Page 7 of Much Ado About Mistletoe
The contrast to the pleasant buzz of commerce and music made me startle; when a man gives an angry shout, a woman is always wise to beware. I looked to see Lazaro, big fists clenched, striding toward a woman as she passed the fountain. At once I comprehended his hostility—and the danger to her.
She was dark-haired and dark-eyed like me, but foreign in her features and her clothing, obviously not from Verona and even more than that, not from the Italian peninsula. Her heavy black skirts dragged against her scuffed black boots, and colorful fringed shawls wrapped her head and shoulders.
She was a wanderer, one of the people who traveled in homes on wheels.
They called themselves Romani.
The righteous burghers of Verona reviled them, but the Montagues allowed them to camp in our vineyards; Nonno said allowing them to rest from their constant travels was an act of Christian kindness, and in return they brought luck and a bountiful harvest.
Nonna scoffed at that as superstition, but she kept their campsite stocked with firewood and made sure the children were fed, and assured me that never had we taken harm from them. And I—I learned from my grandparents’ example. Before Cal or his bodyguards could make a move, I hustled over to the woman and slipped my arm through hers. In a voice pitched to project, I said, “Maria! It’s so good to see you after so long an absence. Thank you for meeting me as I requested. Will you walk with me?”
The woman, who I had never met before, met my eyes and smiled with white, even teeth. “You may call me Maria, and it is always my pleasure to meet a Montague no matter where she might be.”
Ah yes. I resembled both my father and my mother, and her sharp eyes identified me. “May I accompany you to your destination?”
Her gaze flickered toward the scowling Lazaro. “It is a kindness I much appreciate. Lazaro fears I’ll reveal his activities in our camp last night. They bring no honor to him and his family.” Her accent sounded as if she had traveled far, from Rome or Gaul, or even beyond.
I said, “He’s a bully, while I—”
“You’re the betrothed of Prince Escalus, and therefore untouchable.”
That insight set me back a little. “How did you know?”
She glanced at the singing children, then strolled toward the other end of the square. “The gossip has flown across the cities and the countryside, that Prince Escalus has chosen an elderly, eccentric bride to grace his side.” She laughed at my expression. “You’ve become famous, Rosaline of the House of Montague, especially after your divination of the elder Prince Escalus’s assassin. They say you saw his ghost. They say you’re mad.” She laughed again. “If you didn’t wish to know the gossip, you shouldn’t walk with a gypsy.”
I accompanied her as if we were the best of friends. “Why did you come within the city walls? That seems unwise.”
She glanced behind us. “I’m safe now. You hold my arm, and we have an escort.”
I glanced, too. Cal and his men followed close enough to protect us, and back far enough that we could speak in private.
She continued, “I have a girl-child, born of a liaison with one of your kind. Fool that I was, I believed when he said he’d marry me.” She spit on the ground.
“Sfigato,” I agreed.
“Si. Last year, I left Eva here, to the orphanage.” Her husky voice grew gravelly with heartbreak.
She was a lovely woman, no more than twenty-five. “Why did you leave her?”
“I raised her in all the tradition of the Rom. Like us, she can live by her wits. She can tell fortunes that are true. But she was scorned as too pale, too smart, too insolent.” Her face screwed up with scorn. “Our chief decided to tame her, to take her as concubine.”
I clenched her arm closer against my side. “Bruto.”
“Men are swine, all of them, and I wouldn’t have it. But she…she was fiercely angry at me for leaving her here. She told meno, no orphanage, she would earn her living cutting purses.” The woman shook her head. “I wanted her to have a chance. I told her to learn from the holy people, to get a craft, to become a citizen. She’s so stubborn. Like me. I don’t want her to pay the price I do. I fear for her.”
“I haven’t seen your daughter, but now I know, and I’ll watch for her.” I pulled her to a stop in the long winter shadows, and I faced her. “My family exerts a loving influence that’s almost irresistible.”
She laughed. “Yes. Thank you. You relieve my mind. If you wish, and if you have silver to cross my palm, I would read your future.”
I’m a cynic about a lot of things, and telling fortunes is one. True love is another, but my parents show all signs of true love, and then there’s me who did the “love at first sight” with Lysander, although that was thwarted by the machinations of Prince Escalus…
As was his wont, the prince moved swiftly and softly and suddenly loomed over us in thatI’m taller, broader, and can easily overwhelm youirritating manner he had. “I have silver.” And he firmly pressed his coin into the wanderer’s palm.
I did not see that coming.
However, she didn’t seem surprised. She cupped the coin as if feeling its warmth, then passed it to me.
Uncertainly, I took it.
