Gypsy Moon

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  But as one day dragged into another, Mateo began to wonder. Charlotte was not recovering as she should. At times, her eyes would flicker open and he would see that familiar spark of life and laughter in their warm brown depths. But it would only last an instant. Then her awareness would fade. She would give him a confused look, frown, and lapse back into unconsciousness.

  Once she spoke his name in one of these brief, lucid interludes. His heart took flight. He kissed her and gloried in her passionate response. Then she slept—an almost natural sleep. When she awoke the next day, she stared at him with fear in her eyes and asked, “Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”

  After two weeks of this, Mateo sought out Tamara and demanded, “When is she going to be herself again? You must do something!”

  Tamara was at her wits’ end. She had tried everything. Charlotte’s wounds were healing, her broken arm was on the mend, but there was some deeper damage that refused to respond to herbs, compresses, and Gypsy charms. Only Charlotte herself could bring about this ailment’s cure. Whether or not she had the will to do it, no one could say.

  “I’m sorry, Mateo,” Tamara said. “There’s nothing more I can do for her. Her fate is in other hands now. We must simply trust that what is meant to happen will transpire.”

  “No!” Mateo stormed. “I will not allow Fate to be the ruling factor here. I love her. I need her. I won’t let her go!”

  The two of them had been talking just outside Mateo’s tent. They both turned when they suddenly heard Charlotte’s voice from inside, calling Mateo’s name.

  Tamara touched his arm and smiled. “Now is your chance. Go and show her this great and powerful love of yours. Perhaps it is just the medicine she needs.”

  Mateo didn’t have to be told a second time. He tore open the tent flap and went in. Charlotte lay on the wolf skins, looking pale and ever so fragile.

  Winter was coming on and the first harsh winds were blowing down from the north. A brazier burned warmly in the tent, casting its golden glow on Charlotte’s face. The fire seemed to come from within her as Mateo gazed down at his lover. She reached her hand up to him. He took it in his and knelt beside her to kiss her cool fingertips.

  “Charlotte,” he whispered, “I’ve been waiting for you. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am… how much I love you.”

  She stared at him oddly for a moment, as if trying to place him. His heart sank. But the smile that soon took possession of her face warmed him through and through.

  “You’ve been here with me all the time, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “I couldn’t leave you again, my love.”

  “Again?” She looked confused once more.

  He drew her gently into his arms. “Never mind, darling. It will all come back to you in time. For now it’s enough that you remember who I am and what we mean to each other.”

  The man holding her felt warm and good. Charlotte knew him, yes. She had seen his face hovering over hers every time she’d awakened from her strange sleep. Even in her dreams, he was there. He rode a black horse and shone like the sun. He was a good man, an honorable man. He was not at all like the other dark shadow who haunted her nightmares. But somehow in her mind, they seemed like twins—two faces of the same coin. Who were they, and how had they come into her life? And why did she writhe with pain when, in her dreams, he took her to him by the full moon’s glow?

  He was kissing her lips now and she responded. His mouth was hot and soft. He tasted of fruit and wine. She knew the taste of him. She remembered the feeling of his hands on her body… his hardness pressed close against her. All the fear in her fled when she was in his arms. There was a rightness about being close to him.

  “Charlotte, I want to make love to you,” he whispered into her ear

  She searched his face, his eyes. Was he merely stating a fact or asking her permission? She couldn’t be sure. She wanted him, too. But how could she give herself to this stranger? Still, she could see the pain deep in his eyes. It was her duty—and her joy—to draw it from him unto herself.

  His hand was on her shoulder, gently easing away the fabric of her robe to bare her flesh to his lips. She closed her eyes and allowed the touch of his mouth on her skin to send a wonderful warmth surging through her. He was so very gentle with her. It felt so good to be held this way. She sighed.

  But a moment later, his bold hand ventured beneath the robe. Startled by his intimacy, she tried to pull away. He quieted her with strange, foreign-sounding words, and soon his hand cupped her breast, draining away her resistance. He seemed to know her body well. He knew just where to touch her and how to bring a rush of pleasure surging through her. She had been in pain for so long, it seemed—forever. Now she was hard-pressed to deny herself these exquisite sensations, even knowing that in the end more pain would come of it. She gave herself up to him, luxuriating in his knowing caresses.

  “Charlotte, oh, my sunaki bal, I’ve wanted this for so long. You’ll never know how much I’ve needed you these past weeks. I was so afraid you weren’t coming back to me.”

  Coming back to him? She wondered where she had been. Her brain was spinning. She remembered now that when she’d awakened a short time before, she had been repeating a name from a dream. What was it? Mateo! That was it! This man must be the one called Mateo!

  She sighed the name aloud and he crushed her close, sure that she remembered everything now. The thought made him bold. He leaned her back against her pillows and opened her robe. She struggled against his hands, but very weakly. The excitement he aroused in her had drained away her small wellspring of strength.

  “Be still, darling,” he murmured. “Let me love you.”

  She lay back with her body exposed to his exploring eyes and his caressing hands and lips. Tenderly, he fondled her breasts before dipping his head low to suckle there. She tangled the fingers of her left hand in his dark hair, holding his mouth to the spot while shattering bursts of pleasure surged through her body. What was he doing to her? Could she stand much more? Already her eyes wanted to close, her strength was waning. But she fought to stay awake. She wanted him. She needed the power of his body and spirit to nourish her own, just as she knew he needed her to absorb his madness with her love.

  “Please, Mateo,” she whispered.

  He barely heard the words, but they shot him through with longing.

  His hands were on her belly now. He drew them down her legs and up the insides of her thighs. She quivered convulsively and moaned. Her eyes closed. Her hand groped for him, but he was out of her reach.

  Then she felt the hot pulse of him, eager and ready to enter her. She relaxed, knowing—without realizing how she knew—that in the next instant she would be filled and satisfied, and Mateo would be cleansed.

  He entered her ever so slowly, careful not to put undue pressure on her body. His movements were a tantalizing exercise in slow motion. In… and out, in… and out. She could feel every inch of him. When he drew away, her body tried to clutch him back. And all the while his hands played over her skin—teasing, exciting, raising her to a fever pitch.

  When the moment of exquisite pleasure came, they shared it. Charlotte felt him now—filling her, anointing her, loving her as never before. She felt released from the pain of her body, the confusion in her mind, only to have the awful curse attack her senses in the next instant. But only one thing mattered: she and this man named Mateo were one. The two of them were like a great, soaring bird, flying toward the sun on shared wings… in one magnificent body. She could endure anything to have his love.

  Then the terrible pain, which had racked her soul and rent her mind, vanished as quickly as it had come. The sheer release brought with it total exhaustion. Before Mateo could speak his love to her in words, Charlotte had once more lapsed into unconsciousness. He stared down at her still form, stricken.

  “What did you do to her, Mateo?” Tamara demanded angrily. “I’ve told you not to disturb her
. Now just look. She has slipped away again. Did you upset her in some way?”

  Sick at heart, Mateo looked down at the pale woman on the pallet and whispered, “I made love to her.”

  “Mateo!” Tamara’s voice betrayed her shock. “How could you?”

  “How could I not? We needed each other.”

  “Enough to bring on a relapse?” In an unaccustomed tirade, Tamara showered Mateo with a string of Romani oaths. “Men! I will never understand any of you!”

  “I didn’t harm her, Tamara. I was very gentle.”

  She looked at him as if he were a lunatic trying to convince her that he was perfectly sane. “Mateo, did she even know who you were?”

  “Yes, I think she did.”

  “You think? You mean you aren’t even sure? You are mad! Don’t you see that you may have done her permanent damage? She may never come out of this.”

  “But Tamara, she wanted it as much as I!”

  “You mean she didn’t fight you?”

  “No.”

  “That proves nothing! How does a sick kitten fight off a tiger?”

  They both stared down at Charlotte for a moment. Her breathing was so deep they could tell she was at some level beyond normal sleep.

  “I think we must send for her family,” Tamara said finally. “That major at Fort Leavenworth knows how to reach them, doesn’t he?”

  “It’s that bad?”

  Tamara, taking pity on Mateo, touched his arm. “I’m afraid so,” she said softly. “And I don’t understand her illness. It is as if some terrible evil has a grip on her.” She shook her head sadly.

  “I won’t let them take her away!” Mateo’s voice sounded in a sudden boom of rage.

  Hearing him, Charlotte stirred slightly in her sleep, but neither of them noticed.

  “You don’t have to worry about that right now, Mateo. No one is going to take her anywhere. She’s too ill to be moved.”

  Charlotte was someplace far away, but trying desperately to get back. He was there. She had heard him speak. She fought to part a way through the dark storm clouds fogging her brain, but lightning flashed on all sides of her, forcing her back when she tried to surface.

  The full moon rose, blinding her and making her cry out and turn away. But the great silver sphere seemed to control her mind and body. Why was the moon so evil now, when once it had been her friend? Nothing made sense anymore. Where was she? Who was she?

  Silhouetted against the moon, other menaces threatened. An evil, dark-haired Gypsy and a woman wearing a purple scarf about her throat were coming for her. She tried desperately to get away, but the man lunged at her. The woman laughed and laughed—a terrible sound. She ran and ran, but they were everywhere, blocking her path.

  When she did escape at last, she was lost in a forest filled with wild animals. A bear with a ring through its nose chased her. Then she was on the back of a black horse that breathed fire and raced with her at cyclone speed. She screamed and cried. Her body ached from the pounding force of his gallop. Pain shot through her fingers, cramping them so that she had to release her hold. Suddenly she was falling. Down and down and down. The wind buffeted her body. Rain lashed her face. Jagged lightning flashed and she saw Mateo’s face. She called to him, frantic now, but he turned away from her once more.

  Down and down. Her fall seemed never to end. Her brain whirled and her spirit seemed about to be sucked from her body. If only her feet would touch earth, she might be able to hold on.

  Then horror constricted her heart. She saw where she was about to land. The shining, distorted face of the full moon glared up at her, grinning like some demon from hell.

  She heard her own scream just before she was swallowed up by the evil, smothering silver mass, which tore her body with pain even as it took possession of her very soul.

  Chapter 20

  Jemima Buckland didn’t waste any time. She was packing to head out west the moment she’d read Winston Krantz’s first letter. No one, including her late husband, had ever written to her in such glowing terms. If ever a man’s words held an invitation, the major’s did.

  And it wasn’t even his old Bostonian money that lured her, much as she wanted to save Fairview from the auction block. No! She really felt something for the man. In middle age—wonder of wonders—she was experiencing the euphoria of a first-time bride. Her marriage to Charlotte’s father had been connived at by her aunt and uncle. Albert Buckland had been a good man; no one disputed that. She simply hadn’t loved him. In fact, she had fought her relations tooth and nail, trying to get out of that match. But she had been young then—vulnerable and malleable. She had disgraced herself back home in Maryland, so she’d been forced into a marriage not of her choosing.

  But Winston Krantz—here was another matter entirely. The man was refined, understanding, attractive in his own way, and he had money. What more could a widow ask?

  “You’ve lost your mind, ’Mima Lewis!” Granny Fate ranted.

  “The name is Buckland, if you please! And I know exactly what I’m doing! Winnie does everything but get down on one knee in this letter.” She waved the fervid missive under the old woman’s nose. “By the time he receives my reply and has had a few days to think about it, he’ll have a parson in tow when he meets me at the train. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life!”

  The two women were in Fairview’s front parlor, surrounded by half-packed trunks and valises. Fatima Buckland couldn’t say she hated to see her daughter-in-law go—it was simply a matter of not relishing the thought of any woman acting like a fool by throwing herself at a man. What would ’Mima do if she got out there and found she’d misread his letter and his intentions? The whole idea didn’t make a thimbleful of sense!

  “What about Charlotte?” demanded Granny Fate. “Have you given any thought to her feelings?”

  Jemima turned a hard look on the older woman. “Did either of you give any thought to my feelings or Winston’s when you helped her run off in the middle of the night on the very eve of her wedding? No, quite frankly, I haven’t bothered to consider her. I don’t feel any obligation to do so. Besides, Winston’s letter proves that he was clearly interested in me before I offered him Charlotte as his bride. If only he’d been more vocal at the time, he and I might be married already.”

  “So your plan is to pack up and go traipsing off—just like that?” Granny Fate snapped her golden-ringed fingers.

  Jemima snapped hers right back. “Just like that!”

  “You’re acting crazy, ’Mima!” Granny Fate knew her words were falling on deaf ears, but she had to try. Her Albert would want it.

  Before Jemima could answer, the knocker at the front door banged loudly.

  “Who on earth could that be?” Jemima said

  She hurried to the door and opened it to find a messenger. “Special mail for you, ma’am. All the way from Leavenworth, Kansas.”

  Jemima snatched the letter and shut the door, dismissing the courier without so much as the offer of a cup of tea. She stared at it, almost afraid to open the envelope when she recognized Winston Krantz’s handwriting. Would it be a proposal or a rejection?

  “Who was it, ’Mima?” Granny Fate asked

  “A messenger,” she answered distractedly. “He’s brought a letter from Winnie.”

  “Well, land’s sake, girl, open it up!”

  Jemima tore into it, feeling her heart race as she scanned the page, then read it aloud to Granny Fate.

  Fort Leavenworth

  November 12, 1870

  My dear Jemima,

  I have good news and bad. First, Charlotte has been located. She has been staying with a band of Gypsies all this time. Please do not be alarmed by this news. Although she was apparently kidnapped by them some time ago, they seem to have treated her well. However, she has been injured in a recent riding accident. The bad news is that she is not recovering as speedily as she should. The
post surgeon feels that her main problem may be of the mind rather than the body.

  Prince Mateo, the Gypsy who has taken over her care, asked me to write to you, pleading that you and Fatima make the trip out here as soon as you can arrange it. The post surgeon agrees that having family members close at hand may well speed Charlotte’s recovery. Please come, Jemima! Charlotte, for all her faults as a daughter, needs her mother now.

  And, my dearest Jemima, I need you, too. I received your heart-warming letter just this morning. I cannot begin to tell you what your words meant to me. Even before hearing from you, I spoke with Charlotte on the subject (the very day of her accident, in fact). Although she could never accept me as her husband, she agreed wholeheartedly to having me as a stepfather. She has given our marriage her blessing, my dear. Nothing stands in our way now except the miles that separate us. Hurry, dear lady, and fill this empty life with your sweet warmth!

  I have taken the liberty of enclosing a bank draft for the amount of two train tickets and expenses. I will be looking forward to your arrival, my dear. Please hurry!

  Ever your loving and obedient servant,

  Winston Krantz

  Jemima Buckland stood very still, clutching the letter to her heart. This was almost too good to be true. Although she would never have let Granny Fate know it, she hadn’t been entirely sure that Winnie would accept her. Now that worry was erased from her mind. She would be his bride!

  And as much as she had ranted and raved against Charlotte and her obstinate behavior, deep down she had been worried about her daughter. She was relieved to know where Charlotte was at last. As for her injuries, Jemima felt confident from the tone of Winston’s letter that Charlotte would recover fully. She needed her mother, that was all.

  Jemima was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the sparkle in Granny Fate’s dark eyes or the secretive smile on her face. “Gypsies!” the woman muttered to herself.