The Heather Moon (19 page)

William lifted a brow. "She doesna want you to talk to me."

"She says I shouldna stand so close to you, or speak so privately with you. Nor should I touch you. 'Tisna proper, unless we are courting." Nona spoke again, shaking a knobby finger. William looked at Tamsin.

"I mustna speak to you again, except to translate, unless you go to my grandfather and ask for permission to court me. She says..." Tamsin drew a breath and looked away, while Nona mumbled on in an insistent tone.

"I think those reivers out there are less a threat to me than yon granddame," he said lightly. "What does she say?"

Tamsin peered through the slitted door flap. "She says no Romany man will ever want me for a wife if I act so improperly. She says no Scotsman will have me either. Not only am I bad luck, but I am poorly behaved." Nona spoke again. William looked at Tamsin expectantly.

"I heard my name, lass. I think I should know what was said of me."

"She says not even you, William Scott, would wed me, for all you need a wife; she saw that in your hand." She lifted her chin defiantly. "There. You wanted to know."

"Pray pardon, lass," he murmured. "I've brought this trouble upon you. Tell your grandmother I am to blame."

"'Tis I who must apologize. My grandparents follow Romany traditions, and there are strict rules for women. I dinna keep to those customs very well, and my grandmother sometimes gets impatient with me. She seems to like you, though, for she has allowed us to talk. I shouldna speak to you at all, except when she bids me."

"Ah," he drawled. "You are a rebellious lass, I see."

Standing in the dark beside her, he saw a small movement through the doorflap. She tucked her left hand, swathed in silk, behind her. He realized that she hid her hand as often as she could. He wondered what was wrong with it; some childhood injury, he thought, for she had admitted that the hand was weak. But she did not allow it to be seen. Scarring, perhaps, he thought. He could not imagine why she would be ashamed of it.

Nona came forward, shouldering between William and Tamsin. She draped a dark, soft cloth over Tamsin's hair, wrapping and tying it. Then she took her arm, murmured a few words, and tugged her down the steps.

William peered out at the firelit clearing, watching while Tamsin and Nona joined John Faw. John spoke to Arthur Musgrave and his companion, then walked away.

Arthur pointed around the camp, clearly questioning Tamsin about any reivers who might have come to the camp. She shook her head repeatedly.

Casually, William stepped down the wagon steps and strolled around the clearing. He kept his hat pulled low, and the striped cloak provided good cover. He nodded to some of the Romany as he passed. A few glared at him, but John Faw nodded, willing to play the ruse for the sake of peace in the camp.

William made his way toward the trees, where Tamsin and Nona stood with the Englishmen. He leaned a shoulder against the slender trunk of a birch tree not far from them, and watched the dancing, which now resumed. He angled his head slightly beneath the guise of the old dark hat, and directed his attention to the conversation behind him.

* * *

"They can deny it till Judgment Day, but one of these gypsies must have seen them," Ned Forster said. He was wide and heavy-set, and no taller than Tamsin. "I could swear I saw a gypsy riding with one of them—was it you, girl?"

"Not I,
rya,"
Tamsin said smoothly. She kept her voice calm with effort. "I have been here at my cousin's wedding. If reivers rode through this camp, we would have seen them."

"I know you!" Arthur Musgrave peered at her. "Armstrong's gypsy daughter! Why are you here? What evil scheme is this?"

"No scheme," Tamsin answered stiffly. She could not look at Arthur just then, remembering the choking feel of the rope around her throat. But she drew a deep breath and forced herself to lift her head proudly. "I came here to talk to the Romany, as your father suggested."

"He told Archie to do that, and Archie whined he needed your help. I told my father we ought to gather our own help, and not rely on Border thieves and tawnies. So where, then, are Armstrong and Rookhope? William Scott was to keep you in his custody. Where the devil is he?"

"Those were Scotts we chased this even," Ned said. "Could one of them have been Scott of Rookhope?"

"If 'twas, my father will be furious at his betrayal," Arthur answered.

From the corner of her eye, Tamsin saw William Scott saunter toward them, his identity shielded by her grandfather's cloak and hat. She nearly caught her breath in alarm when she saw his pale bare feet—surely those feet would give him away as a nongypsy. But the two men with her did not seem to notice him.

She watched with a sense of relief as William leaned against a birch, hidden by shadows and the wide sweep of his cloak and hat.

She exchanged a glance with her grandmother, who stood beside her, now holding a fat, blazing tallow candle so that Tamsin would have light for the palm reading. Tamsin looked at Arthur, who had asked to have a Romany woman tell his fortune.

"If you want me to see your future, I must hold a piece of silver that you have held in your own hand. Then I will be able to see your fortune clearly."

"Do not think to fool me, for I can see your fortune clear too," Arthur said in an ominous tone. "You'll be hanged."

She kept her eyes lowered though anger simmered in her. "You asked to have your fortune told, and my grandfather summoned me to do it. Do you want me to continue?"

"Aye," he grumbled, and took a coin from his belt pouch.

She accepted it in her right palm. The silk scarf was securely wrapped around her left hand, leaving only her thumb exposed. She knew from experience that no one wanted to see her strangely shaped left hand, let alone be touched by it.

Nona watched them with hawklike intensity as she held the candle. Tamsin knew that her grandmother was also there to act as a guardian in case the men tried to act rudely toward her. Except for purposes of palmistry and healing, Romany women were permitted little contact with men who were not kin, husband, or betrothed. Young women were closely watched by their elders.

Tamsin had overstepped the boundaries of conduct with William Scott, but Nona had been lenient in her supervision. Tamsin suspected, since Nona found William charming and beautiful, he was allowed more privilege than was customary.

Arthur and Ned, on the other hand, had not earned Nona's approval and were subjected to her unrelenting and suspicious glare. The men edged away from her, but the old woman stayed put, her candlelight and her guardianship a necessary part of the circle they formed.

Tamsin was keenly aware that William now sat beneath the tree, probably able to hear most of what was said among them.

She had to keep herself from constantly glancing his way, afraid she would call attention to him.

She took Arthur's hand, cradling it in her silk-swathed left hand. Holding the coin in her fingers, she traced its silver edge over the lines in his palm, peering carefully, tilting his hand to see it in the yellow light of the bonfire, and in the brighter glow of the candle flame.

"Who is that man?" Ned Forster asked, pointing through the trees toward William. "Why does he sit near to us like that, instead of dancing and singing with the rest?"

"He is... my husband," Tamsin said impulsively, hoping to give his close presence a reason that the men would not question. Once the words were out, she almost winced at what she had said, for that was far too close to a truth she meant never to reveal.

She saw William tip his head beneath the old hat as he listened. "He willna disturb us," she added in haste, to discourage him approaching.

"I thought you were unmarried," Arthur said, frowning.

"If I have a gypsy husband, you would have no reason to know about it," she said.

"Aye, she has a husband who's eager for his woman to earn some silver." Forster laughed. "He sits there to make sure she gets her silver, hey. These Egyptian people are lazy and shiftless. Look at them dancing and singing—the men never do work, but make baskets and play music. The women do the chores, earn the money, and even steal the food, while the men sit idle."

"If you could sit around idle, you would," Arthur said. "Now be quiet and let the chit tell my future."

"Foolishness," Ned grunted. "Worthless heathens, they are."

"I am a baptized Christian, as are many of the Romany," Tamsin snapped.

"Our King Henry banished all of 'em from England," Ned said. "But then the gypsies came into Scotland. Back and forth over the border, from one country to the next, each time a law is passed banning their existence, like vermin chased out of the kitchen and scuttling back in again by another hole."

Tamsin nearly dropped Arthur's hand as she glared up at Ned Forster. "Scotland's kings have shown the Romany royal favor," she said in angry defense. "King James himself visited my grandfather, when the king made his progresses in commoner's disguise through the countryside. The king himself gave my grandfather a note of safe passage and letters of favor."

"Think you I believe that?" Ned asked. "The gypsies are full of easy lies."

"I will show you that note if you dinna believe me! King James summoned gypsies to entertain at his court, and he sometimes sent for a gypsy man to nurse his horses through illness and injury. We had the respect of Scotland's king, and we are allowed the freedom to wander this country so long as we are peaceful."

"No more, now that King James is gone," Arthur said.

"So long as the gypsies are on this side of the Border, you are Scotland's trouble," Ned said. "The Scots have bigger concerns than gypsy wanderers, with an infant for a queen and no true ruler. None of you have been deported, as you should be."

"Rya,"
she said, making an effort to stay calm against their infuriating prejudice, "dinna try to tell me where I should be. You happen to be an Englishman in Scotland after midnight. You commit March treason just standing here on Scottish soil!"

"Hah, what does a gypsy girl know of March treason!" Ned elbowed Arthur and laughed harshly.

"My father is an Armstrong," she said.

"Aye. She's but half a gypsy, this one," Arthur said.

"Huh. Armstrong scoundrels! You'll get but half the worth of your coin from her, then," Ned muttered. "If that."

"Be quiet," Arthur said. "I want my future told."

Ned grunted and leaned against the tree trunk. Tamsin tilted Arthur's hand toward the light and examined the pattern of lines and crisscrossings in the man's broad palm, using the edge of the coin rather than her fingertip.

"Ah," she said after a few moments. "Long life is here. And good health. But you must be careful of your stomach." She touched the edge of the coin to a crease. "This line shows a weak stomach. You must stay away from wines and rich foods."

Ned sniggered. "Aye, Arthur, stay away from French wines. Too dear in cost. Drink good English ale, eh?"

Arthur rubbed his slightly plump belly. "I do get pains when I eat rich food."

"And you had a serious head wound as a lad," Tamsin went on. She was certain of that, for her grandmother had taught her well. "This tiny island along this line, and the bar above it, tells of an injury to the head," Tamsin said. "You were about fifteen years old, I think. You lay ill for a long while."

"That is amazing," Arthur said. "Ned, remember when I was thrown from a horse as a lad and stayed in my bed for weeks?" He leaned forward eagerly. "You've earned some of your silver. Now tell my future."

Tamsin considered the minor grooves etched along one major line. "I see... a marriage for you, and many sons."

"Ah," Arthur said, pleased. "With Anna, my betrothed."

She hesitated. She tended to be honest when she looked at a life in a palm, or when she spread out the picture cards, unless she saw a short life span, or tragedy.

The line of Arthur's heart was shallow and etched, showing Tamsin that he did not listen to his heart or his conscience often enough. She already knew that he was capable of meanness, and of not thinking for himself. His line of fate, running up the center of his palm, was broken and weak in places.

She frowned. A flaw in the fate line, just at the point she estimated as his current age, told her that he would endure a heartbreak soon. Farther along, the line strengthened, indicating another love within five years, which would lead to marriage and children.

Nona leaned forward and peered too. "He will lose a love," she muttered in Romany. "But look at that square. The one he will lose does not love him. There is another, later, who will love this ox, and turn him into a sheep, I think. That would be good for this one. Tell him."

Tamsin nodded. "If you are betrothed now," she said, "I see another love for you, a better love. You will marry well and live content, but not with the lady you choose now."

"What? I will marry Anna Forster! I already have her father's promise of her hand."

She shook her head. "Let that one go,
rya,"
she said kindly. "I see a better match for you later." She closed her eyes and felt a firm certainty. "That is what I see."