Gypsy Moon by Becky Lee Weyrich Page A

Xendar the Accursed.” She glanced at Charlotte and added in a low tone, as if speaking to herself, “And, too, she may be with child even now.”
    Petronovich had lost his cool, superior air. “No, Queen Zolande! I did not lie with her! I swear it on my own mother’s grave!”
    The phuri dai’s bejeweled hand lashed out like lightning to slap Petronovich’s mouth.
    “How dare you speak in desecration of sacred ground? Do not whine to me about your punishment. The least you can do is act the man!”
    “Mother,” Mateo broke in, “she needs warmth and rest. She’s shivering. Can’t we continue this later?”
    “Here, Mateo,” a soft voice answered. “Put this blanket around her.” It was the fortune-teller, Tamara.
    Mateo took the blanket and went to Charlotte. Gently, he wrapped her in its warmth, then took her cold hands between his. His touch was reassuring. She knew he’d never let them harm her.
    “Phuri, dai, I know this woman,” Tamara said in her quiet voice. “I read her fortune only yesterday.”
    Queen Zolande’s features softened when she looked at Tamara. The girl was like a timid bird, she mused. Strong enough to see and tell the sadness in the futures of others, but not willful enough to hold her own man. If only Mateo could have been cast with Tamara, how different their lives would be. But Fate would have her way, Zolande thought with a shrug.
    “Did you see Petronovich, your own betrothed, in this woman’s stars, Tamara?” asked Zolande. “Were you warned that he might do such a shameful thing, my dear?”
    Tamara looked down, wanting to avoid Petronovich’s defiant eyes. “I saw one of the Rom , Queen Zolande. I felt ill winds. I warned her to leave this place before it was too late.”
    Queen Zolande clutched her shawl about her as if she felt a sudden chill. “Then it is so! We cannot turn her away. She must stay with us until we know for certain if she carries Romany seed. And you!” She whirled about, pointing an accusing finger at Petronovich. “You will remain in camp at all times unless we are performing. Am I understood?”
    Petronovich only nodded, but his eyes flashed dark anger. Why should they believe the gajo woman instead of him? Couldn’t they see she was out to make trouble? Very well! he thought. They had accused him of the crime. He would see that it was committed!
    Charlotte had all but forgotten the others. Mateo’s handsome face looking down into hers was all that mattered. Why not stay with the Gypsies, if they would have her? That way she could get to know Mateo—understand the troubled look in his wonderful eyes. Those very eyes now hypnotized her, making her forget that Mateo might not have room in his life or his heart for her.
    “Mateo, will you keep me with you? Protect me?” she begged.
    He shook his head. “I cannot. I am sorry, but the queen would forbid it.”
    “But you must!” she insisted.
    “Shhh! don’t upset yourself, little one. You won’t be badly treated. And Petronovich will not be allowed near you… not until…”
    Charlotte stared at him. “Until what ? I don’t want Petronovich near me ever again!”
    He gave her a strange half smile. “How like a Gypsy woman you are, to protest so. He will be forced to stay away from you until he earns your brideprice and can marry you.”
    “Marry me? You’re crazy! You’re all crazy! I’m not going to marry him. I’d sooner marry his trained bear!” Charlotte’s voice broke suddenly and she clutched at Mateo as if for protection.
    Something deep inside him seemed to tear loose from its moorings. His heart thudded loudly, pulsing against Charlotte’s soft, warm breasts. He slipped one arm around her waist and smoothed her hair. He could feel little gasps of breath on his neck, like the softest of kisses. She was weeping.
    “Hush now,” he urged. “The others will hear you. Gypsy women don’t cry.”
    “But I’m not a Gypsy. And I’ll cry if I feel like it!”
    “You