Preston came back with a plate full of ham off the bone, sauerkraut and fresh bread, soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside and layered with a creamy egg mixture. Putting it down in front of her, he turned to another table and poured two glasses of red wine.
“I thought we might start the fun now.” He winked as he handed her a glass.
“I have tasted wine before, you know.” Claudia twirled the wine around the glass as she’d seen Grace do
“I know, but a taste is different to a drink. You’ll see.”
Claudia gulped the deep, red liquid, something she’d been introduced to, admittedly with only small mouthfuls at a time, during meals with Grace and Edward. She wanted to show Preston she wasn’t such an innocent after all. In three more gulps, she finished off the glass and pushed it in front of his nose, her eyebrows raised and her head tilted slightly to one side.
“Well done,” he whispered, as if she’d completed some great conquest. “Let’s see how you go with two glasses. But, eat first.”
She was up for the challenge. Occasionally, in the gypsy camp, she’d seen the dancers and musicians come home from a night of shows, bottles swaying dangerously in their hands as they stumbled through the trees, laughing, crying and yelling into the early hours of the morning. If anything, it had looked like fun. Hardly the big deal Preston was making it out to be.
The second glass went down easily; the smooth, syrupy liquid feeling good on the back of her throat. She looked around at everyone, eating and trying to outdo each other with clever, sparkling conversation. Just like a beautiful Renoir painting, come to life.
She giggled at the ‘subjects’, in all their fine attire, lying about on fur rugs, crumbs falling from their chins and mayonnaise smudged on their top lips. The cursed giggling could not be stifled and she turned towards Preston, hiding her face in his arm as her body started to shake.
He bent his long neck down to look at her, lifting her chin up with one finger. Ice blue eyes sparkled as they scanned her face and his dimples appeared as a low laugh escaped his lips. She continued to giggle, her stomach clenching and tears rolling down her cheeks.
“I think it’s a good time to go for a stroll, don’t you?” he asked, pointing towards Grace. Her mother stood at the other end of the tent, glaring at them and raising a finger to her lips.
“I’m just laughing, silly. It’s not illegal. She can’t tell me to stop.” She slapped him playfully on the arm, feeling the ground spin as she moved.
“Actually, drinking is illegal, at your age. So let’s go where nobody cares.” He stood to help her up and she leaned heavily on his arm.
“I would love to climb a tree right now.” Claudia gazed ahead at the trees, as Preston made vague comments to the people they passed about needing to walk off all the food.
“That might be fun, Claudia, but I don’t believe you are appropriately dressed.”
“Oh. I’ve never liked dresses for precisely that reason. So impractical.” Claudia stared down at her green winter dress, watching as the fringing on her matching poncho bounced as she walked. She lifted the skirt up past her knees, trying to twist the material in between her legs to make pants, all the better to climb in.
Preston laughed as he took a bottle of wine out from under his jacket. “You don’t want any more of this, do you?” He raised one eyebrow.
“Oh yes!” She could almost taste the sweet wine just looking at the bottle.
He took a long drink, licked his full lips and handed it to her. Claudia held the neck of the bottle and tipped it towards her mouth. As she drank, small drops of liquid landed on her chest and dripped down towards her new dress. She’d forgotten her jacket, she thought as she looked down at the sticky patterns on her chest. But it isn’t cold, is it?
“Oh my, you seem to have misplaced some.” Preston stared at her chest as he pulled her under a large tree, its roots twisting out of the ground like thick, wooden armchairs high above the dewy grass.
Stumbling over her own feet, Claudia plopped down on his lap and felt his strong arms wrap around her from behind. Preston pulled her into his chest, inside the warmth of his jacket. His long, smooth neck stretched forward, over her shoulder until his nose nuzzled the front of her neck. It felt ticklish and warm, like the times she’d sneaked Spotty into her bedroom and the cat had nuzzled into her to sleep.
“So, a woman of the world, are we? Tell me your secrets, I’m intrigued.”
She began to talk, the words just spilling from her mouth like the wine from the bottle. She spoke a little of Brishan, in the same way she’d rehash a fairy story to Snow-White and Rose-Red in the middle of the night. He chuckled and continued to fondle her neck, making small sounds of disbelief. Why must he think of her as such a child? She’d show him. Only…how?
She shivered as she felt his tongue, warm and wet, flick at a sticky drop of wine near her collarbone.
“Does that tickle?” he asked, voice low and husky.
“Yes.” She snuggled in closer to his jacket, warm and relaxed in its depths.
“What about this?” His fingers traced circles over her shoulders and trailed down her arms, the heat of his skin a sharp contrast to the outside air.
“Mmm.” The slow movement of his hands lulled her into a blissful daze and she could barely bother to move her head: though she wanted to look at him to see if his dimples were there.
She liked his dimples…she liked to make him smile. She felt her arms drop backwards, landing on his hard thighs. She tried to lift them again, but the energy to keep them in her own lap ebbed away as the heat from Preston’s hands centred on her waist, snaking over her hips in long, slow strokes. His warm breath tickled her ear as his lips trailed a path over her neck, her collarbone and all the way up over her cheek, very near the corner of her mouth.
Claudia glimpsed clouds floating by through the bare branches above her head. They moved slowly and everything blurred when she tried to follow them.
Preston held the bottle up to her lips and she opened her mouth to let the liquid trickle down her throat. She sighed — the smooth, red substance tasted heavenly — and pushed her neck into Preston’s shoulder to find a comfortable nook, arching her back in a languid stretch as she moved. His hands moved over her rib cage, pressing and circling upwards until they cupped her breasts. Claudia glanced down, liking the way her breasts filled the large hands drifting ever closer towards her nipples, now tingling in anticipation of his touch.
She closed her eyes as whispery moans escaped her lips. Preston chuckled, low and soft, and she wondered what was so funny. But everything was funny — funny and blissful and dizzy. Blissfully dizzy. She smiled at her own thoughts as his hands slipped inside the neckline of her dress.
Chapter Ten
The Fallen
The girl’s face flamed red and sweat pooled over her neck as she tried to contain her screams. Brishan held her shaking hand and concentrated on surrounding her with a white light of calm. He closed his eyes. God, her pain is so intense. He tried to pull it into himself to ease her struggle.
Slowly, the deep frown above her nose lessened and her breathing became steady. Her eyes fluttered closed and Brishan stroked her hair until sleep claimed her.
“You are becoming a master healer, son.” Eamon stood above him, green eyes twinkling with his smile.
Brishan glanced at his father as he placed the girl’s hand gently back on the bed. Beside them, the Indian doctor, a rare professional using Ayurvedic and conventional medicine, wrapped the girl’s swollen ankle in a thick bandage. He looked at Brishan and, with a smile, nodded his head to the door, indicating they might both go outside.
Brishan blinked to clear his grainy eyes as he emerged from the first-aid tent. Cool, early evening air stung his face and he pulled his tattered coat around his body, exhausted and needing sleep. But, sleep was not for those on the festival circuit throughout England — up at dawn in readiness for the daytime crowds, struggling through to the ear
ly hours of the morning as they entertained the hardiest of revellers.
Not for much longer. They were a smaller group now, just himself and his parents, Cosima the healer and two other families. Two families who desperately needed the money and support that he, and only he, could give to them until they got back on their feet.
And Dane, when he made his secret visits, disguised though he was, almost beyond recognition.
“Thank you again, Valentino,” Doctor Amra said, reaching his hand out to shake Brishan’s.
Brishan laughed, a much-needed relief from such exhausting work. “My ego will explode if you keep up with the comparisons.”
“No chance. You are far too gifted. Much more so than that actor you so resemble.” The doctor’s orange turban bobbed up and down as he nodded.
Brishan laughed again. The joke had started weeks ago when Brishan had offered to volunteer at the festival clinic. Doctor Amra had mistaken him for the Hollywood actor, Valentino Valitutti, and they’d shared an instant rapport. Brishan gave a silent prayer of thanks. Finding a friend here lessened the hurt, the emptiness in his heart.
Not that life was all bad. Performing for happy crowds at folk festivals all over Europe was almost like living a long, extended dream. A much better life than the families they’d had to leave behind. Only a month ago, he’d stood in front of a public housing block in London, waving goodbye to people who’d nursed him as a baby and children he’d taught to ride horses and build fires. At least they had shelter, but what of jobs and schools and security? They needed security, none of them were willing to risk their lives again, for the sake of their wanderlust, though it would always pump through their veins.
Brishan would be their traveller. He had salvaged and lovingly rebuilt just two gypsy wagons from the fires at the chateau. Fires lit to get them all to move. And months ago, they’d sold the horses, most of the costumes and some of the instruments; anything that would give those families some help. But Brishan missed them so much, missed all the freedom they’d had, the fun of travelling with so many friends. He missed his childhood.
And Claudia. Missed her so much his heart exploded in his chest every time her face appeared in his dreams. Missed the smell of grass that somehow lingered on her after a long day outdoors, her odd glances and the way her head tilted to the side when she was curious about something, which was almost all the time. He chuckled. He only had to think of her and his face broke into a smile, his stomach flipping with hope to see her again.
Soon.
Slowly, very slowly, money drizzled back in from the constant performing. He’d made good contacts and could find employment all year round, in hundreds of countries if he chose, performing on the festival route. They’d even managed to buy an old Renault to get around in, so they could settle the wagons in for at least a few weeks at a time.
Claudia would love this, he thought. She had told him of her dreams to travel, to leave the chateau, and he couldn’t wait to help them come true. Strange though, that I can’t reach her. Of course, she was untrained still and barely conscious of her own powers, but she’d reached Dane, once, with natural ability alone and Dane had found her on the astral plane. It was possible.
Pain could sometimes block the mind and make it incapable of anything but basic levels of thinking. Brishan closed his eyes, as he did so often when he tried to pick up her trail. Nothing but black greeted him; not even those two cheeky companions of hers made an appearance. If she were harmed, he would undoubtedly know, as would Dane, so she wasn’t in any physical danger.
It must be emotional.
He made his way to the wagons, with Eamon following close behind. His father was used to Brishan’s moments of solitude, when all Brishan knew was Claudia.
Almost show time. Tonight he was fire twirling with the African bongo drummers. Then, he would rush to help his parents set up the freak show stand and play the guitar for them at show time.
As he dressed, he thought about Claudia and how badly the gatekeeper had treated her for years. Would she be healed of that by now? His chest tightened and he clenched his fists. He couldn’t believe Dane had managed to stop himself from killing the evil bastard that night.
Could I have been so controlled? Me, the so-called healer?
And, had he now added to her pain? Leaving her with those two false, fawning parents? Would she feel lost again without love and true family and guidance? But, if he’d taken her from the chateau that night, would she have made it? Perhaps, he was right. She may not have survived travelling on foot, having to scrounge, even beg for money for train fares, going without food for days. Worse, sometimes, was having to defend themselves against the thieves in all the towns and villages they’d been in. If she had come with him, he thought, he would’ve been useless to the group. He would never have left her side, even for a moment.
And she may not have survived Dane’s transformation.
Am I just making excuses for leaving her?
“Brishan! Hurry up, it’s time,” his mother yelled from outside.
Waiting for him in the softening twilight, Selina almost looked like the youthful mother he remembered. But, worry had streaked her chocolate hair grey and the loneliness of being without Oriana, her life-long companion, had etched deep lines into the skin around her mouth. Her sister’s kidnapping had knocked her badly. Knocked them all.
He twisted his long black hair into a knot on the back of his head and wrapped a red bandana around the front. Stubble covered his cheeks and chin and a thin smattering of hair ran down the length of his naked, richly tanned chest. He wore baggy hessian pants with a black sash tied around the waist, no shoes and plaited, leather bands tied around his left ankle. As he tightened the bands around his leg, a lingering, nagging sense of foreboding knocked on the walls of his stomach. Hunger, must just be hunger.
Ready, with a deliberate smile forcing his lips apart, he held his mother’s elbow and steered her towards their freak show. With nothing more than a small, wooden hut, Eamon had masterfully created scary little nooks and crannies, dripping with cobwebs and slime and the decapitated limbs of mannequins. Red and purple globes bathed the hut in eerie light and sound effects of whistling wind and howling wolves echoed throughout the small space.
Brishan’s father was a man of many talents; carpenter, showman, even once, back in Ireland, a master calligrapher at his grandfather’s printing company. That was before the authorities uncovered their document forgery.
Eamon was not proud of his past. But he’d been given a new life; starting the day he’d met Selina. Brishan knew that Eamon had done the best he could for his family. He only hoped he could do the same for Claudia.
At the back of the hut, behind a red, velvet curtain, he knew Cosima waited. Soon enough, the guests who’d had enough of the spectacle in the hut, would come out for air. Usually, she simply glanced at the unsuspecting people and yelled out their age, or the names of their children or partners. Some screamed, others ran out, but most stayed and paid for a reading. And then, she would dazzle them with her fortune telling skills. Using tealeaves and a crystal ball, mainly for show, Cosima gave them snippets of the images that flashed through her mind…but only enough to thrill. It was not for her to direct the lives of others, and even small glimpses of the future could be dangerous to untrained minds.
Brishan grabbed his poi and prepared to light it, taking a deep breath in readiness for the long night ahead. Fire twirling was his best paid act — spectators usually threw tips — but it was also the most exhausting.
Night had fallen. As he made his way towards the bright lights of the tents, Brishan began to move his body in time with the sticks, in time with the bongo drummers emerging from back of house, ready to draw the crowds with him. He smiled at the two men; far from their native Africa but so much like the gypsies. Life working the festivals meant an ease of friendship, new friends becoming old friends as they followed each other all over the country.
A hush fell over
the crowds as they parted at the mesmerising sound of beating drums and the light from the fire drew awed attention. Cheers and whistles followed as the beat grew faster, faster. Brishan threw the poi in the air, expertly catching them, his movements fast and fluid. He lost himself in the dance, focusing on the fire and letting the drums dictate his moves.
Within minutes, someone tapped him on the shoulder. It was light; but, always aware of the risks of people getting to close to the fire, he snapped his head around to see urgency in a man’s eyes.
Doctor Amra peered at him beneath the glow of the flames. “Brishan, we need you. Now.”
Brishan nodded, immediately slowing his movements. The drummers took his cue, matching his movements with the beat and standing to take centre stage as Brishan bowed, extinguished his poi and followed the doctor through the rows of people, oblivious to the cheers from the crowd.
“What is it?”
“A man. Horribly beaten. I’m astounded. This festival has never attracted violence.” The doctor placed his hand on Brishan’s back, pushing him forward as they gained momentum through the crowds.
The first-aid tent was flooded with harsh fluorescent light. Children waited on wooden stools as their cuts and bruises were tended to by volunteer nurses, the smell of antiseptic controlled the air and Vivaldi’s ‘Spring’ violin concerto played quietly from a portable radio. A curtain hung near the corner at the back creating a space, with a bed and a sink, for those with more serious injuries.
Brishan followed Doctor Amra behind the curtain to find a man on his back, his left arm covered in blood with wounds deep and gaping. His forearm bone was visible through the torn flesh. Swollen eyelids fluttered above a broken nose and dots of blood seeped through a bandage on his cheek. One hand clawed at the edge of the bed, clenching and unclenching, the knuckles turning white against the dark brown skin.
Gypsy Trail Page 15