Gypsy Jewel (12 page)

But first, the
solakh
, an oath between marriage mates, was necessary. Everyone listened with bated breath as the couple exchanged the brief words at Jingo’s instruction; Damien in a deep voice, April in a soft, defiant one.

Regardless of various feelings about the girl, all in the camp agreed that she was exceptionally beautiful this day. Her freshly washed golden hair shimmered down about her hips and the deep forest green of her skirt complemented her eyes. Some of the other gypsy girls had woven wreaths of wildflowers to adorn the bride, and unwilling to hurt their feelings, April wore a crown of daisies and carried a smaller bouquet of yellow sunflowers in her hands.

Damien gazed at his wife-to-be as she recited the vows. April was a natural beauty that needed no artifice to enhance her smooth complexion. Her slim, proud figure standing beside him made him wish for a moment that she truly was his wife. He had never thought much of marriage before, but imagining April at his side was euphoric. What would it be like waking up beside her each morning? To gaze into those sleepy green eyes? Soon, he realized with a tingle of anticipation, he would know.

Having never seen a gypsy wedding before, he was surprised to discover it was as long as any dreary church service. One by one, the Lowara each took a moment to wish fortune and fertility upon the couple, even those who had been cursing April just hours before. Everyone agreed this marriage would surely settle April down, and once she had a few young ones in her arms, she would be too busy to go thundering about on any horses.

Tzigane did not hide a small smile of satisfaction as she watched Damien take her daughter’s hands in his. He was handsome, he was kind, and he understood the Romany way. What more could she wish for April except love? And that would come in time, she was sure. No matter what April said, Tzigane was sure the girl was not entirely immune to this handsome
romani rei
.

Jingo pronounced the couple man and wife, and produced the
pliashka,
a bottle of dangerously aged brandy wrapped in silk and dangling gold coins for good fortune. Amid a round of hearty applause and cheers, everyone watched the newly married couple take the symbolic drink from a single cup.

“Well, wife?” Damien was unused to the sound of that word on his lips, but found he uttered it easily enough. He set the marriage goblet aside. “Shall we retire?” The sun was dropping low in the sky, but there was no sign that the evening festivities would soon end.

April shivered as his warm voice caressed her. She looked at Damien in his black pants and the deep blue shirt that darkened the color of his eyes, and something in her belly uncoiled like a tightly-wound rope. His gaze brushed gently over her, while his hand moved down to guide her on the small of her back.

“No. I want to stay and watch them light the bonfire.” Any excuse was good enough now. She desperately wanted to avoid any time alone with this man. April could not yet think of him as her husband. The shock had not worn off, and she was not ready to accept the consequences for her “crime.”

Damien spoke softly against her hair. “There will be other fires, April. There will only be one wedding night.”

He lulled her now in the same deep voice that he had used at the steam. It sent shivers up her spine, but she would not let him see that and misunderstand her real desire to be alone that eve.

“Please. I’m not feeling well …” It was not a lie, but she saw with a sidelong glance at Damien that he neither believed nor appreciated it.

“We need to be alone. There has been no chance for us to talk, to get to know each other. I know this was all sudden for you, April, and I’m sorry. But it is done now and we must make the best of it.” Damien took her by the hand, intending to lead her somewhere where they might talk in private so he might reassure her of his intent.

But April, seeing only impatience and anxiety written on his face, assumed the worst. He was no better than Nicky, wanting to bed her at the first opportunity.

She was grateful when Petalo, having watched their tense exchange, hurried over to interrupt them on a pretense of good wishes.

When Damien took measure of the younger man, April was startled to see her new husband’s eyes narrow. Then, with a curt nod to her, he said, “I am sure you two have a great deal to talk about. I’ll be waiting in the wagon, April. Don’t be long.”

Damien left and Petalo gazed after him, puzzled. “What did he say to you? Are you fighting already?”

April laughed a little, appreciating her old friend’s concern. She patted his arm in reassurance. “No, not yet. But I’m sorry you had to see me come to such an end. I had no choice.”

“You should not have crossed Nicky.”

“I think my fate was sealed before that. But I suppose Tzigane is right, and I can only make the best of it. I must let go of everything I have known and loved.”

A slow grin started to spread across Petalo’s boyish face. “April, you are forgetting something important. But there has not been a wedding in the Lowara camp since I have been here, so maybe it is different for your people.”

“What is it?” She looked at him eagerly, ready to seize any excuse.

“You know that among Rom, it is traditional to have three nights of feasting before the marriage is — uh —”

“Consummated,” she breathed, her green eyes sparkling. “That’s right. I completely forgot about it. And who am I to break tradition?” April laughed in sheer relief as she tossed aside her bouquet and ran to remind the king.

Upon hearing her demure request, delivered as innocently as any Romany maid might, Jingo just shook his head and chuckled. April was right, of course — Rom tradition specified three days and nights of nuptial celebration before the couple was finally put to bed with much merriment and good-natured teasing.

It was considered a test of patience for the young husband, while letting a new bride receive instruction from her mother to lessen her fears concerning the marriage bed. Contrary to
gaje
beliefs, most Romany were celibate until marriage, and faithful thereafter. Jingo knew that April was innocent, and though she no doubt understood how children were produced, watching animals mate had surely given her no clue as to the wonderful and intimate pleasures shared between husband and wife.

Giving her a fatherly pat on the cheek, Jingo nodded his consent. This time would give the couple opportunity to become better acquainted.

“Music!” The gypsy king cried out, and instantly three musicians jumped up eagerly with their instruments. “Now, a merry song in honor of the loveliest bride this side of
El Bruz
.”

W
HEN
D
AMIEN STORMED BACK
out of his wagon a short time later to find his wife, he got no closer than three bodies deep from where April was whirling and clapping in time to the music.

For all his anger he still stopped and stared as she moved sensuously before the roaring bonfire. Framed by the night, she looked like an ancient goddess risen from the coals. Tongues of flame licked along each gold-crested curl tumbling down her back. At that moment April was a beautiful witch with no purpose but to mesmerize man. Damien stared at her until she blended with the crimson fire, whirling wildly in a crescendo to the beat of the tambourines.

As he was about to push in the ring and escort his errant bride gently but firmly out to his wagon, the king reached out and tapped him on the shoulder.

Beaming, Jingo shouted over the crowd, “She’s a wonderful dancer, eh? April will bring you much money on the road. She is doing the
Dance of the Mule
, honoring our ancestors.”

Before he protested, Damien was swept aside as all attention focused on April. Drenched with the sweat of exertion, her eyes feverishly green, she glowed with a secret inner power. She paused only to accept a sip of water from a cup held out by Petalo, while Damien cursed himself for not moving sooner to do the same. But soon she was dancing again, and he was caught up in her spell .

Jingo murmured in his ear about the Romany law regarding the three days. It was so absurd, and so obviously a ploy by April to avoid him, that Damien gave a grudging laugh for her intelligence.

“Patience I already have a great deal of,” he told the gypsy king, who clearly expected an outburst of some sort. “April will find that I’m prepared to wait as long as necessary. You can tell her that for me.” He turned to leave.

“You’re not staying to watch your wife dance?”

Damien shrugged and grinned. “I’ll have plenty of time for that after three days. And then she can put on a private dance just for me.”

Jingo winked back. He liked the witty
gajo
. It was too bad, really, that Damien hadn’t been born a gypsy himself.

T
HREE DAYS PASSED MORE
swiftly than she had anticipated, and April clung with dread to every passing moment with the knowledge that Damien still patiently awaited her in his — now their — wagon.

She learned from the others and from glimpses of him around the camp that he kept himself busy enough during their brief time apart, tending to his pigeons and haggling with the other men to obtain a fresher horse.

Meanwhile, the feasting continued in sporadic bursts, roast haunches of venison and beef cooking crisply over the spits, liberally doused with herbs and spices until they burned one’s mouth. A great deal of liquor was also consumed to offset the tangy food, which meant little work was done around the camp for a few days, and the gypsy king abandoned any notions of trying to get his people to move.

Tonight was the last night of feasting. Soon April would have no more excuses to avoid her husband, and Damien would demand her presence in his bed every night. Feeling her skin go clammy, she shivered and rubbed at her bare arms. She remembered what her mother had told her.

“It will go easier than you think, April. Love between a man and wife is nothing to be frightened or ashamed of. It is a beautiful and natural thing, and full of pleasure. Don’t worry, you will understand what I speak of after tonight.”

But April was unable to concentrate for the rest of the day, knowing what awaited her when Damien came at last to claim his bride before the bonfire.

A
THREE-QUARTER MOON
glowed lushly down upon the forest, turning the tree leaves silvery tan in the twilight. Damien looked up at the sky as he followed the well-beaten path from the stream on bare feet. He felt strangely content and full of exhilaration, wondering what the night would bring. He could have fetched April hours ago, denying her the final night of song and dance, but he wanted no more bitterness than necessary between them.

Damien was surprised to find himself longing to please her in some small way. April did not deserve the deception he practiced, no matter her previous crime, and he was unwilling to hurt her any more than he already had. The matter of the horse was still a sore one between them, and she had not spoken to him at all during the three days. His one attempt to seek her out merely to get acquainted had been met with a cold shoulder.

He vowed she would soon come round. He had bathed earlier and donned fresh clothes. He was frustrated that every gypsy girl save April had cow eyes for him, while his new wife only tossed him scornful glances and wounded looks.

Damien felt like a cad. Not at his heights at court, breaking hearts left and right, had he ever treated a lady like this. He had given away April’s most precious possession, then taken away her freedom, all in one fell swoop. No wonder she detested him. He had acted exactly like a
gajo
. He saw why the gypsies regarded outsiders with such contempt and scorn.

As he came closer to the camp, he heard the revelry still going full-swing. Expecting to find April putting on another exuberant dance, Damien was surprised to see the fire circle was occupied this time with others. His beautiful young bride was nowhere to be seen.

Going to Tzigane’s wagon, he knocked politely before asking admittance. The
phuri dai
was alone, but surprised by his inquiry about April’s whereabouts. Tzigane told him the girl had left over an hour ago, saying she needed to bathe at the stream. There was worry now in the old woman’s eyes.

Confound the girl. Was she trying to run away again? Damien leapt down from the wagon and ran back down the trail toward the stream. He was sure April had lied to her mother, but passing through the camp on his way out he was relieved to see Prince Adar was still there, securely tied to Nicabar’s wagon. He was fairly certain April would not leave without her horse.

As he backtracked in the growing darkness, he increasingly worried about April. Though she no doubt knew these woods like the back of her hand, there were still wild animals and uncouth men who might waylay her. Soldiers had been known on occasion to blunder into a gypsy settlement, or seek them out on purpose, in order to molest the women.