.
'We don't know. It is difficult to be exact because of the eagle's environment. Because it spends most of its time below a canopy of leaves, we don't see it all that often. However, if you wish me to hazard a guess, I'd say about a dozen birds—although some might argue that there are even less.'
Peering through her glasses at the impressive female preening her heathers, Frances commented, 'You must have formed some theory as to the cause of the birds' decline? I think they're plain silly to nest in low places where there's a very real danger of rats and other small mammals finding the nest and destroying it. One would imagine that the message would have sunk in by now and that the eagles would have begun following the example of others of their species by building their nests in more remote areas, somewhere with precipitous cliffs, for instance.'
Frowning deeply, Rom nodded agreement. 'As you say, one of the causes of decline must be that other animals find it easy to climb up to accessible nests to steal eggs and young. But personally I believe that their decline can be blamed mainly upon change of habitat owing to man's wanton destruction of the countryside. Like the gypsies, the eagle has adopted this region as his home because over the years it has provided safety and food in plenty. The bird has evolved a type of flight and style of hunting that fits his habitat, he depends for food upon native lizards, and in turn the lizards are dependent upon native vegetation. As more and more trees have been cut down the very nature of the woods has changed, normal structure has been lost, and the consequent lack of high density has forced the lizards to leave in search of more congenial surroundings. As the population of lizards has decreased, so too has the bird population. Since we began studying the eagles in detail there have never been more than two or three nest sites in any one year. Last year there was no breeding at all, so you can imagine my relief when I was informed that one breeding pair had been sighted.'
He frowned deeply. 'If only your father had not died! I was so certain that he would be able to come up with a solution, was relying heavily upon his knowledge to help save the precious birds from extinction. You see, Frances, from various hints contained in his letters, I had formed the opinion that he had a solution in mind which he did not wish to commit to paper until he had seen for himself the eagles' habits and habitat. But now,' he shrugged, 'it appears inevitable that the species must continue to decline.'
'Not necessarily.'
Even to her own ears the quiet statement seemed to bounce around the enclosed confine of the hide. She nerved herself to meet Rom's incredulous look, trembling in her anxiety to acquaint him with a solution so simple she wondered why it had taken so long to materialise.
'Some years ago a species of kestrel was similarly endangered,' she responded to his hard look of enquiry. 'It was suffering severely in the wild, so Father decided that the only way to ensure its salvation was to breed it in captivity.'
'And how did he manage to do that?' Rom rapped, obviously keen to clutch at any straw.
'First of all, he climbed up to the kestrel's nest and took the eggs.'
'He took the eggs?'
'Yes,' she nodded. 'It isn't as shocking as it must sound, because although he was working purely on a hunch, experience had taught him that there was every chance that the female would lay again and, as a bonus, might even decide to nest in a place of complete safety to ensure protection for her second clutch of eggs.'
'And his theory was proved correct?'
'In every respect,' she assured him, starry-eyed. 'In that same season there were twice as many kestrels, one clutch hatched in the wild, the other in captivity.'
'Madre de Dios!' Rom breathed, smiling down at her as if she were a messenger sent from heaven. Then just as suddenly as it had appeared his smile vanished, leaving him with a look of brooding despondency. 'What a pity your father did not have time to train someone to follow in his footsteps—hatching out chicks and rearing them in captivity calls for a great deal of specialised knowledge.'
'But he did!' Frances glowed, made absurdly happy by the thought that, should she be denied the joy of bearing Rom's child, she would at least be able to ensure the continuity of his beloved eagles. 'I typed all my father's notes, kept watch over the eggs, and helped to hand-rear the chicks with very few problems. I'm certain I can do it again, Rom—if you'll allow me to try!'
For the span of a few seconds he hesitated, obviously torn between an instinct to try to ensure the birds' survival by traditional methods and an urge to risk an experiment that had been proved successful—though in much more experienced hands. But then, as if her wide appealing eyes, her mute urging, had finally tipped the balance in her favour, he confirmed his agreement with the simple question, 'What equipment will you need?'
'A ladder long enough to reach the nest and .sufficient cottonwool to fill the wide-necked thermos flask that will be needed to transport the eggs to an incubator. I have one here!' eagerly she swung round in search of the flask that had held her coffee. 'This will serve nicely to keep the eggs warm until I manage to fix up a permanent incubator at the Palacio.'
'Fate must have prompted me to drive an estate wagon instead of my own car,' he decided with a grin that implied he was finding her enthusiasm infectious. 'If its equipment is up to standard, we ought to find an extension ladder in the back as well as a first aid box containing sufficient cottonwool for your needs. I'll go and check, I shouldn't be away more than twenty minutes.'
Left to herself, Frances continued studying the movements of the eagles, blessing, for once, their penchant for building their huge, sprawling nests in the lower branches of trees instead of high as a typical eyrie. She tilted her glasses to follow the ascent of the magnificent male bird when suddenly it soared above the treetops and began circling slowly upwards on immense, outstretched wings. It was a king of birds, possessing a majestic presence shared, she mused, with one other whose striking snow-white markings and air of grave self-possession stamped him with an air of authority.
If Sabelita's romantic assertions were to be believed, it might be that one day she, too, would be preening like the mother bird guarding her nest, excited by the prospect of giving birth to a stron
g, healthy egret who would ensure the continuity of a family that had adopted Andalusia as its home during the far-off days of the Moorish dynasty.
Rom's arrival put an end to her daydreams, but some trace of her thoughts must have lingered, making her mist-grey eyes appear dazed, wide with apprehension.
'Are you confident of your ability to carry out this exercise, Frances?' He hesitated with the ladder propped on one shoulder, dark eyes delving her expression for any hint of uncertainty. 'You do realise, I hope, that there is an element of danger attached to this project, that the birds could react viciously to having their nest raided? Naturally, I mean to protect you to the best of my ability, nevertheless,' he trailed off, looking darkly doubtful, 'if you have any misgivings at all, now is the time to air them.'
Alert to the possibility that even at this late stage he might decide to change his mind, she continued lightly stuffing the thermos flask with cottonwool and willed her reply to sound businesslike and efficient.
'Birds of the wild are notoriously unpredictable. Let's face each problem as it arises, shall we? If you wouldn't mind propping the ladder against the tree trunk and holding it steady?' She nodded in the direction of the tree where the birds were nesting as an incentive to him to get the experiment under way. 'I'll nip up now while the female is off the nest and the male is busy hunting.'
No sooner had Rom adjusted the height of the ladder and positioned it aslant with its feet dug firmly into soft earth than she began her ascent, nipping nimbly up each rung, using one hand as an anchor and nursing the essential thermos flask in the other.
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