The Judge and the Gypsy by Sandra Chastain

thought that something was walking with us.”
    “Savannah, I’ve walked these woods for fifteen years, and outside of other campers, and a couple of hunters, I’ve never seen anything that wasn’t more afraid of me than I was of it.”
    “You haven’t looked. Remember what Hamlet said—how does it go? ‘There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio’?”
    “I don’t know. If it isn’t in a law book, I probably haven’t read it.”
    “That’s your problem, Crusader, you travel much too narrow a line. It won’t work, you know. People aren’t always what they seem, and you, I think, are lying to yourself. Good and evil make up the world, but they aren’t so clearly divided as that.”
    “You’re not a psychic, or a voyager, my lady of mystery—you’re a philosopher after all.”
    “No, I’m a human being, composed of both good and evil, just like you, Judge Horatio Webber. Maybe it’s time you learned. Maybe I’ll be the one to teach you how to find the truth.”
    “Maybe, Gypsy, but you could be wrong. Have you ever considered how much happier the world would be if a thing were either right or wrong, if people were simply good or bad, if everything were clearly one thing or the other?”
    There was such pain in his voice. She almost reached out and touched him. For just a moment she wanted to reassure him, tell him that she understood. Had she misjudged him? Was he caught up in some terrible event over which he’d lost control?
    No, she told herself sternly. He knew what he was doing. She couldn’t allow her growing awareness of the man to weaken her will. Women were always drawn to the wrong men. She simply had to toughen her resolve.
    Rasch reached the top of the ridge and stopped, waiting for Savannah to join him. Beyond the trees, shimmering in the late afternoon sun, was Shadow Lake, clear and green and peaceful. On the other side of the lake was an abandoned cabin that Rasch had used on occasion when he wanted to get out of therain or the cold, but he wouldn’t pass that on to his companion just yet. She’d wanted to tag along, and she might as well face the rigors that accompanied camping out.
    Savannah came to a stop beside him and took a deep breath. “It’s beautiful, but a little lonely.”
    “Yes, it’s lonely because it’s supposed to be haunted by a beautiful young Indian maiden who threw herself into the lake when she was told that her lover was dead.”
    “Yes. This is a sad place, but it isn’t evil.”
    “No? Well, I’ve never had any problems. But I’ve never had a Gypsy woman along with me either. Perhaps I’m tempting fate.”
    “Tempting fate?” Savannah’s voice quivered. She placed her hand on Rasch’s arm, more a gesture of denial than of disbelief.
    Rasch looked down at her. He couldn’t fathom the veiled look in her dark eyes. She seemed to be seeing something that he couldn’t see. There was a hint of the same sadness that he’d sensed in her on the patio and later in the street. Regret mixed with fear and anguish washed across her face.
    “Don’t worry, Gypsy,” he said softly. “I’ll protect you. I take my duties seriously. I won’t let anything happen, I promise.”
    “Don’t make any rash promises, Crusader. A crusader can never be sure of the consequences of his actions. A crusader never knows how much he can hurt in the name of doing good.”
    The sun dropped behind the mountain across the lake, and the wind skipped across the water, ruffling the surface and obliterating the reflection of the sky.
    “We’d better set up camp,” Rasch said, prying her fingers from his arm and clasping them between his own. Her hand was cold, but warmed as their fingers intertwined. He could feel the erratic beat of her pulse, the tension as she pulled away.
    “Savannah? What’s wrong?”
    She stopped and swung around to face him. “More questions, Crusader? What do you want from me?”
    “I want—”