Part 11 (1/2)
”Happy? I am submerged in the depths of despair and still sinking, my lord, but to serve you, I will not complain. Oh, and my name is now Papin, my lord, for the duration of my incognito, um, incognito-ness. It means gray-haired lady.”
”How very wonderful for you. But if we are to be players in this, Papin, I am no longer my lord, or even sir. For the nonce, you must address me as Justin.”
Wigglesworth staggered where he stood. ”But I couldn't!”
”You'd rather find a new employer once I am caught out and hanged? You'll not find another as lenient as me so easily.”
Wigglesworth stood there, silent, before saying, ”Just-Justin would not be good, my lord. Someone might still suspect. Better you take a Gypsy, er, Romany name. I will go ask the old lady who gave me my name, and-”
”Justin!”
All thoughts of his name, or Wigglesworth and his skirts-not to mention his chicken breast-fled as Justin turned to watch Alina running toward him across the field.
She was clad in a costume much like Wigglesworth's: a blouse, a scarf tied about her waist, a full skirt to her ankles. But that was where all similarity ended.
Her unbound hair trailed out behind her as she ran, her bright red skirt held up and showing glimpses of several lace-edged white petticoats. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s strained against the ruffled neckline of her blouse, and the bright green scarf turned her waist into an incredibly small span, one he could easily encircle with his hands.
He took two steps toward her, ready to open his arms and catch her as she flung herself against him. He would lift her high off the ground, twirl her about and then draw her slowly down his body until he could kiss her smiling mouth.
Except that, still a good ten yards away, she suddenly stopped running, even as his imagination continued traveling down a path he knew he should not tread. He could see her composing herself before she began to walk toward him again.
Had she remembered that she should be angry with him? Even as he had brought himself back to the knowledge that he had no right to her affection?
”You're safe,” she said at last. ”Not...not that I was worried.”
”Good. The last thing I would care to do, Alina, would be to cause you worry. You look...well. There was no trouble making the exchange? Are the accommodations suitable?”
”The accommodations are marvelous,” she told him, finally smiling again. ”I have always wanted to ride in a vardo, but I wasn't allowed, of course. To think I had to travel all the way to England to finally get my wish. Luka will want to know that you're here. He's asleep in the last vardo, back that way. It's probably too soon for him to be attempting to take command. He's feverish again. Tatiana and I were putting cool wet cloths on his head when someone told me you had arrived.”
”Then perhaps it's as well that I'm here, although you have to have realized that I am here because I failed. Your nemesis is still breathing.”
”Yes, but so are you,” Alina pointed out, as if that balanced the scales. ”Does this mean we will not be traveling to your friends at Basingstoke?”
He chose his words carefully. ”No, nothing has changed there. I want to keep heading north, until you're safe at Malvern. I made more than one plan, and the second may work where the first failed. Alina-”
”Magdalena,” she corrected, pulling out her skirt and slowly turning in a full circle in front of him, pausing with her back to him to look over her shoulder at him in a way that pierced his heart. ”I am Magdalena, a simple Romany girl and no longer my lady. We've been practicing all afternoon, Tatiana and Danica and I, so that we are never caught in a mistake.”
”Yes, Wigglesworth-that is, Papin-told me. He tells me the name means gray-haired lady. But by the look on that fellow's face over there, the one eavesdropping on us even now, I'm not convinced that's correct.”
Alina lowered her head, her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng. ”Poor Wigglesworth. No, Papin does not mean grayhaired lady. I was told it means goose.” She looked up at Justin again. ”But Luka would not allow any of the other names they wanted to give the poor fellow. I think some of the suggestions were rather...naughty.”
”I'll remember that when Wigglesworth comes to me with my name for the duration.”
”You can simply ask Luka. He speaks Romani.” She then looked past him and waved to Brutus, apologizing for not greeting him at once.
Justin knew he could dredge his mind for days and not come up with the name of another woman who had even taken the time to say h.e.l.lo to Brutus. Or worry herself about Wigglesworth, for that matter. Add to that the fact that, rather than hiding in her caravan, terrified, she seemed to be enjoying herself mightily.
”This is an adventure for you, isn't it, kitten?” he asked her as they walked between the rows of caravans on their way to see Luka.
”My father often told me that all of life should be an adventure. Yes, I am enjoying myself, except for the times I remember that Inhaber Novak wants to see me dead in order to steal lands from these wonderful people. You never saw him today?”
”I saw him,” Justin answered shortly. ”I will see him again. You're not to worry about the man.”
”I worried more that I wouldn't see you again. I know what you said. That I should forget what happened ever happened. That you think I was only...curious. But how can that be, Justin? Something did happen. How can something have changed nothing?”
Justin stopped walking and turned her to him, his hands on her upper arms. ”Nothing has changed, kitten. My plans have only been delayed.”
Her eyes searched his as if looking for answers to questions she wasn't sure she dared ask, but could not resist asking. ”You left this morning without a word of goodbye. Was...was that easy for you? Because it wasn't easy for me.”
”Christ...” Justin took her hand in his, and they continued walking toward the last caravan. She held on tight, trusting him. Him! n.o.body should ever trust him, let alone an innocent young woman like Alina. ”I knew last night was a mistake. I knew it, and yet I allowed myself to...” He squeezed her hand. ”You're young, vulnerable. And I'm a very bad man.”
”The Bad Baron. Yes, Charlotte told me some call you that.”
”I've been called worse by those who know me best. Listen closely, Alina. You don't care about me. You don't know me. What happened...what very nearly happened last night would have been the same with any man who knew only the half of what I know. You were curious, any fool could have seen that, and I was available. I didn't rouse your heart, kitten. I awakened your body. That's all it was. That's all it could ever be for us, for reasons I've already explained. Someday, someday soon, you'll travel to London with Tanner and Lydia, and you'll meet a man worthy of you. In a year, you won't even remember me.”
”Don't say that!” she commanded, cutting him off. ”How dare you presume to tell me what I think, what I feel? How dare you!” And then she turned on her heel and ran from him, her glorious black hair lifting in the breeze the way it had a lifetime ago, when his heart had swelled as she'd run toward him.
ALINA REMAINED IN HER caravan for several hours, until dinner was over and the children had all been gathered up and tucked into their beds. Only then did she venture out into the center of the camp, on the hunt for Stefan, the young Romany who had driven their caravan that afternoon.
Stefan was very pretty. Even Danica, who never unbent enough to indulge in casual conversation, had remarked that Stefan could snap his fingers at any silly female and have her come running to him.
Stefan didn't walk. He swaggered. His coal-dark hair was long, and he tossed it often, rather like a girl. His eyes were as blue as a summer sky, and ringed with long, curling lashes that rightfully belonged on a girl. His teeth were so white, they gleamed. He wore his full, blousy s.h.i.+rt open to the waist and tucked into tight-fitting leather breeches that ended just below his knees. Below his knees, his strong calves positively bulged with muscle.
He wore his face shaved smooth, but had a considerable amount of dark, curling hair on his remarkably muscled chest.
He sang like an angel, and had done so most of the afternoon, often turning about to peer inside the caravan to be sure his three female pa.s.sengers were listening appreciatively.
Alina thought he was probably the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. And the most immensely silly.
But he'd do.
Carefully avoiding Luka's caravan, as she'd waited until Justin had entered it again a quarter hour earlier, she flung her black wool shawl up and over her head so that it settled low across her shoulders, and then began strolling along the clearing, past the eight campfires that illuminated the area.
She smiled to the women sitting on the steps of their caravans, knitting, mending, some turning cards over on small tables and nodding at what they saw. A young mother nursed her infant, a corner of her shawl covering her breast.
The men, those who had not disappeared into the trees to set up a perimeter guard, smoked long pipes as they rested their feet on the stones around the campfires, talking and laughing amongst themselves, one of them daring to whistle as Wigglesworth pranced by on his way back from the nearby stream carrying a shallow copper basin and some toweling, his expression a study of injured dignity.
Brutus appeared from between two of the caravans just as Alina approached, and the whistling and laughing abruptly stopped. The large man had that effect on people.
”They mean no harm to him, Brutus,” Alina told him, and the man nodded his agreement, and then shrugged.
”And you'll see to it that they do no harm,” she said, smiling. ”It must be very gratifying to be able to command so much respect merely by being you. That's called consequence, Brutus. You were blessed with consequence. Why, I believe there have been princes and kings who have not commanded a room the way you do, simply by entering it.”
Brutus seemed to chew on this thought for a few moments, and then nodded his thanks. Or she supposed so, anyway.
”Was there anyone else at the stream when you were there, Brutus?” she asked, having walked the entire camp and seen no sign of Stefan.
The big man nodded, and then pointed toward Alina's a.s.signed caravan before seeming to mime a person holding reins, driving a team of oxen.
”Ah, Stefan. Stefan is at the stream. Thank you, Brutus, that's just who I was looking for.”