Temptation of the Warrior

by Margo Maguire

  She shook her head. “No. Norah died at school. Years ago.”

  “Years?”

  “She was about my age, maybe twelve, when she died.”

  Shock echoed through Matthew at the thought of such a thing. The death of a young child was unusual…was it not? “Was there no healer?”

  “He was called too late.”

  ’Twas unconscionable. “What happened?”

  “Norah had been punished…and she took a chill afterward. When fever set in, she could not recover.”

  “Punished? How?”

  “The headmaster locked her in the privy overnight. It was near Christmas, and cold…” In a strangely detached manner, Jenny described the appalling treatment of the child, and he knew that Norah was not the only one who’d suffered.

  Matthew slid his hand under her skirt, moving up the smooth skin of her leg until he reached the raised welt on her buttock. He’d hardly noticed it during their lovemaking, but now he wondered. “Is this a scar?”

  She pushed his hand away and lowered her skirts.

  “Jenny, did the headmaster beat you?”

  She nodded.

  “And he broke the skin?” Matthew asked with more calm than he felt.

  “Not every time.”

  He slid his hand over the area and touched it through her clothes.

  “That happened my first day at Bresland,” she said. “No one told me we weren’t allowed more than half a slice of bread at breakfast.”

  “The headmaster struck you because you asked for more?”

  “My…impertinence set the tone of our relationship for the rest of my years at the school.”

  Had Jenny not burrowed in closer, Matthew would have been tempted to go in search of the bastard right then. Instead, he gathered Jenny tightly to his chest. “’Tis no’ natural for a grown man to lay hands on a wee lass, Jenny. Why did no one stop him?”

  “I can assure you it was quite common at Bresland, at least with those of us who were fair-haired and small,” she replied. “He never touched me after I…after I grew up.”

  The flickering fires outside cast colorful, muted light through the multicolored cloth over the windows. Reds and greens played over the features of Jenny’s face and her light hair, like an artist putting paint on canvas.

  Matthew heard Jenny swallow, and knew she was embarrassed. Anger seethed inside him, and he considered taking her back to Bresland with a champion at her side. Then, let the headmaster try to hurt her or any of the wee lasses still trapped at that miserable school.

  He resumed his innocent caresses. “You became a teacher.”

  “I had nowhere else to go.”

  “Did you no’ think of marriage?”

  She hesitated. “Once. But it didn’t…He decided I would not make a suitable wife.”

  Matthew’s hand stilled. “Did you love the man?” His own throat thickened with dismay. He did not really want to hear of any other man she might have loved.

  She hesitated, seeming to consider her reply before answering. “He became our school physician, and tended me when I was ill last autumn. When I recovered, he took an interest in me. He said he was ready to take a wife, and began to court me in earnest.”

  Matthew unclenched his jaw. “But then he decided you were unsuitable?”

  She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what Mr. Ellis thought. I decided he was unsuited to me, too. I could never abide a husband who thought the headmaster’s punishments were justified.”

  Matthew sat straight up. Was the man barmy? “He is a healer, yet he thinks ’tis acceptable to cause physical injury to a child?”

  “I am lucky that he threw me over for Miss Tremayne,” Jenny remarked offhandedly, though Matthew heard a note of regret in her voice.

  “The man is a fool.” And a betrayer. Mo oirg, had everyone forsaken her?

  She would soon see that Matthew was not the kind of man to abandon her, no matter where he’d come from. It seemed impossible that he had known her only a night and one day. She was as much a part of him as his next breath.

  “What will you do after you find your pendant?”

  “I’m to become a governess to a pair of brothers north of Carlisle.”

  “Governess? I’m no’ sure I comprehend the word.”

  “A governess is a teacher. Don’t they have such women in Scotland?” Jenny asked.

  Matthew shrugged, unable to recall if it were so.

  “We’re an educated class without family or connections. Wealthy families hire us…’Tis very likely you owe your early education to someone like me.”

  “Believe me, lass. I doona think a knock on the head could ever shake your memory from my brain.”

  Jenny gave a bitter laugh, as though she did not believe him.

  “Someday I will learn all there is to know about you, Jenny Keating.”

  “We should be trying to figure out who you are,” she said, “and where you come from. And not waste time on my dull memories.”

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “The more I try to remember anything, the worse it gets.”

  “What about that bracer on your wrist?” she asked, sliding her fingers over the warm metal. “I said your father gave it to you, but…you know I lied. Can you recall anything about it?”

  He’d tried, but his efforts to remember had come to naught. “No, I—” He saw a sudden flash of something. Dark blue robes. Deep chanting. “A ritual.”

  “A ceremony?”

  “I doona know. Only that it feels…Aye, ’twas bestowed upon me, in a ceremony.”

  Jenny sat straight up in bed. “Then you remember!” she choked out.

  “No.” He pulled her back down to the bed. “’Tis gone.”

  “B-but you must recall something! Even a…a…” Her voice wavered, and Matthew realized she was on the verge of tears.

  “You doona want me to remember, do you, lass?” he said quietly, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.

  “Of course I want you to remember. It’s just that…”

  “Doona worry. I’ll no’ be leaving you to find your locket on your own.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she huffed. “I’d planned on going after it by myself. You’re just a distraction.”

  Chapter 6

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and when Jenny awoke, she knew Matthew had come no closer to remembering who he was. She was certain he’d dreamed, for he’d spoken in his sleep. In Gaelic. Perhaps one of his dreams would do more than give him a fleeting glimpse of his past—maybe they would even help him to piece those glimpses together.

  He was not in the caravan when Jenny arose, and his absence bothered her more than it should. She’d lied the night before. He was more than a distraction, and she’d become much too attached to him. He’d been partly right in saying that she did not want him to remember, and the truth of his words forced her to face reality.

  She washed her face and cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair and tied it back, then changed into her black Bresland gown. Unfamiliar sounds outside drew her to the door of the caravan. She pulled on her cloak and stepped out, and saw that the Gypsies were breaking camp. The men were hitching horses to the caravans while the women and children packed their belongings and put them inside, or put them in boxes or barrels and strapped them to outside storage areas.

  Jenny stepped down and walked around to the front of the wagon.

  “Brod fàir, moileen,” said Matthew as he harnessed the second of two horses to their wagon. “Good morn to you.” He wore a bright red shirt with no collar, and had a black kerchief knotted at his neck. His sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, and Jenny’s breath skittered from her lungs as she watched him, the muscles and sinews of his forearms stretching and bunching as he moved.

  He quickly skirted around the horses and came to her. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her soundly, as though he still believed she was his wife.

  “For Kaulo’s
benefit,” he said quietly, releasing her before she had a chance to react. “We havena much time before they leave, so if you need to take a walk in the woods, you’d best get it done.”

  Jenny’s blush delighted him, but she was the only aspect of his predicament to do so. His head wound was mostly healed, with the dizziness gone and the pain occurring only occasionally now. But the fleeting glimpses of his past were so fragmented, they were disorienting and not helpful at all.

  While Jenny slept, he’d spent some time looking at the bracer ’round his forearm and tried to recall more details of the ritual when he’d received it. Naught had come to him.

  He’d looked in the small mirror on the caravan wall, studying his face while he dispensed with his night’s growth of whiskers, but again, he barely recognized himself. His satchel was unfamiliar, its contents meaning naught to him.

  Jenny’s notion that he was an important personage rang true somehow, but did not ease his mind. He had a great deal of money, and he was well dressed. Yet a man in a high position would hardly be traveling a backcountry road alone, especially carrying so much money. It made no sense.

  Nor did Jenny’s suggestion that he already had a mate. There was no one for him but Jenny, and he intended to keep her with him long enough that she realized and accepted it.

  “You! Gajo!” Kaulo strode up to him. “This horse lame. You—”

  “No. ’Tis no’ lame.” Matthew had seen to it earlier. There’d been a stone in its shoe, and Matthew had removed it and healed the sore spot. Naught was wrong with the mare now.

  Kaulo went to the horse’s left flank and lifted its fetlock to examine the hoof. He muttered something in his Gypsy language and went to the other leg. Frowning fiercely, he poked at the hoof, then dropped the leg to the ground as though he had no understanding of how easy it was to heal such a minor malady. Matthew decided to say naught about it.

  Jenny returned, and Matthew slipped an arm ’round her waist. He pulled her close, keeping his eyes on Kaulo until the wiry Gypsy turned away and left, muttering under his breath.

  “What was that about?” Jenny asked, extricating herself from his grasp.

  “Naught but a slight misconception. Kaulo’s.”

  Jenny had pulled her hair back and wore it loosely bound at her nape. Matthew reached for the tie that bound it, but Rupa approached, so he slid his fingers just under her blond tresses instead, and lightly rubbed Jenny’s neck.

  “You put up hood now,” Rupa said, glancing behind her. “Again, gajo men come.”

  “The constables?” Jenny asked.

  Rupa nodded. “And one old man. Guibran Bardo say pretend sleep. Your man drive wagon. No speak.”

  “Shouldn’t I go inside?”

  “No,” said Rupa. With two fingers, she pointed to her eyes, then to Jenny. “Better he see no hiding woman.”

  Jenny covered her head, and Matthew helped her up to the seat in front. He climbed onto the bench after her and clucked his tongue, urging the horses to take their place behind the other caravans. It was a noisy departure, with the rolling of heavy wheels and the creaking of the wagons. Children and barking dogs ran alongside them, excited to be on the move again.

  They had not gone far when Matthew saw three men on horseback, all dressed in black, though the old one wore a different sort of hat and his coat was much longer. They stopped every caravan and inspected the inhabitants of each. His own encounter with these men did not worry him, but he could feel Jenny’s nervousness.

  “’Tis the headmaster, come himself to see if I—”

  “Jenny, doona worry.”

  He felt her tremble and slid his arm ’round her waist.

  “They will see I am no Gypsy,” she said quietly. “And Reverend Usher will—”

  “No, they will see only what I wish them to see.”

  “Matthew, how is that—”

  “Hush, lass. Doona make it more complicated than it needs to be.”

  He felt a strange, scratchy heat in his chest as he muttered a few quiet words in the language that felt most familiar to him, never taking his eyes from the old headmaster. He repeated the words once more for the two constables, and soon they were backing away from the train of caravans. All at once, they turned their horses and rode away.

  “I don’t believe it!” Jenny exclaimed, though she kept her voice down. “I wonder what Bardo said to them.”

  Matthew shrugged and continued on, though he kept an eye on the three men as they headed toward the road.

  Of course he would do what he could to protect her. Matthew had no doubt the repelling words would never have come to him if he’d tried to remember them. Yet they’d slipped from his lips without effort, without thought. He looked at Jenny, who believed ’twas Bardo who had repelled the men. He decided to say naught to correct her, not until he understood it himself.

  The Gypsies did not stop all day, but their rate of progress was slow enough for the children to keep up on foot. Unnerved by Reverend Usher’s appearance in camp and his quick departure with the constables, Jenny jumped down and joined a group of women who walked beside the caravans.

  They spoke their own language, but Rupa was among them, and she introduced Jenny to everyone. Their names were strange-sounding, and she had to repeat each one silently several times to remember it.

  “Chavi will be bride tonight.” Rupa put one hand on the shoulder of a young girl and nodded toward two others. “And Tshaya. And Dooriya.”

  The women all tittered behind their hands, but Jenny was shocked by the young ages of the brides. They could not have been older than twelve or thirteen. Rupa had mentioned that Tekari Kaulo would soon marry, but Jenny could not imagine sacrificing one of these girls to him. She shuddered at the thought of it. “And your cousin, Tekari…who will he wed?”

  “Beti,” Rupa replied, gesturing toward a slight, dark-haired girl riding on the back step of one of the Tsinoria caravans. Jenny judged her age at thirteen or fourteen years.

  “Tonight?” she asked as Rupa’s words suddenly dawned on her. “The weddings will happen tonight?”

  “Sure. Good place. Village nearby. Mens go, um…They purchase feast,” said Rupa.

  Jenny thought perhaps it would be best to leave the group now. Matthew knew she was not his wife, and he was healthy enough to take care of himself. She was relieved that she’d finally been honest with him, at least about their marriage. She could never tell him—or anyone—of the abnormality inside her that sometimes caused bizarre, unexplainable incidents. She wondered if Reverend Usher was right…Did Satan dwell within her?

  She did not feel evil, nor had she ever intentionally used the force to an evil purpose. But she needed to try to understand it, and discover whether she could control it. Experimenting was going to take complete privacy.

  Jenny didn’t think the Gypsies had progressed more than five or six miles when they stopped for the night. But she was tired when they arrived and set up camp, too worn out to think about finding a deserted place to test the force inside her. And she was much too tired to go off on her own to follow the road to Carlisle. While Jenny felt confused and at loose ends, Matthew unhitched the horses from their caravan and beckoned to her.

  “You look weary, lass,” he said, taking the reins of both horses into one hand to gently caress her face.

  Jenny had a sudden, fierce desire to go into the wagon with him and lose herself in his arms, but she knew better. It did not help that Matthew looked as though he could carry her away and devour her, repeating the pleasures they’d begun the night before.

  “Ach, lass. All I can think of is touching you…tasting your sweet mouth.”

  “Y-you must not, Matthew,” she said, afraid he might have been reading her thoughts. He took her hand anyway, and they walked together toward the road.

  A number of the men walked ahead of them, and one of the older boys came and took away one of Matthew’s horses. “I’m going with Bardo and the others into the village,” he sa
id. “Promise me you’ll still be here when I return.”

  She searched his eyes. “Have you been reading my mind?”

  “Nay, ’tis no’ one of my talents.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled once again by his words.

  “I doona know, lass. But I canna see what’s in your mind.”

  “Then how did you know I’d been thinking of leaving the troupe?”

  He kissed her lightly. “Because I know you, moileen. We might no’ be man and wife, but you are part of me. I am part of you. When my memory returns, you’ll see.”

  He mounted the chestnut mare and rode away, following Bardo and the other men as they rode into the village.

  Jenny felt hollow as Matthew left. Their time together had been short, and illusory.

  Some of the women began preparations for the wedding feast while others collected bridal finery from one another’s wagons, and took all the colorful garments to Guibran Bardo’s caravan.

  “You come,” said Rupa. “Help sew.”

  “Oh no,” said Jenny, unaccustomed to such friendly overtures. The students and teachers at Bresland kept to themselves. “I should not—”

  “Yes. Some fun. You see.”

  Jenny smiled at Rupa’s warmth. “Soon, then,” she said, taking her leave to go into the woods. It was her first opportunity to spend more than a quick moment alone.

  She walked out of sight of the camp to a large, fallen log, and sat down to look up at the sky. Somehow, she’d caused a branch of a tree to fall when the highwaymen had attacked. She wondered if she could do it again.

  Leaning back on her hands, Jenny turned her gaze to the tall trees that surrounded her, and concentrated, listening to the creaking of trunks as the trees swayed in the stillness of the forest. She only had to make it happen once, and then she would know. Just one branch.

  Break! her mind called. Crack and fall! Show me!

  “Why do you wish us harm?”

  Jenny sat up straight. She heard the voice clearly, but it was thin and reedy, like that of an ancient man on his deathbed.

  It had to be her imagination.