The aroma of Maria’s stew was very pleasant. Anastasia stirred it for a moment as she considered what to say to the Englishman. The full truth? A partial truth?

She did not want him to think she was a sorceress with magical powers, as some Gypsies were thought to be. Magic frightened some people. Even things that seemed like magic but weren’t frightened some people. She was not possessed of any kind of true magic, just a talent that seemed somewhat magical in nature because it was so accurate. The dilemma was, how to explain that to him.

Chapter 14

CHRISTOPHER HAD SEEN GYPSIES BEFORE, THOUGH never this close. Large bands of them came to camp on the outskirts of London occasionally, to ply their numerous trades and entertain those Londoners daring enough to venture into their camps, but he had never gone himself. He had heard many stories, though, about them. Most not so nice.

Generally they were thought to be thieves and exotic prostitutes, but were also possessed of the legitimate skills of tinkering, horse-trading, music, and dancing. They were considered a very happy, carefree people who abhorred the thought of settling down in any one place. To keep a Gypsy from wandering was to wither his soul, or so he had heard.

This band did indeed seem harmless enough. Their camp was orderly, clean. Their music and laughter were not overly loud. They were mostly dark-skinned and very exotic looking. They were all dressed colorfully in bright skirts and kerchiefs, with pale blouses, the men wearing bright sashes. There was much flashing of cheap jewelry, in long, dangling earrings and many rings, chains, and bracelets.

The wench who had caught his interest so thoroughly seemed different from the others, though. She had the long earrings, the many bracelets and rings. Her clothes were just as colorful, her full skirt a bright yellow and blue, her short-sleeved blouse a pale yellow. She had no kerchief tying back her hair, though, which flowed in free, curly abandon down her back and over her shoulders.

It was her eyes, however, that made her so different. They were tilted at a slight, exotic slant, but were of a brilliant cobalt blue. Her skin, too, was much lighter in color, very fair, smooth as ivory.

She was not very tall. Her head would probably not even reach the top of his shoulders. She was slim of build, petite, yet very nicely shaped. Ample breasts pushed against the thin cotton of her blouse. He had seen women more beautiful, but never one as alluring as this one. He had wanted her the moment he clapped eyes on her. That in itself he found utterly amazing, since it had never happened to him before.

She hadn’t answered his question yet. Watching her, enjoying doing so, he nearly forgot it, until she said, “I am a healer, a seer, a diviner of dreams.” Then with a grin, “You do not look sickly, Lord Englishman.”

He chuckled at her. “No, I’m hardly that. Nor do I dream often enough to remember any dream in particular for you to divine. As for seeing into my future, you’ll have to excuse me, pretty one, but I’m not about to throw money away on something that cannot be proven until some future date when you are long gone from here.”