"I'm looking for your granddaughter, madame," he said without preamble.
She looked up at him, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. "Of course you are. Here, sit, and give me your hand," she said, patting the pillow next to her.
He sat, but he wasn't sure why he gave her his hand. She held it loosely in her gnarled fingers; there was no strength in her grip. Her eyes closed briefly, then opened to stare into his. It was the strangest sensation, feeling as if your soul were being touched.
Fanciful. He shouldn't have drunk so much today, shouldn't have brought a full bottle of rum with him either, as if he needed extra courage to ask the Gypsy to be his mistress. Actually, he wasn't at all sure what her answer would be, and really just wanted his senses deadened somewhat, in case she turned him down.
"You are a very fortunate man," the old woman said to him at last. "What I give to you will bring you happiness for the rest of your life."
"And what is that?"
She was smiling at him again. "You will know when the time is right."
More nonsense. These people thrived on being mysterious. He supposed it was part of their allure. But he was impatient to see the girl again.
"Where is your granddaughter?"
"She has been asked to dance. She is preparing herself now. It won't be long."
Even another minute was too long as far as he was concerned. His impatience was incredible. After forcing himself to stay away all day, he refused to be put off, now that he was here.
' 'Yes, but where is she preparing? I merely wish to speak with her."
The old Gypsy chuckled. "And so you shall, but after she dances. She doesn't need the distraction you present, when the dance requires her full concentration. Patience, Gap, you will get what you want."
"Will I? When what I want is her?"
He shouldn't have said that to her grandmother, of all people. It was beyond tactless. The one pitfall of too much drink was a loose tongue, and he'd just stumbled over it. But it was too late to take it back now. Fortunately, she didn't appear offended.
She merely nodded and asked in her heavily accented English, "You have one of your religious men ready to give his blessing, then?"
That nonsense again? "Preposterous. I'm an English lord, madame."
"So? She's a Romany princess, as noble in her birth-land as you are in yours. And if you want her, you will have to marry her."
"I have come up with an acceptable alternative," he told her stiffly.
"Have you indeed? One she will find more favorable than marrying that Gypsy there, whose father is our baros-san and has already paid her bride-price?"
Christopher tensed, filling with a rage the likes of which he'd never felt before. "Which Gypsy?"
"The handsome one there leaning against that tree— who will be dancing the tanana with her tonight. It is very, very rare for a Gap to ever witness the tanana. You are blessed, English, to have come at the right time to see it."
That "dancing with her" seemed to have some significant meaning that he couldn't figure out in his drink-befuddled state. He did find the man she had waved toward, and saw him leaving the tree. Following the direction he headed, he saw the girl who'd been haunting his mind and drew in his breath at her sensual beauty.
She wore a low-cut, off-the-shoulder white blouse, the deep scoop of it bordered with a lacy ruffle, dotted with tiny gold sequins. Her full skirt was a shiny gold, and glittered even more with large gold bangles sewn about the hem. Her only jewelry was the long earrings that flashed and tinkled with her slightest movement. A shawl-like white scarf, also dotted with gold sequins, draped over her gleaming black hair and down her sides.
She was shining from head to toe. She was beautiful. She didn't notice that Christopher was there. She was staring at the Gypsy as her arms lifted, beginning the dance . . .
The young man was indeed handsome, tall, slim, graceful in his leaps and movements. Christopher felt too big and utterly clumsy in comparison. The dance was mesmerizing. They never lost eye contact with each other, no matter how frenzied the tempo and movements became. It was a dance of passion, of temptation, of two lovers flirting, teasing, denying, offering, promising . . .
"He can't have her. I forbid it," Christopher said adamantly, proving just how intoxicated he was.
Not surprisingly, the old woman laughed at him. "You can't forbid it, English. All you can do is prevent it by marrying her yourself."
"I can't marry her, madame."
A long, drawn-out sigh. "Then stop thinking you can have her, enjoy the dance, and go home. We will move on in the morning."
