Read Online Gypsy Moon by Becky Lee Weyrich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Becky Lee Weyrich
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time comes for—’”
Charlotte drew herself up with all the dignity she could muster and cut off the words she didn’t want to hear.
“I won’t marry him, Mateo!”
“As Fate wills,” he answered softly.
She watched as he turned and strode away, her heart feeling unaccountably empty.
“Mateo is right, you know,” Tamara said, ushering Charlotte into her new quarters.
“Right about what?” Charlotte lashed out. “If you mean marrying Petronovich, you’re as dead wrong as he is!”
The shy Gypsy girl busied herself with the teapot and didn’t meet Charlotte’s fiery gaze. “No. I meant that Mateo is right about Fate. Our lives and fortunes are all dictated by what was written ages ago. We cannot change it. There is no reason to try.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Tamara. Think about it. I heard what Queen Zolande said about you and Petronovich. You were destined to be his bride. If that’s so, I have no place with him. And I certainly have no desire to be his wife!”
Tamara’s gentle sable eyes grew moist. She smiled at Charlotte and shook her head. “Fate can be fickle, my friend. At my birth, it was written that I should be Mateo’s bride. But I was a sickly child, and certain signs forecast my early doom. Since Mateo will be king someday, it would not be right for his queen to have clouds in her future. Therefore, I was given to Petronovich. But the very fact that my fate was altered that way may mean that nothing will ever be certain in my life. It is of no consequence.” She shrugged eloquently. “Petronovich is in no hurry to marry me. He earned my brideprice once, but gambled it away. Perhaps he did so on purpose because he doesn’t want me. Perhaps I was never meant to wed anyone.”
“And you accept all this without question?” The very thought made Charlotte furious.
“It is not for me to accept or reject. We exist in the eternal now, living each day as it comes—without expectations, without regrets. I am simply thankful to see the sun rise again each morning. You will learn our ways and be happy, too, eventually.”
“Never!”
Seeing that Charlotte Buckland was not a willing student of her fatalistic tutoring, Tamara changed the subject. “Come sit down and have some tea. You’ve had an exhausting night. We will break our fast, then you must sleep.”
Delicious aromas from the cooking fires drifted into the tent, making Charlotte’s stomach rumble insistently. She remembered suddenly that she hadn’t eaten since arriving in Leavenworth the day before. She sat down at the small table in the center of the tent and accepted the red-and-gold china cup that Tamara offered. Unlike the dark Bohea tea her mother brewed back home, this was topaz in color and spiced with wild herbs and mint. It went down smoothly, leaving Charlotte with a warm, drowsy feeling.
“Another cup?” Tamara offered.
“Please. It’s delicious.”
Tamara smiled her appreciation of the compliment. “I make it myself from herbs and grasses I pick and dry. I’ll show them to you when you’ve rested enough to go out for a walk in the vesh. Now I’ll go bring our food.”
“Wait, Tamara!” Charlotte put a restraining hand on the girl’s arm. “Stay and talk to me for a bit.”
The lovely Gypsy woman nodded and took her seat again.
“Tell me about the Gypsies—where you came from, how you got here.”
Tamara’s beautiful face took on a wistful, faraway look. “To tell you of Gypsies is to talk to you of the wind, for so we come and move on unknown and unknowing. Some say we suffer this fate because we are descended from Cain—that we wander the earth ever trying to escape the guilt of his mortal sin. Perhaps this is so, or perhaps since we have been mistrusted and sent away so often, we have adopted the nomadic life out of self-defense, moving on before others cast us out. Whatever the reason, we flow like the water and move like the trembling branches of a tree in a
Charlotte drew herself up with all the dignity she could muster and cut off the words she didn’t want to hear.
“I won’t marry him, Mateo!”
“As Fate wills,” he answered softly.
She watched as he turned and strode away, her heart feeling unaccountably empty.
“Mateo is right, you know,” Tamara said, ushering Charlotte into her new quarters.
“Right about what?” Charlotte lashed out. “If you mean marrying Petronovich, you’re as dead wrong as he is!”
The shy Gypsy girl busied herself with the teapot and didn’t meet Charlotte’s fiery gaze. “No. I meant that Mateo is right about Fate. Our lives and fortunes are all dictated by what was written ages ago. We cannot change it. There is no reason to try.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Tamara. Think about it. I heard what Queen Zolande said about you and Petronovich. You were destined to be his bride. If that’s so, I have no place with him. And I certainly have no desire to be his wife!”
Tamara’s gentle sable eyes grew moist. She smiled at Charlotte and shook her head. “Fate can be fickle, my friend. At my birth, it was written that I should be Mateo’s bride. But I was a sickly child, and certain signs forecast my early doom. Since Mateo will be king someday, it would not be right for his queen to have clouds in her future. Therefore, I was given to Petronovich. But the very fact that my fate was altered that way may mean that nothing will ever be certain in my life. It is of no consequence.” She shrugged eloquently. “Petronovich is in no hurry to marry me. He earned my brideprice once, but gambled it away. Perhaps he did so on purpose because he doesn’t want me. Perhaps I was never meant to wed anyone.”
“And you accept all this without question?” The very thought made Charlotte furious.
“It is not for me to accept or reject. We exist in the eternal now, living each day as it comes—without expectations, without regrets. I am simply thankful to see the sun rise again each morning. You will learn our ways and be happy, too, eventually.”
“Never!”
Seeing that Charlotte Buckland was not a willing student of her fatalistic tutoring, Tamara changed the subject. “Come sit down and have some tea. You’ve had an exhausting night. We will break our fast, then you must sleep.”
Delicious aromas from the cooking fires drifted into the tent, making Charlotte’s stomach rumble insistently. She remembered suddenly that she hadn’t eaten since arriving in Leavenworth the day before. She sat down at the small table in the center of the tent and accepted the red-and-gold china cup that Tamara offered. Unlike the dark Bohea tea her mother brewed back home, this was topaz in color and spiced with wild herbs and mint. It went down smoothly, leaving Charlotte with a warm, drowsy feeling.
“Another cup?” Tamara offered.
“Please. It’s delicious.”
Tamara smiled her appreciation of the compliment. “I make it myself from herbs and grasses I pick and dry. I’ll show them to you when you’ve rested enough to go out for a walk in the vesh. Now I’ll go bring our food.”
“Wait, Tamara!” Charlotte put a restraining hand on the girl’s arm. “Stay and talk to me for a bit.”
The lovely Gypsy woman nodded and took her seat again.
“Tell me about the Gypsies—where you came from, how you got here.”
Tamara’s beautiful face took on a wistful, faraway look. “To tell you of Gypsies is to talk to you of the wind, for so we come and move on unknown and unknowing. Some say we suffer this fate because we are descended from Cain—that we wander the earth ever trying to escape the guilt of his mortal sin. Perhaps this is so, or perhaps since we have been mistrusted and sent away so often, we have adopted the nomadic life out of self-defense, moving on before others cast us out. Whatever the reason, we flow like the water and move like the trembling branches of a tree in a
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