Gypsy Moon
Page 30
Her free hand lashed out and slapped him sharply across the face. “Don’t you ever handle me that way again! I am no man’s property. Not Mateo’s and not yours!”
Instead of shying away as he would have done in the past, Petronovich caught her in an even tighter grip and pulled her to him, forcing her head back until his lips were almost touching hers.
“No more, Phaedra! I’ve submitted to your will for the last time. If you go with me tonight, I am the one who says what we do and when we do it. And you will speak to me with respect from now on. Otherwise, I will take you to Mateo this minute and tell him that I caught you trying to sneak away. Let him deal with you as he will.”
Phaedra could see by the cold look in his eyes that he meant every word. She softened her tone.
“Please, Petronovich, you’re hurting me. I have a reason for wanting to wait. I know where the bag of gold is hidden—my brideprice. Don’t you think it only just that we should take it along? After all, it is my dowry.”
The cruel lines around Petronovich’s mouth turned to a smile; then he was laughing out loud. “You are a scheming witch, my love! Yes, we shall have your brideprice to finance our escape. And while we await the rise of the moon…”
He captured her lips and let his free hand glide up her naked body to her breasts. He crushed the tender flesh with his palm and Phaedra quivered against him. She had feared that she might never again feel a man’s hands upon her. As much as she had wanted to be queen, she wanted this more. She welcomed his bruising caresses in a frenzy of wanton passion.
“Yes,” she breathed into his open mouth. “Oh, yes, Petronovich! Until the full moon rises…”
Mateo was still standing alone, talking softly to Velacore, as Charlotte approached. She caught a few words.
“You miss her as much as I do, don’t you, old boy? Well, I am sorry for you. You gave her only your honest affection. There is no reason why you should be deprived of her company. Even my stallions must suffer because of me.”
Charlotte started to say that no one—neither man nor horse—need suffer from wanting her near. Then she remembered that Mateo hated anyone to eavesdrop when he talked to his stallions. So she stopped some paces away and waited for him to become aware of her presence.
He turned slowly, never taking his fondling hand from Velacore’s muzzle. When he spotted her, the old look of love lit his dark eyes for a moment. Then he composed himself and forced any trace of it from his countenance.
“You are looking fit,” he said without emotion.
“I have recovered… as much as I ever will.”
“The arm?”
“Dr. Feldston advised me to wear the sling for a few more days. But the pain is gone. He says I will ride again.”
“I’m sure you will. You are a fine equestrienne.”
There was a certain charged force darting between them. Charlotte could feel it as surely as she had ever felt Mateo’s lips upon her own. Why were they speaking this way? Were they strangers now? Did her injured arm or her riding expertise matter? So many more important things needed to be said.
“Mateo?” The way she said his name told him that she was about to ask questions he didn’t want to answer.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I have to go find Phaedra now.”
He started away, but she caught his sleeve.
“Mateo, don’t do this to us.”
“To us, Charlotte?” His black eyes bored into her, and something deep inside her shivered with a mixture of love and dread. “There is no us. I am going to marry Phaedra.”
“You don’t love her,” Charlotte said matter-of-factly, trying to keep her voice from trembling.
“And you, Charlotte?” His voice was harsh. “Do you love your gajo major?”
His question took her totally by surprise. She couldn’t find the words to answer him for a moment.
“So. It is as I thought. Good-bye, Charlotte Buckland. Live long and be happy!”
Mateo strode away from her before she could deny his startling allegation. He left her feeling emptier than she had felt before. Charlotte cursed herself a thousand times over. Why hadn’t she just told him she loved him and needed him and would never be happy with anyone else? Why hadn’t she confronted him with his mother’s information about her ability to break the curse? Why? Why? Why?
She had wasted her last chance. Now there was nothing left to do but follow through with her earlier plan.
The sound of approaching horses caught her attention. Shouts of welcome rang out from the Gypsies. She looked toward the trail and saw Winston Krantz driving a buggy into the clearing. Two women rode on the seat beside him—one as fair as Charlotte herself, the other as dark as a Gypsy.
Granny Fate is a Gypsy! Charlotte thought suddenly, startled at the realization. Fatima Lee Buckland had given her granddaughter the Romany fire that ran in her veins. In that instant, Charlotte loved the old woman more than ever before. But why had her grandmother never told her? She ran to meet them.
“Charlotte, my dear girl!” her mother cried.
Jemima Buckland looked like a bride; there was no disputing that. Her face shone with a youthful glow that her daughter had never seen before. Her mother’s blue eyes sparkled, reflecting the sapphire color of her gown. And something else sparkled almost as brightly—a diamond ring on her finger. Winnie certainly hadn’t wasted any time!
Charlotte embraced her mother and assured her that she was recovering nicely. Then she turned to the other woman, who was standing back to allow mother and daughter their reunion.
Fatima Buckland’s eyes were as wide as a child’s as she took in the whole setting at a glance. She, too, looked younger than her years. Charlotte was relieved to see that the long trip had not been too hard on her.
“Granny Fate,” Charlotte whispered, feeling tears tighten her throat. “Oh, I never thought I’d see you again.”
The old woman closed her arms around her beloved granddaughter. “Do not talk foolishness, child! Would I have left this world without finding you again? Never!” She drew away and smiled into Charlotte’s eyes. “Where is this Gypsy prince of yours? I want to meet him. Now! We need to discuss brideprice and how many sons he will give you.”
Charlotte’s smile faded. She glanced about the clearing, but Mateo was nowhere to be seen.
“Granny Fate,” she began, about to break the sad news to the woman. But Queen Zolande came on the scene just then and interrupted.
Her eyes widened at the sight of Fatima Buckland. So, here was the missing link—the final puzzle piece fitted into place! It had been many years ago and half a world away, but Queen Zolande would have recognized Charlotte’s grandmother anywhere. There was the same laughter lurking deep in her dark eyes, the same smile, the same noble beauty she had admired in a lovely Gypsy bride over fifty years ago. At last she knew Charlotte Buckland’s heritage. She was, indeed, the golden Gypsy! The old queen could have wept for joy. Instead, she went to Fatima and embraced her.
“So this is the pretty young bride I saw wed to her handsome Rom Slome so very long ago. Fatima, do you remember me? I was the child who came to you for your bride’s blessing. You took a stem of lupine from your bouquet and gave it to me. I have treasured the memory all these years.”
Granny Fate’s lips parted in surprise and moisture gathered in her warm black eyes. “Little Zolande? Can it be?”
“Queen Zolande now,” Winston Krantz pointed out, but neither woman heard him as they clung to each other, weeping with happiness.
“Come to my tent, Fatima. You and I have much to discuss.”
“As soon as I meet my granddaughter’s prince.”
“Now!” Zolande tugged at Fatima’s arm and whispered for her ear alone, “My son, Prince Mateo, is to be the main subject of our discussion.”
The two women hurried away, arm in arm, leaving Charlotte with her mother and Winston Krantz.
“Have you set a dat
e yet. Mother?”
Winston answered for Jemima. “We thought this very Sunday. The chaplain will marry us at his sunrise service, and immediately afterward we’ll leave by stage from Leavenworth on our honeymoon. Of course, we hope you will be there, Charlotte.”
Charlotte would not, but she couldn’t tell them that. Instead, she answered, “You know I want to see the two of you married, Winnie. I’m very happy for you.” She offered the major a coy smile. “But you aren’t going to insist that I call you ‘Daddy,’ are you?”
He bellowed with laughter and hugged her.
“Now, Winnie,” Jemima cautioned, “let’s not get carried away. What will people think?”
He pulled his fiancée into his arms. “They’ll think I’m the luckiest so-and-so on the face of the earth, with two beautiful ladies all my own.”
The three of them laughed together. Yes, Winston Krantz was exactly right for her mother. They would be very happy together. The thought relieved Charlotte.
After showing them to their seats of honor and seeing that they had wine and food, Charlotte left them watching the Gypsy dancers and slipped away to the brides’ tent. Very soon now she would be leaving. But first she must see her grandmother and bid her farewell.
Fatima Lee Buckland’s heart filled with an excitement she hadn’t felt in years. For so long she had kept her Gypsy heritage a secret. Afraid of the same sort of persecution in America that had driven them from Spain and then from England, she and Slome had never told a soul in their new land that they were Gypsies.
To think of it! This queen had witnessed her marriage to Slome. That had happened a lifetime ago… a world away. And now here they were, two old Gypsy women, sitting in a tent, sipping strong tea, and exchanging memories while violins sang their mournful tales just outside. She could hardly believe it wasn’t a dream.
“So tell me, Fatima, how has life been for you?” asked the queen.
“Too short, too sad at times, but Fate has not cheated me, Zolande. I had a good man in my Slome. He gave me a fine son and a granddaughter who means the world to me.”
“Yes, your Charlotte is a lovely woman. But more than that!” Zolande leaned close and whispered, “She is more valuable than gold to my Mateo.”
“Ah, he loves her that much. That is good to know.”
Zolande reached for Fatima’s hand and gave it an excited squeeze. “She may bring my Mateo more than love. If my suspicions are correct, she may also bring him peace at last by taking away the curse of moon madness.”
“Valencia’s curse?”
“You know of it, Fatima?”
“What Gypsy does not know that terrible tale? I heard it first at my mother’s knee, long ago in a cave in Spain. But what does this have to do with Charlotte?”
Before Zolande could answer, a sudden light gleamed in Fatima’s eyes. “Mateo—son of Strombol, grandson of Lassim, and descended from Croate, the child born of the unholy union between Kava and Xendar? Your Mateo, Zolande?”
The queen nodded. “You know our history well, Fatima. So you must also know that Valencia tempered her curse by promising that someday a golden Gypsy would come.”
“Yes, but…” Fatima stopped in midsentence. Her mouth opened, and her eyes went wide. “You mean my Charlotte? She is this golden Gypsy?”
Zolande smiled. “She is! My son has suffered long. But now, because of Charlotte’s love for him, the curse has left him.”
“But this is too wonderful!”
The old queen shook her head sadly. “There is a grave problem.”
“Nothing that two old dukkerers like us cannot solve, Zolande. Tell me!”
“Mateo no longer suffers his moon madness, but another kind of insanity has seized him. He loves your Charlotte as she loves him. Yet he has forced upon me the brideprice to purchase another wife. If he goes through with his foolish plans, the curse will return and plague him forevermore.”
“And Charlotte will live out an empty, loveless life,” Fatima said. “We women of the Buckland clan love fiercely, but only once.”
Zolande nodded and reached for Mateo’s leather pouch. She poured out a mound of gleaming coins on the table. Fatima stared, amazed.
“No! On the breast of the Handmaiden, so much gold for another! How could he do such a thing?”
“I have no notion as to what is in his mind. He despises the woman he plans to marry. In fact, he has told us all that he will never bed her. She is…” Zolande paused and looked up at Fatima, her eyes narrowing. “I will put it delicately. She is a lusty woman. She wants no part of Mateo and his plans for their celibate union.”
“And who can blame her? A woman has needs!”
“I feel something in the air tonight, Fatima, Perhaps it is the full moon coming on. It has always been a dreadful time for my people. Whatever it is, there is evil abroad. You and I must act quickly, if there is to be any hope of saving my Mateo and your Charlotte.”
“What can we do, Zolande?”
“I have summoned Mateo. He will be here any moment. He must tell me the truth of this situation! And you must speak with Charlotte. I know she loves my son, but he has rejected her. That is not easy for a woman to accept, especially when there is another woman involved. And, too, something is brewing in Charlotte’s head. I sensed it earlier when I spoke with her. You must convince her not to do anything rash until I can bring Mateo back to his senses.”
“I am on my way to her already, Zolande. May Sara-la-Kali give us both the strength and wisdom to bring these lovers together again.”
“As a token of my confidence in our combined abilities, Fatima, take the brideprice. It is meant for your Charlotte’s purchase.”
Fatima quickly scooped the coins into her own bag, leaving Mateo’s pouch empty.
“You are very wise, Zolande. The holy Handmaiden will look kindly on your gesture and give us her fullest blessing now.”
“Let us pray so!”
Fatima paused at the tent flap and flashed her friend a wily smile. “It has been some time since I saw a real Gypsy wedding. I do not intend to fail in this mission!”
“Nor do I,” the queen assured her.
Once alone, Zolande sat staring at the table for a long time, her mind working over what she would say to Mateo. He would arrive soon, she was sure. Suddenly she noticed the empty pouch. She could not let her son see it; he would question her about the gold.
She started to put it away, then stopped. What if he asked to see if the gold was safe? She could not show him an empty sack.
Stooping to the dark earth beneath her feet, she gathered up enough stones to fill the bag. Then, smiling at her cleverness, she tucked it away behind her chest where the gold had been hidden for safekeeping.
She was just taking her seat again when Mateo entered.
“You wished to see me, my queen?”
“No, Mateo. Not your queen. Your mother would have a word with you.”
He stood before her—tall, strong, and handsome. How could such a perfect man act such a perfect fool? She wondered.
“If this is about Charlotte, I don’t want to hear it.”
She rose from her chair, glaring at him. “You will hear it. Sit!”
Mateo did as she ordered but slumped in the chair, sprawling his long legs out before him with a weary sigh.
His mother was not about to be discouraged by his reluctance to discuss the matter. “Mateo, you are a fool!”
“I know. Mother. You’ve told me that before.”
She went to the tent flap and threw it open. “Look out there and tell me what you see.”
He leaned slightly forward and gave the campsite a cursory glance. “I see Gypsies dancing, children playing, the forest beyond. What is it you want me to see?”
“The full moon, Mateo! It is high in the trees, shining brightly, and look at you! You are the same as you were today, yesterday, or the day before that. The curse is gone!”
“But you refuse to believe that Charlotte Buckland is the golden Gypsy… the one who has saved you with her love?”
Mateo sat up straight in the chair and stared down at his hands, clenched in his lap. When at last he looked up, there was much pain in his face. He reached out and took his mother’s hands in his.
“I do believe it. I do love her,” he said quietly. “I ache with wanting her every time I see her.”
“Then why are you telling me? Why are you not on your way to her this minute to tell her?”
He smiled in spite of his anguish, thinking how Solange had once spoken almost the same words to him. Then the smile faded. “Mother, I made a promise that now keeps me from her.”
Zolande huffed angrily. “Your promise to marry Phaedra means nothing, Mateo!”
“Not to Phaedra, to someone else.”
“Who on earth?”
“No one on earth, Mother. In ravnos. When Charlotte was so ill, I promised Sara-la-Kali that if she would spare the woman I loved, I would give her up. It came to me after much prayer and soul-searching that I must give up what was most precious to me. Charlotte is almost well now. But my promise, which saved her, now keeps me from her.”
Queen Zolande slumped back in her chair. Mateo’s confession left her breathless; her head was spinning. Of all the things she’d imagined might have happened, this had never entered her mind. But there had to be a way around it.
She leaned forward and smiled at her son. “Well, it seems we do have a problem, Mateo,” she said gently. “Whatever are we going to do? You see, I made a promise to the good saint, also. When we thought the Golden One might die, I promised Sara-la-Kali that if she were saved, I would see that the two of you were wed. And since I have known the Handmaiden a good many more years than you have, I think my promise means more to her than yours. We can’t both abide by what we told her. So, I feel sure that she will forgive you for breaking your vow.”
A slow smile kindled in Mateo’s eyes; soon, the spark turned to flame. He leaped out of his chair and caught his mother in a bearlike hug.