TemptressofTime (14 page)

In the distance, she heard dogs barking and growling, soon followed
by a roar and yelps of pain. Her heart sped as she looked from Walker to Adrian
to a brightly lighted area beyond the wagons. Human voices joined with those of
the animals.

“Bear baiting,” Walker told her, his scowl and tone of voice
revealing her he disapproved of the sport.

“If you dislike it so much, why don’t you stop it?” she
said, wincing as she slipped on an unseen rock. After the day’s delightful
activities, she marveled she could take a step without aching all over. She
did, however, hope for a day or two of respite between bouts of utter pleasure.
Despite her initial fears, their joining had proved wondrous indeed.

Adrian cleared his throat, but said nothing. Walker avoided
her question altogether. “Would you enjoy having your fortune told?”

She started to refuse, but soon reconsidered. She might
think the idea archaic and a form of blatant chicanery, but—given her current
circumstances—she could ill afford to dismiss any possible explanation of why
she was here. Or how she might escape and return home.

“Perhaps not
enjoy
,” Adrian suggested, earning a
smile of gratitude from her. At least he seemed to understand her up-and-down
moods—which was more than Walker did.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing what my future holds.”
Especially
if it leads me home.

“Note how she does not include
us
,” Walker drawled as
if it mattered not a jot if she remained or left at dawn with the Gypsies.

Wretched man, reading my mind!

“Had I coin of my own,” she said in a haughty voice, “I
would pay for each of you to join me. As it is, I haven’t the wherewithal to
have my own fortune told.”

Leaning down to murmur the words into her ear, Walker said,
“Had I intended you to pay, I would not have offered.”

His hot breath stirred desire, but she squelched it,
determined not to let emotion or lust influence what might happen later
tonight. If the fortuneteller provided a means of escape, Diane would take it.

“Let us dine first.” Looping her hand around his crooked
elbow, Adrian led her toward an open spit surrounded by rough-hewn benches.
Roasting meat of some kind reminded her of their picnic—or should she call it a
tent-nic? The thought also revived her lust. Determined not to let emotions get
in her way, she sat.

Diane doubted she’d be able to eat a bite. Her stomach
seemed unable to decide whether it preferred acidity or roiling. Her mouth felt
as dry as a desert one minute, then flooded to the point of drowning her the
next.

To her mind, fortunetelling was nothing more than lucky
guesses and gutsy lies. Or generalities that could apply to anyone at any stage
of her life.

You will fall in love. You will meet a tall, dark,
handsome stranger—and one slightly shorter and blondish—who will whisk you away
to strange lands and heretofore unknown pleasures.

Well, that much at least hit home. But then it should, since
she played her own fortuneteller. But it also most likely summarized what the
Gypsy would tell her tonight.

Arching both dark brows, Walker said, “Perhaps Diane would
rather wait to eat.”

Striving to match his nonchalance, Diane nodded. “Unless the
earl is too hungry to delay.”

The look Adrian gave her could have melted her clothes. “I
am able to wait, if you wish,” he said, innuendo rampant in his voice.

Had she brought a fan, she’d have rapped him with it. By now
Adrian should realize she intended to let him bed her again. He needn’t press
his seduction. Or did he sense a change in her attitude toward Walker? A
weakening in her resolve to maintain an emotional distance from her first lover
even while still sharing his bed? Could Adrian feel jealous of Walker?

And what of the duke’s sudden indifference? Had her yielding
so eagerly this afternoon branded her a harlot? Lessened his regard for her? It
now seemed obvious that men’s attitudes toward women hadn’t changed at all.
They pursued until they caught them, then stepped away—their new goal the
latest woman who had rejected them. Conquest itself mattered more than the
spoils of victory—a willing bedmate.

Well, she wouldn’t allow either Walker or Adrian to know how
she’d begun to accept her life here. Oh, she’d continue to pretend to enjoy all
the jewels and furs Walker showered upon her and she welcomed how lavishly he’d
treated her once she’d agreed to take Adrian to their bed. But given a choice,
she still wanted to go home.

“Are you ill?” Walker’s solicitous voice intruded upon her
growing ire, all but destroying it.

Wishing she had a
Save
command in her brain so as to
preserve her emotions for long enough to recapture them later, she mustered a
smile. “I think I would like something to eat. A little bread and cheese
perhaps. A piece of fruit.”

The men laughed. Despite recognizing the sound as friendly,
it still rankled and renewed her put-upon feelings. Jerking her hand from
Adrian’s arm, she stood, turning toward the military encampment. She’d walk
there, then ride back to Mornay Castle alone.

“‘Tis only that what’s offered here is rabbit or duck,”
Walker said, catching her elbow then steering her back toward the spits.
“Caught on our own lands.”

Diane closed her gaping mouth, unwilling to chastise Walker
for allowing
Gypsies
to poach what belonged to him. Perhaps that was
part of the duke’s agreement with the Gypsy king. His
uneasy
agreement,
she reminded herself before saying, “A small cup of wine? If such is
available.”

Adrian sketched a half-bow. “I shall see to it.”

And just when had she become such a bigot? People in these
times saw Gypsies as witches and child-stealers, but she didn’t belong in these
times. She knew how hard life was for nomadic tribes—not just to put food in
their mouths, but to avoid being driven away or burned out. Everything
destroyed by superstitious folks with their own worries.

Settling her skirts around her and hoping she presented an
attractive picture, Diane watched the earl stride away with, to her mind, undue
haste. In a moment she saw him join a shapely young woman in a dance that
seemed indecent in this day and age. Recalling all the lewd gyrations of her
own time, she admitted Adrian’s were far more restrained. Which didn’t mean she
found his dancing with the Gypsy girl more acceptable. In truth, the way the
curvaceous brunette moved against Adrian reminded Diane of her own couplings
with him and stirred jealousy in her soul.

“I suppose we’ve seen the last of the earl. At least for the
rest of tonight,” she said, forcing her gaze from Adrian to Walker.

“Not if he values his life.”

Walker’s nonchalance surprised her. Did he wish Adrian dead?

“Why? Is the earl’s life in danger?” she asked as if it did
not matter to her one way or another.

“Only if he allows Clotilde to lure him to her bed again.”

“Is she the woman dancing with him now?”

Walker’s dark gaze flicked from the entwined couple to
Diane’s face. “She is William’s mother.” His attention returned to the couple.

“And?” Diane pressed, sensing that more than the boy’s
paternity troubled Walker. Jealousy over Adrian’s success with women perhaps?
Or did Walker want the Gypsy for himself? And where did William get his dark
eyes if not from Walker? From his grandparents? From his mother?

“Like you, Clotilde’s father believes I am William’s
father.”

“Oh.” As if his statement clarified the entire matter. “You
told me—”

“No one knows the boy’s sire. His mother may, but she
refuses to identify the man.”

“Perhaps she fears some Gypsy will curse her lover.” She
grasped his hand, an apology on her lips. “I believe you, Walker.” His face
darkened, a sure sign of his embarrassment. Or was he pleased that she believed
him? Expelling an inaudible sigh, she waited for him to continue.

After several endless moments he said, “Clotilde’s father is
the Gypsy king.”

“Oh,” Diane said again, more confused than ever. “Why do you
tolerate these people camping on your lands? Poaching your game and no doubt,”
she couldn’t stop her laugh, “tickling your trout? Wouldn’t it be less
uncomfortable for everyone if they went elsewhere?”

“There is no
elsewhere
—at least none between here and
London. No one will have them.” He shrugged. “They must rest somewhere. Here,
they can do so in relative peace, without fear of being driven away, their few
belongings stolen or destroyed completely—leaving them with nothing of value to
sell or trade.”

“Even with Adrian’s troops so near?”

“They stay out of each other’s way. For the most part,” he
amended with an appealing grin as a pair of Gypsy children chased a young
soldier through the clearing—all of them yelling and laughing.

“Is that what drives you, Walker? Do you pity these people
who choose to have no permanent home? Is pity why you let them stay?” Would
pity move him to let
her
stay?

“Pity plays a small part, aye. But ‘tis not all.”

“What else then?”

Scowling, he straightened, making her rue pushing him to
reveal secrets he wished to keep to himself. Surprising her once more, he
continued. “William also believes I am his sire—the father who refuses to
acknowledge him. He hates me, which allows him to hero-worship Adrian. And
allows Adrian to give the lad all the love the boy needs.”

“For how long?” she wondered aloud.

“A month or two every summer and early winter. Which is more
time than either Adrian or I had with our sires.” Taking her hand, Walker drew
her to her feet. “‘Tis past time, milady, to hear your fortune.”

I’d rather not.
She held her tongue, praying Walker
could not see the tears for William’s plight filling her eyes. Walker led her
to an isolated tent, then held open the tent flap. Her lover confused her.
Indifferent one moment, too caring the next. At least toward everyone other
than her—except on occasions when he wanted something from her. Her legs
trembled, but she willed herself to cross the threshold and go inside.

After all, sooner or later, Diane
would
go home.

The interior of the tent was so dark it took several moments
before her eyes adjusted. At first all she could make out was a sort of misty
glow in the middle of utter blackness. A few moments more and a dozen or more
blinks later, she made out a darker shadow, closer yet no less intimidating
than all the other shadows surrounding her. Something passed slowly between her
and the mistiness. The tent’s interior brightened a little, allowing her to see
a veiled figure on the opposite side of a small, round table. Upon the bare
wood rested a…a crystal ball, for cryin’ out loud! As if that overused piece of
flimflam could convince her that what the fortuneteller said held even a dram
of truth!

“Two steps forward,” the figure said, the raspy voice that
of a woman despite its low, gravely timbre, “you shall find a stool.”

“I shan’t be here long enough to sit,” Diane told the seer.

A soft laugh became a hack that contained hints of phlegm
and long-term illness. When she stopped coughing, the crone said, “Humor an old
woman whose eyesight is failing and has a crick in her neck from looking up at
you.”

Expelling an impatient huff, Diane found the stool, then
sat, surprised by the soft cushion under her buttocks. She took a moment to run
her hands under the table before resting them on the top’s smooth surface. At
least there were no wires or strings or other means of fooling the unwary—none
that she could find on her side of the round, tree-trunk-like table base. Which
didn’t mean anything. The seer still could use some other means of
misdirection.

“Pick up the globe if you wish. Search under its base.
Satisfy yourself that I use no trickery.”

“If you think embarrassment will keep me from doing what you
said—”

“I do not expect anything from you, Lady Diane. I do,
however,
ask
that you listen.”

Despite the surge of fear at hearing her name in the
fortuneteller’s harsh voice, she heard a deeper admonition beneath
listen
.
She resigned herself to keeping an open mind. She would try to, at any rate.
She held out her right hand, palm up.

The Gypsy chuckled. “I am not a palm reader, m’lady.”

“Then how—”

The globe in the middle of the table began to glow, its
color changing from white to black before displaying all the spectrum of a
rainbow. But even those shades paled or brightened until Diane felt a little
dizzy and closed her eyes. She refused to let this…this charlatan hypnotize
her.

“You have traveled a great distance,” the seer began, her
voice no different than it had been. No spooky tremolos or other otherworldly
emanations sounded from her mouth.

“Guess the American accent gave me away, huh?” Too late to
worry or apologize for her sarcasm, she glanced over her shoulder, relieved
Walker had remained outside. Which she should have noticed before she and the
Gypsy started.

“To discover things about yourself you could not—nay,
would
not
—learn in any other fashion. Not that you have not had opportunities,
but that you have refused to avail yourself of them.”

Okay, this was getting a tiny bit spooky, Diane admitted to
herself, wishing she had some chewing gum to snap like a disinterested
teenager. The gum might also moisten her abruptly dry mouth. Not that the seer
had said anything
that
specific. Not yet anyway.

Slitting her eyes, she saw that the globe had turned a deep
purple, almost black. A heaviness pressed her chest, making it difficult to
breathe. She felt as though a weight of pure depression had descended on her
lungs.

“You come from a long line of unforgiving women,” the Gypsy
went on. “Women who set high standards for others and claimed they expected
only what they demanded of themselves. Because they could not—would not—accept
human frailty, they died alone and bitter…and unforgiving to the end.”