LESSON 14
PASSION

FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

I very much liked my new persona. The clothes that the Duc de Guise had supplied served my purpose beautifully.

I was green velvet from head to foot. This fabric, I was assured, had been tested with ammonia to guarantee it contained no lethal dye—the duke would not make that fatal mistake again.

The outfit consisted of green trousers that fitted my legs snugly; over the top of these were long brown leather boots which folded down at the knee and were designed to be unfolded as required to give more protection during swordplay or from the elements. On top of my very valuable corset I wore a pale green silk shirt and a long-sleeved velvet jacket that buttoned down the front. The coat fell to my mid-thigh, but as the duke felt this was not modest enough for a lady of the blood he had his tailor run me up a long sleeveless tunic of the same fabric and colour, which was little more than a length of fabric with a hole in the centre for my head. The tailor added a large hood to this, and once on my body the green velvet tunic fell to my ankles down the front and back. The garment was strapped to my body by the belt that was slung around my hips—in which was holstered my pistol on my right side while a scabbard that held my sword hung on my left. The additional tunic gave me the comfort of modest attire, but as there were no joins down the side of the garment, it did not restrict riding and swordplay.

With my hair braided back and the green velvet hood drawn over my head, I could easily pass for a man—albeit with a somewhat dated sense of fashion. Still, as a woman, I felt very bohemian.

On the first night of our journey, the males of the clan were delighted that their women had decided to journey with the caravans toward Orleans to await the outcome of my meeting with de Guise. Subsequent to my speedy victory, we met up with the rest of the Charon clan en route back to the road to Paris.

In the camp there was much rejoicing and the gypsies held a great feast in my honour that night—for we had provisions aplenty courtesy of the duke. I had the very great pleasure of being serenaded by Cingar, and he was masterful indeed; he played more passionate and heart-wrenching violin compositions than any famed composer I had been made aware of. In addition, Cingar was also one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen, with long unruly dark curls falling to his waist and a wee French-style beard and moustache. He had beautiful soft brown eyes, a tanned and vibrant face, and a body that was long, lean and fit from life on the road. I also loved all his jewellery—rings, ornate wristbands and charms on neck chains—but most of all I liked the large round earring attached to his left ear and indicated to any interested girl that he was still a single man.

But not for long, Chavi had informed me. As Cingar’s grandmother—her husband, daughter and son-in-law being deceased—it was Chavi’s responsibility to choose a suitable wife for Cingar from among other Romany clans. This she had done and Chavi invited me to the wedding, which would take place en route to the sea. Cingar had yet to meet his bride and was more than a little apprehensive about doing so. Apparently, the band had been heading home to Italy for the happy event when Cingar had received the duke’s request to play at the court in Orleans. As Cingar was willing to do anything to avoid facing his marriage vows he had had the caravan sidetrack to Orleans, which had nearly proven fatal.

Despite his engagement, in gratitude for his freedom the captain had pledged his undying devotion and service—for a gypsy, there was nothing on Earth that was valued more than liberty. Cingar said that he would make my feats legendary and dedicate to me everything he composed from this day forth.

Of course, I was flattered, but there seemed little point to such devotion when I dared not even tell my gypsy friends my true name. ‘If you will see me swiftly and safely to the sea, then I shall be forever in your debt, captain.’ Cingar insisted it was not enough, and so we argued in merry spirits for most of the evening.

In recognition of my service, an entire caravan had been vacated for me to inhabit. Not even Nanny was to share with me for she had taken up lodging with a family of three orphaned girls, aged between five years and fourteen, who were not prepared to relinquish her to my company for the night.

I had not seen Nanny so well and filled with such vitality in many years, so I was not about to break four hearts and do away with the opportunity for privacy and quiet into the bargain! The arrangement suited me just fine.

At dawn my consciousness was greeted by the sweet sound of Cingar’s violin and it stirred my heart fearfully. I had disciplined myself not to think about Devere and those precious few days we’d spent together, but the music was so emotive of love that I couldn’t help but recall those intimacies that now caused me pain and torment. ‘God damn that man,’ I muttered under my breath, my longing filling my eyes with tears. I surmised that my husband’s dread of his brotherhood’s wrath was the driving motivation behind his ardent pursuit of me.

‘I shall not mourn the loss of his favours,’ I lectured myself as I climbed out of bed to dress. I was convinced that that was all there was to it—I had never experienced sexual bliss with any man but Devere, so how did I know that such ecstasy could not be found with any man that tickled my fancy?

I found myself dwelling on Cingar as I dressed and how enchanting he was. I held no delusions that he was in love with me, but certainly lust was in the air.

That kind of thinking will land you in strife, Mrs Devere.

Noting his emphasis on the Mrs Devere part of that statement, I looked to find Albray leaning against the closed doorway of my quarters.

I forced a smile, not in any mood to be lectured. I wanted Devere out of my heart and Cingar was just the man to take care of it for me. And as the captain was to be married soon I would form no attachment. ‘I thought you said you were useless when it came to affairs of love?’

I am, he insisted, which is how I can tell you’re heading for disaster.

‘No offence, dear friend, but I am not asking for your counsel in this matter.’ I finished strapping on my weapons belt and waited for my knight to move aside so that I might join the rest of the band for breakfast before they packed up for the journey south.

Don’t love in haste, for spite, he appealed, moving out of my path. It will leave you bitter and remorseful, guaranteed.

‘Are you speaking from experience, Albray?’ I strongly suspected that he was.

Yes, unfortunately.

‘Well, we all have to make mistakes,’ I told him and exited, to be greeted by Cingar who, I discovered, was playing for my benefit.

‘I shall thus stir your soul to wakefulness every day,’ Cingar vowed.

‘Every day until you are wed,’ Chavi added in warning, for she clearly saw how her grandson doted on me.

When Chavi and Cingar began arguing rather fervently in a dialect I couldn’t understand, I left them to see Nanny about breakfast.

FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

I must say that I am very, very annoyed with my friend, Ashlee Devere, for I feel that her latest stunt to elude her husband was nothing short of cruel!

I can hardly believe our dear sister allowed us to think she was suffering in prison this last week when, in fact, she was probably halfway to Italy by now. Not only has she caused Mr Devere much distress and torment, but James and I have been worried out of our minds.

We would still be commuting to the estate of the Duc de Guise every day to plead Ashlee’s case had Devere not found the opportunity to kiss the hand of the Duchess de Guise, whereby he learned the truth and was devastated by it. That Ashlee would go to such lengths to lose him weighed heavily on his heart.

‘I am beginning to wonder why I continue this pursuit. I shall never be able to win back her heart and trust.’ Mr Devere’s eyes turned to the rain beyond our carriage window; the sombre weather complemented his grave mood.

‘Of course you will.’

I was surprised when Lord Devere beat me to reassure our brother.

‘All we have to do is get your dear wife to stand still long enough to hear your side of the story.’

‘I’ll never catch her.’ Mr Devere sounded so defeated. ‘She has a week’s head start.’

‘Our sister is travelling with a large caravan, and it is bound to move more slowly than we do,’ I reasoned. ‘And although no one in Italy will know who Ashlee is, I feel sure that Cingar Choron will be easy enough to track down.’ I reached across and placed a hand over my brother’s and squeezed it tight; I had never known anyone to be so cursed by love. I recalled Mr Devere retrieving Ashlee’s charm from the ground on the first day they’d met, and how she had warned him that he would be cursed for his politeness. ‘Don’t give up on her yet. If Ashlee is in as much danger as you suspect, then you’ll get an opportunity to prove where your allegiances truly lie.’

‘You’re right.’ Mr Devere took a deep breath and attempted a smile. ‘Thank you…both.’ He included James in the equation. ‘Your support through this has been invaluable, and very much appreciated.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ Lord Devere insisted. ‘It has been a very interesting journey thus far, and no doubt more educational and stimulating than loitering about, and entertaining, at the Chateau de Vere for months.’

Both Mr Devere and I were rather surprised by my husband’s change in attitude.

‘I’m rather glad I came along.’ My husband pulled out his paper and a cigar, and as content as can be, sat back to read. ‘This travelling business is a lot more character building than I gave it credit for. I’m beginning to see why the Grand Tour was so popular.’

Since the Industrial Revolution, there was too much money to be made at home in England for young lords to indulge their lust for culture and travel.

‘I agree.’ I voiced my feelings on the matter. ‘It is fortunate that we have taken this opportunity to see some of the world now, before the House of Lords and family life consume all of our time.’

I had to admit that I was relishing the adventure myself, and after Ashlee’s latest deception I would know better than to waste any of my enjoyment worrying about her welfare.

FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

Travelling with gypsies had more advantages than I had originally imagined.

They knew the towns to avoid en route, and always went around the cities where government checkpoints might give them trouble.

Fortunately for me, Cingar’s people were well-established traders in southern France and Italy, holding papers of passage for every region through which we passed.

The church had been trying to alter the nomadic lifestyle of the Rom and the other gypsy tribes of Europe for centuries. In some kingdoms, enslavement, imprisonment, deportation and having their children taken from them and placed in foster care, remained a very real threat; like the Chorons, many gypsy families had turned to trade to justify their nomadic lifestyle to the church and to be seen as benefiting society.

In the towns they did stop at, Cingar knew all the officials by name and his offerings of rare spices, fabrics and jewellery from as far afield as Arabia Petrea were always well received. In return, the gypsies were granted free passage and a patch of ground on which to camp for an evening or two. There were also several coppersmiths among the men of the clan and their services were in demand wherever they went.

In tiny villages, Cingar’s way with a violin was all the more appreciated—for master musicians did not usually visit these provincial venues. Many residents were not averse to having their fortunes told by the gypsy women either.

My caravan accommodation was cleaner and more comfortable than any I could have obtained at inns along our way. Many English people believed a myth about gypsies—that they were a dirty people. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I had wondered, when I first arrived in the camp, why each family transported so many large washtubs. I soon found out that the upper body and the lower body were never washed in the same tub, nor with the same cloth. The same applied to clothes—upper body clothes in one tub and lower body clothes in another. This explained why gypsy women wore skirts and blouses as opposed to dresses. And, as if the above was not extreme enough, men and children washed with one set of tubs, and women with another. I suppose it goes without saying, then, that bedding and dishes could not be washed using the same tub!

The weather never bothered these people: rain, wind or shine they were joyful just to be at liberty to wander—a sentiment which I shared completely. My beautiful horse felt the same, I believe, for he never tired of moving forward. Destiny had been a stabled horse all his life, and I suspect the constant stimulation was a great motivation for him. I very much enjoyed riding a horse male-fashion, and found I had far more stamina in the saddle this way.

The captain had not wavered in his pursuit of my affections, despite warnings from his grandmother, and I must confess that by the time we reached the Gulfe du Lion I was seriously considering surrendering to his proposals.

Late on the Sunday that marked a fortnight on the road, we made camp outside a coastal village on the outskirts of Marseilles.

The caravan of gypsies never entered Italy via the Alps, as the freezing cold and snow would hinder their journey. It always proved faster, and gave them far less grief, to travel through lower France and take the coastal route via Nice.

I had wandered away from camp to gaze upon the azure waters of the gulf and ease my stiff legs and rump, which were always numbed by the end of a day in the saddle. It was here that Chavi sought me out for a little chat.

Not being the kind of woman to beat around the bush she came right out and demanded that I release her grandson from my enchantment.

‘I have not put a spell on the captain.’ I chuckled at her assumption, until I saw how grave the expression of the old gypsy woman was.

‘You have indeed,’ Chavi accused, ‘and well you know it! I am not speaking of a spell woven with a potion or a chant,’ she said to forestall my impending denial. ‘I speak of the charm that a heroine might have upon a humble male soul, awed by her deeds and strength of character.’

‘I note that you do not consider it might be the heroine who has been enchanted,’ I countered. What was the point of denying my attraction when she could see straight through me?

‘Cingar is not the man you truly love,’ Chavi pointed out, which shocked me slightly and angered me a little too. ‘And he never will be,’ she added firmly, knowing I was in doubt. ‘Just toying with my grandson’s emotions is placing the entire future of our family in great jeopardy.’

Now I thought that she really was exaggerating and she knew it at once.

‘Let me tell you a little of our customs and then you may decide if I am delusional or not,’ she offered, and I agreed.

It seemed that washing was not the only aspect of gypsy life that was subject to many taboos. For as Chavi spoke I fast came to realise that the little affair I had been contemplating so lightly could cause Cingar to be branded as marimè, which meant ‘unclean’, although the term carried so many more connotations than this for Chavi—dishonoured, set apart and contaminated, for example. For a gypsy man to be declared unclean was the greatest shame he could suffer and his entire household would suffer along with him, and so ruin his sister Rumer’s chances of making a good marriage.

‘It is social death.’ Chavi wrapped up her case. ‘Anything Cingar wears or touches would be contaminated, including his future wife and offspring, and their offspring and so on.’

‘You can stop there, Chavi,’ I assured her. I felt sick to the stomach when I considered the near-disaster my desire had caused. ‘I can see that there is precious little point to saving a man from prison to have him banished instead.’

‘You must reject Cingar firmly, as soon as possible, and free his heart to embrace other interests,’ Chavi instructed rather than asked.

‘Cingar’s friendship means a lot to me. How can I do this without hurting him?’ I had been doing a fair bit of flirting with him lately.

‘Simply tell him the truth,’ Chavi suggested, more sympathetic now that I had been safely diverted from her grandson. ‘Tell him that your heart belongs to another…this, he will understand.’

‘But the man of my heart is a traitor to the rest of me,’ I said, although aware that such a confession was not entirely truthful.

Chavi took my hands and held them firmly as she briefly went into trance. ‘It is your own reasoning that betrays you, not your husband.’

I gasped, for I had never once let slip that I was married having placed my wedding band with my valuables before I met up with the Charon clan. ‘But he lied,’ I protested, and yet I did not pull my hands from hers. I wanted her to prove me wrong about Devere.

‘The gravity of that lie hangs on other assumptions you have made, and expecting the worst of everyone involved. But what if you have misjudged some of these situations—then, truly, how grievous is the offence of your beloved?’

I gasped at the shock that shot through my being at her words. The ‘what ifs’ of the past six months bombarded my brain all at once. What if Lord Hereford had died of natural causes? What if the real intent of this brotherhood was merely to protect me? What if the brothers’ prediction of Hereford’s death had come from prophecy, rather than murderous intent? Then they would have been warning Hereford against marrying me, rather than threatening him! What if Devere did love me? Even in arranged marriages there could be great love.

Chavi released my hands. ‘I know I can trust you to do the right thing.’

I had to wonder if Chavi was polishing my husband’s image in my eyes in order to take my focus off Cingar. Still, she had given me plenty of other incentives not to entertain a romance with our dear captain. ‘I shall speak with him tonight.’

Chavi smiled. ‘The goddess will bless you for your consideration.’ She left me to stew in my disappointment.

Devere monopolised my thoughts following my talk with Chavi. I did not return to camp, but had taken a seat to watch the sunset, the gulf speckled with ships travelling to and from the nearby port.

I was considering that it might be better for all involved if I just booked myself on a boat leaving Marseilles and cover the rest of the distance to Cairo by sea. I had never travelled by ship over a long distance before, and so I had hoped to keep that part of the voyage as short as possible. But with what I was obliged to tell Cingar, I imagined that our relationship might be a little awkward and travelling together more of a strain than it had been to date.

The view was awe-inspiring and yet it could not lift the heaviness of my heart. As I considered that perhaps somehow Devere might be blameless in all this and that I could have harshly misjudged him, I wept. Then the memory that I had perceived from Devere’s mind the night I left him stopped the flow of tears.

The man I had seen threaten Lord Hereford was standing over my husband saying, ‘Keep her safe, Devere. Learn about her, learn from her and keep me posted. If you can please this woman, you will become a very powerful man indeed. And, with any luck, you’ll have many, many adept offspring.’

‘You look like you could use this.’

I discovered Cingar was standing beside me, holding out a goblet of wine. ‘I don’t drink,’ I declined, as I had every other time wine had been on offer.

‘Sometimes it is best.’ Cingar sat, and offered it to me again.

I felt as bad as ever I had and I knew a good cup of hot broth would serve me better. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, I accepted the goblet from him and took a sip. The red fluid warmed my frosty mood a little and I managed to smile.

‘My grandmother has said something to upset you?’ Cingar suggested—I assumed he’d seen us talking.

I shook my head, afraid to speak, lest I dissolve into tears again. Another sip of wine calmed my erratic emotions and I found my voice. ‘I have a confession to make.’

‘To me?’ Cingar was surprised and unsure.

‘My real name is Mrs Ashlee Devere.’

‘You’re married!’ I heard the devastation in his voice, and yet he had a glimmer of hope that perhaps my husband was deceased. ‘Where is your husband now?’

‘In hot pursuit of us, most likely,’ I said in all truthfulness. ‘The Duc de Guise promised to stall him in Orleans as long as he could, but my husband will not be deceived long.’

‘Why—’

‘Am I running from him?’ I anticipated the captain’s query. ‘Because he lied to me about something very important. Chavi seems to think I have judged him too harshly.’

‘Hmmm…’ Cingar was noncommittal, not wanting to say that his grandmother was seldom wrong in her soothsaying. ‘Do you love this man?’ The captain was ready to run off and slay him if I answered in the negative!

‘I was falling deeply in love with him before I discovered his deceit. My doubt is more along the lines of, does he really love me?’ I was annoyed when my tears began flowing. I never openly wept in front of anyone, and especially not over a man.

The captain hugged me comfortingly—never mind his own feelings that had just been crushed by my announcement.

I brushed away my tears and took a few more sips of wine. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner. I had fancied that you might cast Devere out of my heart…I had no idea that such a scenario would see you banished by your people.’ I looked at the captain who nodded, his expression more serious than usual.

‘I was ready to trade my position for a life of travel with you. We all have our fantasies, and a desire to escape a mapped-out life.’ Cingar waved away his dream and my deception. Clearly he knew as well as I did that our romance could never happen, and perhaps he was even a little relieved to have been thwarted. ‘But reality has caught up with us, it seems.’ He kissed my forehead and in those last shadows of daylight we savoured a hug that would never amount to anything more than the comfort between good friends.

‘I feel certain that Chavi has picked you a fine wife.’ I attempted to fill the hole that had erupted in my heart by drinking the remaining wine in my goblet.

The captain took a deep breath and then, resigning himself to hope for the best, he released it. ‘Soon we will both be forced to confront the relationship we have been avoiding.’

‘But not tonight,’ I declared with relief.

‘No…tonight we are free!’ Cingar sprang to his feet. ‘Let us eat, drink and dance away our cares.’ He then offered me a hand, to help me up, which I accepted and accompanied him back toward the wonderful smells of food cooking.

It was impossible not to notice that the gypsy camp had doubled in size. When we returned to camp there were twice as many people, caravans and commotion than before.

‘What has happened?’ I asked of the captain.

‘It looks as if my in-laws might have arrived.’ Cingar squeezed my hand for strength and then let it go before we got too close to the camp. ‘So much for being free this evening.’

‘Then your bride is also here!’ I ribbed Cingar by sounding excited and curious.

‘Perhaps.’ He seemed unready to face that possibility. ‘What if I hate her?’ He pulled up short, savouring his last opportunity to avoid this whole affair.

‘The way I see it…if Chavi is as good a psychic as I credit her to be, then surely neither of us has anything to worry about.’ Did I believe what I was telling him? It didn’t matter. Cingar needed some positive persuasion and it seemed to work.

‘An excellent point, Mrs Devere,’ he smiled, appreciatively. ‘Wish me luck.’ He headed into the turbulence that had erupted in his absence.

I need not have worried about breaking Cingar’s heart. Not an hour after I had broken the news of my marital status to him, he was romancing one of the new arrivals through his heart-capturing talent on the violin. Unfortunately, the girl who had captured his interest was not the captain’s intended—his bride would be arriving on the morrow, once her parents and Chavi had settled on a price for her.

The woman who had our good captain so enchanted was the younger sister of his bride and her name was Jessenia.

Even though a female, I could appreciate the beauty of this woman: she was strong and independent, chaste and level-headed. She was doing a marvellous job of appearing to be unimpressed with Cingar’s grandstanding, but I could see how her heart centre flushed with pink light and sparkled at his attentions. It was clear to me that Chavi had a whole new problem on her hands.

On the subject of new problems, it seemed I had one of my own the next morning when I awoke. My head was pounding and for a moment I had no idea where I was or what I was doing there. ‘Oooh…ouch…’

Let me congratulate you on your first hangover.

It was Albray who spoke and yet his voice was very faint, as if he was a vast distance away. I rolled over onto my back to look for him. ‘Albray? Where are you?’

I’m right in front of you.

My eyelids really didn’t want to venture too far apart, but I strained the burning eyeballs beneath. All I saw was the inside of the caravan. ‘What am I thinking?’ I saw Albray with my third eye, not my physical eyes, and closing my eyelids to focus my inner eye I perceived my knight, arms folded, staring down at me, unimpressed. ‘You’re very faint,’ I observed.

I’m not the one who is vague today, he lectured. Please do me the courtesy of removing the stone from your person, so 1 do not have to tolerate YOUR splitting headache.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I felt guilt and remorse for having drunk so much last night. Watching Cingar romance another, and feeling nothing but happiness for him, had made me feel all the more that Devere had got the better of me again—I still loved him. I slid the stone’s chain from around my left wrist.

And as I can be of little use to you at present, you may as well dismiss me until you’re feeling more yourself.

‘You’re angry with me.’ I hadn’t played the reprimanded child for some time.

Yes, I am angry with you . .. the caravan is at leisure today. We could have finally had some time to work on your tuition, but no, you had to go and drown your senses in alcohol!

‘And you have never done that, I suppose?’ I mumbled in my own defence.

Albray got down off his high horse and sighed. I just hate to see you make the same mistakes I did.

‘Then why didn’t you say something last night?’ My query sparked another. ‘Where were you last night?’

Scouting, he said.

‘Scouting for what?’

For whom, rather.

‘For Devere?’

Albray gave a vague nod.

‘And did you find him?’

Albray shook his head, but I felt that he was either lying or not telling me the whole truth. Still, he had asked me not to handle the stone, so I couldn’t psychically check—not that my psychic senses were up to the challenge this morning anyway.

There was a knock on my caravan door. ‘Miss Winston. Are you awake?’

It was Cingar.

I looked at Albray who rolled his eyes and again requested to be dismissed.

I obliged my knight ahead of opening the door.

The sun was blinding. I had never known sunlight to be painful. I eventually focused on Cingar, and noted his dejected expression. ‘Is something the matter, captain?’

‘I am in love,’ he announced, as if it were the end of the world.

‘Jessenia?’ I took a guess, which Cingar confirmed with a grave nod.

‘What am I to do?’ he appealed. ‘You must help me.’

‘But what can I do?’ I raised a hand to support my throbbing head and shield my eyes from the light.

‘You must help me convince my grandmother that she has brought me the wrong sister,’ he said, knowing he had little chance of accomplishing the feat himself.

‘How can you know that Chavi is wrong, when you are yet to meet your bride?’ I attempted to reason with him.

‘No! It is not possible that I could feel this way for another,’ he insisted passionately. ‘I know you must think me fickle, but I swear to you, I have never felt such fire for a woman that I should wish to forsake all others for the honour of having her for the rest of my days!’

‘Shhh!’ I urged him to keep his voice down for the sake of his own cause and my sore head. ‘Why do you think Chavi will listen to me?’

‘She has listened to you before,’ he said.

‘Only because I had the backing of one of your ancestors,’ I pointed out.

‘Could we not seek her advice?’ Cingar suggested, rather excited by the prospect.

‘Not as long as I have this headache,’ I advised him.

‘Sorry about that.’ Cingar obviously felt responsible. ‘I shall have one of the women fix you an infusion.’

‘No alcohol,’ I stipulated.

‘I promise.’ Cingar rushed off to see to my needs.

The remedy proved worse than the ailment. The infusion smelt very uninviting and had a gritty texture and fiery taste! As soon as the brew hit my stomach I ran into the nearby cluster of trees to empty its contents several times over.

‘Oh, my,’ I uttered, breathless, as I staggered back to my caravan to wash my face in the tub of cold water there. ‘Well, that’s one way of getting the impurities out of my body.’

Cingar handed me a cloth with which to wipe my face. ‘Now you must drink this jug of water,’ he prescribed, pouring me a goblet.

In England, the water would be more lethal than the alcohol, but the gypsies boiled their drinking water, claiming the heat killed any impurities. This had been my reasoning for a good part of my life. The theory explained why broth, herbal infusions and tea made for safe drinking.

After I had consumed all the water, some bread and fresh fruit I felt distinctly better, although still somewhat seedy.

I instructed Cingar to wait outside while I spoke to Chiara, as I didn’t want to put her in an awkward position.

Upon my summons the old gypsy witch appeared and proceeded to thank me in several different languages for the deliverance of her menfolk from prison in Orleans. But when I asked her if she was aware why I had summoned her today, she just chuckled and nodded.

‘Do you have any advice for the captain?’

Chavi is wise. Tell him to trust her judgement.

‘But he claims to be in love with Jessenia,’ I said on his behalf. ‘Does his own judgement stand for nothing?’

It is the breeding that attracts him, the blood that runs in the veins of the family into which he is to marry.

‘The genetic makeup of the sisters is bound to be similar.’ I followed her reasoning. ‘So, are you saying that Cingar is lusting after Jessenia only because he recognises his future wife in her?’

Exactly!

Terrific! I thought. ‘How am I going to explain that to the captain?’

I exited my caravan to find Cingar and Chavi fervently debating the issue in question.

‘You nearly brought us all to ruin trying to avoid your responsibilities.’ Chavi was waving a finger at her grandson. ‘Time to grow up, Cingar, and stop seeking excuses—’

‘Jessenia is not an excuse!’ The captain dropped on one knee before his grandmother, so that she might see his sincerity. ‘I love her.’

‘Bah!’ Chavi waved off his declaration. ‘You have known her less than a day. By tonight, the woman I have chosen will hold your heart and none shall ever replace her. I have foreseen it.’

‘I don’t care what you have foreseen!’ Cingar was on his feet again and fuming. ‘This time, Chavi, you are wrong.’ Cingar spotted me and sought to enlist my support. ‘Tell her, Miss Winston.’

I really wanted to support his claim, but could not. ‘Chiara agreed with Chavi, captain. I’m sorry.’

The look of betrayal on his face broke my heart. ‘Are even the spirits against me?’ Cingar stormed off into his caravan and slammed the door closed.

Chavi was chuckling at his reaction.

‘Young people these days, no trust,’ she uttered in an aside to me, then moved off to see how the wedding preparations were going in the camp next door to ours. ‘Ah!’ She noted the incoming caravan. ‘This will be the bride now. Miss Winston, would you inform my brooding grandson that his presence is required?’ Chavi joined the rest of her family who were eager to meet the new lady who was arriving in the camp next door.

When I knocked on the captain’s door, he exited carrying a bundle. ‘I’m going to leave,’ he stated. ‘I am tired of having a deluded old woman run my life.’

‘Don’t be childish.’ I grabbed the bundle from him and cast it back into his caravan. ‘Of course you’re not! Too many people are depending on you.’

‘Don’t you start!’ he protested.

‘Look. I think that you owe it to Chavi to at least meet your bride. If you don’t like her then…then you can run away.’ The captain was very reluctant, and I could completely sympathise with his frustration and fear. ‘If you still feel the same way after you meet your bride, then I shall do all within my power to help convince Chavi of her mistake.’

Cingar smiled as he resigned himself to the agreement. ‘I would very much like to kiss you, Miss Winston.’

I shook my head. ‘I refuse to allow you to land yourself in trouble at this late stage of the game.’ I rose up onto my toes and kissed his cheek. ‘I wish you peace, love, prosperity and happiness, Cingar, for it is surely what you deserve.’

‘Stay by me, please,’ he asked, casting his eyes past our deserted camp to the next.

‘As long as need be,’ I replied, accompanying the captain to meet his destiny.

Both clans were gathered around one of the caravans, and Cingar was cheered by the gathering as he made his appearance. He forced a smile of greeting and was courteous to all his well-wishers.

The captain went to stand next to Chavi, who introduced him to his prospective father-in-law and mother-in-law, Beval and Carmen, who had been closeted with Chavi all of the previous evening.

‘Where is Jessenia?’ Cingar wondered why she was not present.

‘We did not think it appropriate that she attend,’ her father replied sternly. Obviously, Jessenia had also protested to the marriage of Cingar to her sister and I felt for them both.

‘Time to introduce you to your truly intended.’ Beval directed Cingar’s attention to the closed door of the bridal caravan, whereupon the gathering all began chanting for the bride’s presence.

The caravan door was flung open and in the doorway stood a plump girl who bore no resemblance to Jessenia whatsoever. She waved at Cingar, smiling sweetly, while the captain looked at his grandmother, horrified. ‘Please,’ he muttered aside to her, ‘you are joking?’

The bride’s father caught the comment and his face went red in rage before he burst out laughing, as did all the new arrivals and Chavi. ‘Yes, it is a joke.’ Beval slapped his son-in-law’s arm to reassure him, then turned the captain’s head with his hand so that Cingar could note that Jessenia followed the first maiden from the bridal caravan.

‘I don’t understand?’ Cingar was bemused. ‘Are your daughters twins?’

‘We have only one daughter, Cingar,’ Beval placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder to express his sincerity, ‘and she has set her heart on you.’

When Cingar looked at Jessenia and her smile and nod allayed all his fears, my eyes flooded with tears of happiness for them both.

‘What did I say?’ Chavi posed to me, as Cingar kissed his intended.

‘You are so cruel.’ I voiced my view of her game.

‘Not so,’ she defended. ‘I just know my grandson…he will never commit to anything that he does not feel was his own idea.’

‘So,’ Beval asked the young couple, ‘shall there be a wedding here tomorrow?’

The confirmation of the event was unanimous!

FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

We befriended and bribed many officials between Orleans and Marseilles in order to finally track down the gypsy caravan that we suspected Ashlee was travelling with.

We had our carriage stop some way from the gypsy camp, behind a cluster of trees, where we contemplated our next move.

Lord Devere was all for riding straight up to the camp and confronting our dear sister with the truth.

‘If she doesn’t see us coming and run off again,’ Mr Devere argued. ‘It has taken so long to find her I don’t want to scare her off before I get a chance to explain myself.’

‘Could I make a suggestion?’

The Devere men had drawn pistols and taken aim before I had even spotted the gypsy fellow who stood peering in our carriage window.

‘Please, gentlemen,’ he smiled, warmly. ‘I am to be wed tomorrow and have no desire to die.’

‘Who are you?’ I asked, rather well disposed toward the handsome vagabond.

‘I am Cingar Choron, the captain of this band,’ he announced.

‘Then you know the whereabouts of Miss Ashlee Winston,’ Mr Devere stated, without lowering his pistol.

‘And you must be Devere.’ Cingar kept his good humour.

‘My wife has mentioned me?’ Mr Devere was surprised.

‘As the man who broke her heart,’ Cingar said bluntly and Devere lowered the gun, hurt by the truth of it.

‘So, she does despise me,’ he concluded sadly.

‘No, quite the contrary,’ Cingar said cheerily and gave a big grin—he was an odd, but very likeable fellow.

Devere’s spirits lifted and he exited the carriage quickly to speak with the gypsy. ‘Would you take me to her?’

Cingar laughed at his proposal. ‘Hardly. I am her friend, she is my saviour and you have yet to convince me of your good intentions.’

‘Mr Choron.’ I thought to speak up for my dear brother.

‘Lovely lady,’ he flattered as he awarded me his full attention.

I do declare I forgot what I was going to say for a moment. ‘I have known Ashlee…Miss Winston, for ten years; there is no greater friend to her than I. Thus, I can assure you that there has been a terrible misunderstanding, and my dear friend could be in grave danger. She needs Mr Devere close to her, whether she realises it or not. Won’t you help us? Please.’

‘My lady, you I believe.’ Cingar pondered on my request. ‘This morning I was subjected to a clever masquerade that worked out rather well for all involved…and it gives me an idea.’

A beautiful gypsy woman joined Cingar; they must have been out walking when they spotted our carriage. He introduced his intended to us and then asked Jessenia if she would mind inviting a mysterious long-lost friend to their wedding, and motioned to Devere.

‘Mysterious?’ Devere grinned as he protested, not too comfortable with the suggestion. ‘How do you mean?’

Jessenia laughed at the prospect of disguising the English gentleman. ‘Some new clothes, another language, a mask, pierce his ear…’ She threw up her hands. ‘I would not recognise him.’

‘No,’ Devere declined. ‘My wife already feels I have deceived her, and she will see straight through a disguise.’

‘Your wife’s psychic skills are a little tainted today,’ Cingar explained. ‘Hangover.’

‘Ashlee got drunk!’ I could hardly believe it. ‘She never drinks alcohol!’

‘I am to blame,’ Cingar confessed, ‘but how fortunate for you…everything happens for a reason.’ The gypsy captain looked back to Devere, who still appeared hesitant. ‘Get close to her, get her alone, and then explain,’ Cingar said. ‘If I take you into camp as you are, Miss Winston will flee and never trust either of us again.’

Devere wrestled with the notion a bit longer and looked to me for advice.

‘What have you got to lose?’ I asked him.

‘I know about the affairs of love,’ Cingar boasted and I didn’t doubt it. ‘There is nothing like a wedding to soften a woman’s heart.’

‘It’s true.’ I seconded Cingar’s reasoning.

‘All right.’ Devere resigned himself to the plan with a smile of gratitude.

‘I feel it best that you come alone,’ Cingar advised. ‘Your companions might give you away.’

‘Not a worry.’ Lord Devere spoke up for us. ‘A couple of nights in Marseilles won’t be too hard to bear.’ My husband served me a wink. ‘We’ll leave word at the British Embassy where to find us.’

‘Give Ashlee my love,’ I requested, feeling a little teary now that our journey was drawing to a close. ‘Tell her to come and see me, once you’ve set everything to rights.’

‘Go and enjoy yourselves,’ Devere bade us. ‘I’ve ruined your honeymoon long enough.’

‘Poppycock!’ Lord Devere rejected his claim. ‘This is one holiday we shall never forget.’