by Arial Burnz
“Everyone has time to indulge in their fantasies, monsieur,” Amice said, taking Seamus by the hand and pulling him into the tent after her.
Rosselyn stifled her laughter behind her hands. Seamus’s protests sounded from the tent, but the old Gypsy won with a noisy babble of French. Rosselyn waited with a smile, craning her neck to hear the mumbling of the fortune being told. Seamus emerged from the tent with a sheepish grin, trailing Amice behind him.
“He will wait now,” Amice said with confidence. “Help yourself to some tea, monsieur, while I speak with this young girl.” Amice stepped before Rosselyn, appraising her. “Ah!” she said with a growing smile and whispered, “Now you are ready! Come, let us discuss the matter of your freedom.”
“My what?”
Chapter Six
Rosselyn followed Amice into the tent. “The matter of my freedom?”
“Oui! Come sit.” Amice put her index finger over her mouth, then pointed to where Seamus sat outside, and encouraged Rosselyn to sit on the stool in front of the table. Amice sat in the chair on the opposite side and held out her hands. “Donnez-moi vos mains.”
Rosselyn assumed she asked to see her palms and offered Amice her hands.
The old woman turned Rosselyn’s hands back and forth, inspecting one palm then the other, her fingertips chasing the lines across her skin. “Regardez, you see this line?” she said in hushed tones.
Rosselyn nodded and leaned forward.
“Do you see how this splits? How this first section of the line is weak and this new split is deeper, stronger?”
Rosselyn nodded again.
“This confirms what I read in your tea leaves those many years ago.”
Rosselyn thought back to the first time she saw the Gypsies in Stewart Glen. She and Davina made many trips down to the Gypsy camp after their first visit. “Oh, are you referring to the reading you told me about later?”
“Oui.” Amice grinned. “The reading I did from the cup you drank from that first night.”
“Aye, I remember now. You said the shape of a bird flew from a box or a cage in the tea leaves.” The memory was vague, but there.
Amice patted her hand in approval. “I remember this because I saw something else of which I did not tell you. Back then I did not think you were ready, but now you are.”
Rosselyn tilted her head in anticipation.
“The bird in the cup flew toward a wagon or a cart, and the truth seeped into my old bones. You would be one of us!” Amice grinned with excitement.
The whispered words fell upon Rosselyn’s ears, but they floated around the air, intangible like smoke that formed useless shapes.
“One of us,” Amice repeated. “A Gypsy.”
“Me?”
Amice nodded and grabbed a stack of thin, painted tablets of worn wood. As Amice shuffled them about, Rosselyn could see various pictures of colorful artwork. Amice drew a tablet from the stack and laid it down: A picture of two happy children on a horse with a blazing sun in the background. “You are a free spirit, loving life, and you are not afraid to take risks.” She smiled and pulled another tablet off the top of the stack and laid it beside the first. On this tablet, a serious man, wearing long black robes like a priest, stood over two children who bowed before him. Amice frowned. “But you feel trapped by the confines of authority and rules.” Shaking her head, she drew another tablet with a picture of a woman inside a wreath, surrounded by various animal heads in the corners of the tablet, which brought the old Gypsy’s smile back. “Ah, and this confirms everything. This means you will finally achieve your dreams. You will break free from the bonds of rules and see the world!” She contemplated Rosselyn. “Is this not your dream?”
A lump formed in Rosselyn’s throat and a moment passed before she could speak in a whisper. “Aye, that is my dream.” She cleared her throat and wiped the tears blurring her vision. “How could you know this?”
“This is what I do, child.” Amice laid down one more card, showing a moon in a dark night sky with wolves howling between two pillars. The old woman dropped her mouth open and put one hand upon the card and the other hand upon her heart. “I feel a great and painful secret you harbor within yourself.”
Rosselyn bit her lower lip to keep it steady. How could she know this?
“You must settle this before you leave, I’m sensing.”
The pressure in Rosselyn’s chest became unbearable and her tears burst forth. “How can you see this? This has burdened me for almost a year, since the truth came to me.” She wiped her cheeks with her sleeve and sobbed into her hands, releasing the built-up tension. “Telling this secret could hurt so many people. And yet keeping it inside is hurting me. I fear I’m losing my sanity. What am I to do, Amice?”
Amice gathered her tablets up and shuffled them as she closed her eyes in concentration. Hope bloomed in Rosselyn’s heart as Amice might have the answers she needed. Fanning the tablets across the table, Amice indicated her head toward them. “Choose three tablets for what will happen if you do not tell your secret, and three tablets for what will happen if you do tell your secret.”
Rosselyn nibbled on her thumbnail as she considered the cards. She pulled three tablets that seemed to call to her, drew them toward her, and gave them to Amice. “If I do not tell my secret,” she whispered. Amice put the tablets aside. Glancing over the remaining tablets, she pulled three more. “If I do tell my secret.”
Amice turned the first three over, revealing a man hanging upside-down, a tall tower being destroyed by lightning, and a skeletal figure with a scythe. “Keeping this secret, child, will result in many deaths.”
Rosselyn gasped. “Surely not something as drastic as that!”
“I only tell you what the tablets reveal and how they speak to me.” Amice closed her eyes and laid her hands upon the cards as if to feel their message. “There will be sacrifices made and other truths revealed, but at a great cost. There will be loss of lives, I tell you, and I do not see such things often. Death is a prediction I do not make lightly.”
Rosselyn trembled.
Amice turned over the other three tablets showing a beastly creature with horns and two people imprisoned in chains to him; an imperious man with a scepter and face of stern determination; and the tablet that revealed this all—the moon with the howling wolves between two pillars. “Telling your secret will expose greed and materialism. There is a very controlling man involved, and more mysteries will be uncovered.”
“Will anyone die?” Rosselyn sat forward on her seat.
Amice placed her palms on the tablets once more. “I do not know. Nonetheless, I feel a sense of justice involved here, a kind of resolution in the end.”
Rosselyn stared at the tablets as Amice’s message swirled around in her head. Neither outcome sounded desirable, but revealing what she kept hidden seemed the lesser of two evils. In spite of her apprehension of what the future may hold, a wave of relief washed over her.
“I leave the choice to you, my dear Rosselyn.” Amice patted her hand and gathered the tablets into a neat pile, setting them aside. She cleared her throat. “Now, to the other matter,” she said, changing her tone of voice. “My son is a man of free spirit,” the old Gypsy supplied.
“What? How did you know he was the reason I came here?”
“It is my job to know,” she dismissed with a wave. “He has no woman in his life.” She appraised Rosselyn. “Only the most unusual woman will capture his heart.”
Rosselyn sat thunderstruck, still reeling at the doom-filled prediction she just received while also trying to make sense of how Amice divined her intentions.
“This is why you ask about him, non? To find out if Broderick has a woman in his life?”
Rosselyn gawked at Amice. “But not for me—”
“I know who you are here for.” Amice nodded, sharp and determined eyes sizing her up.
Rosselyn hesitated, unsure if Amice would be honest. “I realize you may be partial, madam, but Broderick…he seems
capable of—”
“If you are wondering if he would hurt your mistress—as he is a man of great size—I tell you he possesses a gentle heart.” Amice tapped her chest and then grasped Rosselyn’s hand. “I know only what Mistress Davina’s palm has told me. Her past is filled with sorrow and loss, non?”
Rosselyn concurred with a slight nod of her head.
“Be watchful of her, Rosselyn.” Amice searched Rosselyn’s face with concern. “Her pain is not yet over, and she will still need you. The past still haunts your mistress.” They stared at each other for a long moment. Rosselyn sensed Amice wanted to say more, but instead Amice patted her hands and ushered Rosselyn out of the tent. “That is all I can say, young one. Remember, mind what this Gypsy woman tells you this day.” Without a backward glance, Amice disappeared back inside the tent.
“Are you quite ready?” Seamus said tapping his foot, his arms crossed.
“Aye, Seamus,” she whispered, her mind still turning the incident over in her mind. “Poor Mistress Davina.”
“What are you mumbling about?” Seamus snapped as he came alongside her.
“Nothing, Seamus.”
“Enter!” Lilias called when Davina knocked on her chamber door.
“M’ma, have you seen Rosselyn?” Lilias lay on her bed with a cloth to her forehead. “Are you not well, M’ma?”
“My head pains, darling.”
Davina sat beside her mother and rinsed the cloth in the bowl of cool water at her mother’s bedside. “Rosselyn went into town with Seamus to do the marketing,” Lilias rasped then sighed, a smile on her mouth when her daughter placed the cool cloth across her brow and eyes. The head pains Lilias frequently experienced lasted for hours, sometimes days. “Methinks I even heard her arguing with Seamus about going to the Gypsy camp on their way into the village.”
Davina stiffened at the mention of the Gypsies. She forced herself to relax. How intolerable. The slightest mention of the Gypsies or Broderick affected her whole body. Damn him, she wouldn’t let him have this much control over her. You are being childish!
“Something vexes you, darling?”
Davina looked down to see her mother peering out from under the cloth, pain and inquiry in her eyes. Davina took the cloth and rinsed it in the cool water a second time, replacing the compress on her mother’s brow. “Nay, M’ma. I’m well.”
“But there is such a terrible crease on your brow.”
“Honestly, M’ma. Do not worry so over me.” Davina kissed Lilias’s cheek and left her mother to rest.
* * * * *
Broderick entered the chamber to find Davina lounging on her large, canopy bed. The breeze that blew past him into the room caressed her body and fluttered the thin night dress, just barely keeping his heated gaze from viewing her naked form. The dark triangle of curls at the apex of her legs and her dusty rose nipples shone through the translucent material, stoking the fires of Broderick’s desire.
He grumbled as his shaft filled with need and pressed against his breeches, demanding freedom. “Och, woman! ‘Tis a sight to make a blind man see, you are.”
Davina’s lips curled into a seductive smile, and she crooked a finger at him, beckoning him to draw near. He needed no other encouragement.
Tossing his belt and sporran aside, and lifting his shirt off his head, he enjoyed the way her eyes drank in the sight of his bare chest. The closer he came to her bed, the lower her eyes traveled down his body, until they settled on his obvious arousal.
She propped herself upon her elbow and reached out to touch him. “I want to see all of you, Broderick,” she begged with her husky voice, and tugged at his breeches.
Again, no further encouragement necessary, Broderick did as she commanded and finished stripping, laying down next to her. He seized her mouth in a greedy kiss, pulling her to him, seeking to remove the barrier of her night dress. Slipping his hands under the gossamer material and finally touching her velvet soft skin, he groaned and sought to caress every inch of her flesh. So warm. So inviting. Why could he not get enough of this woman?
Davina wrapped her leg over Broderick’s hip, and her hand slipped between their bodies, her slight fingers caressing his turgid shaft with feather touches.
Broderick growled. “Oh, you will be the death of me!”
“Am I not touching you proper?” Her wide and innocent eyes inquired him.
“Nay, ‘tis right and proper you are, which is why you shall do me in.” Broderick reached around the back of her and stroked the wet folds between her legs, causing her to gasp.
“Then if this is dying,” she breathed, “Do me in, too.”
Broderick chuckled. “Aye, blossom.”
They stroked each other, their moans and panting escalating to a fevered pace.
“Fill me, Broderick! Take me!”
His cock, already damp with his own desire, slid effortlessly into Davina’s tight wet quim, pulsing and hugging his shaft, fitting around him with perfection. He cried out, grunting her name into her silken red hair, as he angled her hips to meet him, thrust for thrust.
“Harder!” Davina clung to his back, pulling him deeper as her heels dug into his backside. “Harder, Broderick!”
This woman was a fantasy come to life, so full of passion and hunger. Broderick could do no more than everything in his power to fulfill her desires, and pumped them both to an earth-shattering climax that left them breathless in each other’s arms.
Still laying on top of her, taking pleasure in her flesh pulsing around his shaft, Broderick touched his lips over her face, breasts and shoulders with languishing, adoring kisses.
“Stay with me forever, Broderick.” She breathed the words, and yet it seemed to Broderick she shouted them, so shocking were they to his being.
He looked at her, his brow furrowed. “Davina, I…” He regretted the words as soon as her face melted from passion to pain. Tears welled in her eyes and she pushed away from him, donning her robe from the settee.
“I knew this would happen.” She crossed her arms defensively. “I was a fool to believe you would want anything more.”
“Davina, you don’t understand what you ask of me.” Decades of revenge surrounded his life. His immortality. The danger she would be in if he loved her.
“Nay! I understand perfectly, and I had childish dreams of a life together. ‘Tis my fault. You had your tryst. Now go.” She turned her back on him and sobbed. In the distance, he could hear the baying of child.
“Davina—”
“Go!”
Broderick’s eyes opened and he stared at the rough rock ceiling. Aggravation knitted his brow and a frown formed upon his lips—another dream.
He sat up and rubbed his face, then groaned from his throbbing erection. Shaking his head, he breathed deep the stale air, his eyes piercing the darkness with the sensitive sight immortality gave him. Only darkness came through the parting folds of the curtain barrier Broderick placed deep inside the cave. The leaves rustled in the wind just outside.
The presence of these slumbering daytime visions perplexed him. For thirty years, nothing; and now a dream almost every day he slept. Even more unnerving than the dreams, they were all about Davina. She fascinated him, and that disturbed him to distraction.
The dreams these last few days contained visions of him visiting her chamber for romantic encounters. With minute variations as to how they engaged, the amorous meetings were similar in their structure—he came to her, she surrendered to him, and then left her crying when she asked for more than the brief coupling. All of them ended with the soft weeping of a child, lingering in the background, while Davina cried and cursed him.
Pushing the visions aside, he rose, agitated. Where was Davina now? Did she sit by the fire in her chamber doing what noblewomen do—reading, tending to needlework, reflecting on private thoughts? Or had she already left for a rendezvous with Angus, plotting the next stage in his trap?
Broderick cursed and dressed. With his silver sword fa
stened to his hips, he pushed the visions of Davina aside and stepped out of the cave, roaming his eyes around the darkness. Silence enveloped him, save for the distant rustling of branches stirred by the wind. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses outward in all directions. As always, he took every opportunity to extend his range by exercising his abilities. He waited. A tingling over the hairs on the back of his neck sent shivers of anticipation down his arms. “The hunt is on, old friend,” Broderick growled and set off in the direction the sensation originated from.
Racing through the trees, he approached the presence of the other Vamsyrian, whom by now he knew to be Angus. He grinned in triumph when the essence still didn’t retreat as Broderick drew closer. It seemed Angus couldn’t sense Broderick’s spirit just yet, as he had not reached the standard boundary. Broderick extended his abilities to include emotion. Though not yet close enough, he prepared to feel them when he came within range. He scanned the area, roaming over the new terrain—a different direction than when he followed the trail on his first night in Stewart Glen. Fear, mixed with frustration, hit his gut with a greater force than he anticipated. Broderick laughed out loud and drew his sword. He surprised Angus and could feel his hasty retreat! The rush of adrenaline gave Broderick new speed and he pressed harder toward his target. And then, like the flame of a candle flickering as it lost fuel, Angus’s presence faded. Within seconds, Broderick lost the trail. Confusion slowed his pace as he searched the area, stretching his senses out as far as he could manage. Broderick stopped, closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, willing to reestablish the trail, but received nothing.
Broderick stood in the silence of the forest, hoping the sensations would return. After a long period of no result, his shoulders sagged in defeat. With a grunt, he shoved his sword back into its scabbard and marched in the direction he last sensed Angus heading. Just over the rise of a hill and through the trees, he found the remains of a small, stone structure. A tower, perhaps, situated at the corner of a perimeter wall. The remaining stones littering the ground around the structure indicated as much, and Broderick stepped through the open doorway at the base of the ruin. The wooden floor, not yet rotting, groaned under his weight. He glanced up to see part of the ceiling opened to the night sky.