“Your tongue speaks false, much like your dress.
Tell me, why do you try to deceive me?” Gwen sat back so only her leathered old hands could be seen.
She folded them in her lap.
Tara held her head high. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The cold crept in despite the outside heat.
“Yes, I think you do.” She dismissed them with the flick of her wrist.
Tara and Cassy headed toward the door, more than a little confused.
At the doorway, Madame Gwen followed them with her demand. “Wear your hair down, fair maiden. That would be your place while you are with us.” Tara turned around, astonished.
“Come back tomorrow,” she said, her eyes never leaving Tara’s. “I very much want to read that palm of yours.”
A smile crept over Tara’s lips. She’ll be asking for money next, she mused.
“Keep your coin. Who knows? Maybe the stars will deem you both in favor and elevate your time here.”
Tara’s mouth dropped open. Cassy nearly dragged her from the tent.
Gwen’s laughter followed them out.
They didn’t get two feet outside before Cassy clasped both her hands over Tara’s. “I told you she was legit. Wow! That was un-flippin’ believable.”
The warmth of the night found its way back into Tara’s blood stream. “She was a bit surreal.”
“You can say that again.”
Another big burly hooded guy stopped them. He said nothing, but held out his hand.
“What?” Tara asked. “You want money don’t you? I knew it!” she said to Cassy. “It’s all a ploy to extract money.”
Disappointed, Cassy reached in her purse.
“Your binding, young maiden,” he pointed to Tara’s hair.
Tara’s jaw dropped again, “How do you...? How does he know?” She reached to the leather strap holding her hair and pulled it free. “Here! But I want it back before I leave.”
Tara stormed off, unable to shake the chill settling in the pit of her stomach, or the uneasy feeling of being watched. ****
Gwen removed a strand of Tara’s hair from the binding and placed it in the cauldron. The Gypsy Queen pulled back her lips, exposing yellowed teeth.
Her piercing cackle erupted as she tossed her head back and gave in to the exhilaration of her discovery.
Chapter 2
The darkness closed in, slowing down Duncan and Finlay MacCoinnich’s speed. Riding horses hard after night fell was never wise, especially if the rider didn’t know the landscape.
Sounds and voices drifted on the night wind blowing past them. Light flickered from torches surrounding the encampment.
They rode through with barely a glance from the people. At home, they would stand out against all others. The people of the village would know them by sight and greet them with smiles and blessings.
They were brothers with less than two years between them, and were often mistaken as twins.
Duncan tugged on the reins at what stood as a stable. A young lad, dressed in a worn tunic and brown leggings, came out to help.
The first thing Duncan noticed were the boy’s shoes. He stared at them, baffled. Fin cleared his throat before Duncan managed to bring his attention back to the present, remembering why they were there.
Both brothers dismounted with the grace of seasoned riders. Duncan tossed the boy the reins assuming the lad knew what needed to be done.
“Give him an extra measure of oats, lad. He has come far this day.”
The horse was black as tar and stood over twenty-two hands, dwarfing the child. Once in the child’s grip it whined and pulled.
The lad stumbled.
Duncan steadied his horse with a few words and a firm hand. “Easy, boy.”
The boy’s father came out when Duncan spoke.
“Oh, let me help you.” He rushed forward, dislodged the straps from his son’s hands.
“But Dad! You said I could get the next one.”
The boy kicked the dust off his Nikes.
“Yes, well... I’ll let you get the next.”
“But you said...”
“They’re too big for you, Travis. Now run along.”
The father turned his attention to Duncan and Fin.
“This is boring!” the boy shouted. He stomped into the temporary stable. “I don’t see why I couldn’t bring my Gameboy.”
“Sorry. He just isn’t in the spirit of things I’m afraid.” The man ran his hand down the stallion’s neck, and regarded the animal with awe. “Wow!
These are fine horses. I don’t think I’ve seen them here before. Is this your first time?”
Duncan had a hard time understanding the accent. It was Fin who finally spoke up. “Yes.
Perhaps you could point us in the direction where we might find some food.”
“Great accent! It’s Scottish, right?”
“Aye.”
The man nodded his approval and went back to the horses. “Food is past the Gypsy’s tent, and then hang a left. You can’t miss it.”
“Hang a left?” Duncan tested the words out.
“Yeah. Wow, this bridle is authentic. It must have cost a fortune.”
Duncan exchanged a look with his brother. “Ye know what you’re about, sir?”
“Yeah. I can handle it.”
“Good.” Fin seized his brother by the arm, forcing him to leave behind his most prized possession. “He’ll be fine. Come, we’re late.”
“We wouldn’t be if ye hadn’t stopped to stare at the iron horse. Had ye forgotten from the last time we were here?” They marched forward with a purpose and continued their conversation.
“Forgotten? Nay. But you have to admit, they are fascinating. I’d like to ride in one just once while we’re here.”
“We’ve no time and ye know it.” They slowed when passing the Gypsy’s tent. Both of them gave it a wide berth and a long stare. “The parade of women is already done. Our work will be harder this time.”
Duncan clicked his tongue. “I don’t believe I’ll hear ye complain. What was it last time? Three or four?”
“Two actually, the others were false.” Fin’s wicked grin had Duncan patting him on the back when they entered the arena set up with food.
Who would have thought a dinner could last so long? Once the final course was finished, the tables vanished and the musicians started to play. The music was lively, and most of the patrons were drunk. The effect created an unlikely combination, considering few people knew the steps to the dances popular during the Renaissance era.