Read Online Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) by Barbara Cartland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Cartland
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consider what her reaction would be.
He just followed his impulse.
Then as his hands touched her, as he would have drawn her close against him—and had already bent his lips towards hers, she gave a little twist of her body.
She was free of him, and he saw incredulously that she held in her hand a long, shining dagger—a stiletto such as the Italians carried.
She held it firmly in her hand between her breasts, the sharp point directed at his chest.
Slowly the Marquis dropped his arms.
For a moment neither of them spoke, and then Saviya said:
“You are a Gorgio. You must not touch me. It is forbidden.”
“Why?”
“No Rom can associate with a Gorgio. If she does she is exiled from the tribe.”
“Do you really mean that?” the Marquis asked in genuine surprise. “Tell me about it, Saviya, and put away that dangerous weapon. I promise I will not touch you without your permission.”
She looked at him searchingly, as if not sure whether she should trust him. Then so swiftly that he hardly saw it happen, the stiletto disappeared into her bodice and she sat down on the window seat.
“I am very ignorant of your rules” the Marquis said, “so you must please forgive me if I offended you.”
He spoke beguilingly and a very much more experienced woman than Saviya would have found it hard to resist him.
“If you had been here with a ... lady of your own race,” she asked hesitatingly, “would you have ... kissed her?”
“I have a feeling,” the Marquis said, “that she would have been very disappointed if I had not attempted to do so.”
He smiled as he spoke, but Saviya’s face was serious.
“If she had been unmarried, would you not have felt obliged to ask her to be your ... wife?”
“If she were unmarried,” the Marquis answered, “it is most unlikely that we should be here together unchaperoned.”
“And had she been married?”
“Then in most cases the lady in question would have expected me to show my admiration for her charms.”
“If she had been a Gypsy, her husband would have beaten her for such behaviour,” Saviya said sternly, “and in France her head would have been shaved.”
“Shaved!” the Marquis ejaculated. “Is that really true?”
“It is a common punishment among Gypsies,” Saviya answered, “and for many months a woman who has aroused her husband’s jealousy becomes an object of shame in the eyes of the tribe.”
“Then Gypsy husbands beat their wives!” the Marquis said.
“There are worse punishments if they behave improperly,” Saviya told him. “But it does not happen often. Gypsy marriages are very happy and they last forever!”
“Even if they do not get on together?” the Marquis enquired.
“We are a happy people,” Saviya answered. “Family life is sacred and anyone who offends against the sanctity of their marriage deserves the punishment they receive.”
She spoke with some conviction, and the Marquis knew that what she was saying must be the truth. Nevertheless he was astonished.
“Who will you marry, Saviya?” he asked.
“I shall not know that until he approaches my father.”
“You have no choice?”
“In the Kalderash a marriage is always arranged between the fathers of the bride and bride-groom. A betrothed girl has no right either to visit or to talk to the man she will marry, even when other people are present.”
“Surely that is very strange?” the Marquis said.
“I think perhaps it is something we have inherited from our Indian ancestors,” Saviya replied. “Whatever the origin of the custom, a gold coin is placed on the girls neck and this marks her as Tomnimi— promised.”
“What happens,” the Marquis enquired, “if a Gypsy man or woman falls in love with a Gorgio?”
“In either case it brings exclusion and exile from the tribe,” Saviya said.
“For life?” the Marquis enquired.
“The woman or the man, is held in contempt, indeed hated, and no-one will speak to the offender. They are
He just followed his impulse.
Then as his hands touched her, as he would have drawn her close against him—and had already bent his lips towards hers, she gave a little twist of her body.
She was free of him, and he saw incredulously that she held in her hand a long, shining dagger—a stiletto such as the Italians carried.
She held it firmly in her hand between her breasts, the sharp point directed at his chest.
Slowly the Marquis dropped his arms.
For a moment neither of them spoke, and then Saviya said:
“You are a Gorgio. You must not touch me. It is forbidden.”
“Why?”
“No Rom can associate with a Gorgio. If she does she is exiled from the tribe.”
“Do you really mean that?” the Marquis asked in genuine surprise. “Tell me about it, Saviya, and put away that dangerous weapon. I promise I will not touch you without your permission.”
She looked at him searchingly, as if not sure whether she should trust him. Then so swiftly that he hardly saw it happen, the stiletto disappeared into her bodice and she sat down on the window seat.
“I am very ignorant of your rules” the Marquis said, “so you must please forgive me if I offended you.”
He spoke beguilingly and a very much more experienced woman than Saviya would have found it hard to resist him.
“If you had been here with a ... lady of your own race,” she asked hesitatingly, “would you have ... kissed her?”
“I have a feeling,” the Marquis said, “that she would have been very disappointed if I had not attempted to do so.”
He smiled as he spoke, but Saviya’s face was serious.
“If she had been unmarried, would you not have felt obliged to ask her to be your ... wife?”
“If she were unmarried,” the Marquis answered, “it is most unlikely that we should be here together unchaperoned.”
“And had she been married?”
“Then in most cases the lady in question would have expected me to show my admiration for her charms.”
“If she had been a Gypsy, her husband would have beaten her for such behaviour,” Saviya said sternly, “and in France her head would have been shaved.”
“Shaved!” the Marquis ejaculated. “Is that really true?”
“It is a common punishment among Gypsies,” Saviya answered, “and for many months a woman who has aroused her husband’s jealousy becomes an object of shame in the eyes of the tribe.”
“Then Gypsy husbands beat their wives!” the Marquis said.
“There are worse punishments if they behave improperly,” Saviya told him. “But it does not happen often. Gypsy marriages are very happy and they last forever!”
“Even if they do not get on together?” the Marquis enquired.
“We are a happy people,” Saviya answered. “Family life is sacred and anyone who offends against the sanctity of their marriage deserves the punishment they receive.”
She spoke with some conviction, and the Marquis knew that what she was saying must be the truth. Nevertheless he was astonished.
“Who will you marry, Saviya?” he asked.
“I shall not know that until he approaches my father.”
“You have no choice?”
“In the Kalderash a marriage is always arranged between the fathers of the bride and bride-groom. A betrothed girl has no right either to visit or to talk to the man she will marry, even when other people are present.”
“Surely that is very strange?” the Marquis said.
“I think perhaps it is something we have inherited from our Indian ancestors,” Saviya replied. “Whatever the origin of the custom, a gold coin is placed on the girls neck and this marks her as Tomnimi— promised.”
“What happens,” the Marquis enquired, “if a Gypsy man or woman falls in love with a Gorgio?”
“In either case it brings exclusion and exile from the tribe,” Saviya said.
“For life?” the Marquis enquired.
“The woman or the man, is held in contempt, indeed hated, and no-one will speak to the offender. They are
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