Gene of Isis

thing the camp is practically empty.’

I checked my email after breakfast, prior to sitting down with Ashlee’s tale, to find a message from Andre.

It simply said that the team had been delayed in Sharm el-Sheikh, and wouldn’t be back before tomorrow evening. He hoped my research was going well, and requested that I email him to assure him that all was well at camp.

What a sweetie, I thought, as Andre was obviously still wary of Akbar’s interest in me. I, however, was not.

I emailed Andre to assure him everything was fine, and then made a cup of tea and sat down at my desk with Ashlee’s epic journal.

It seemed that the forthcoming chapter was in sync with my current mood, for Ashlee had entitled it ‘Passion’.

LESSON 14

PASSION FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

I very much liked my new persona. The clothes that the Duc de Guise had supplied served my purpose beautifully.

I was green velvet from head to foot. This fabric, I was assured, had been tested with ammonia to guarantee it contained no lethal dye—the duke would not make that fatal mistake again.

The outfit consisted of green trousers that fitted my legs snugly; over the top of these were long brown leather boots which folded down at the knee and were designed to be unfolded as required to give more protection during swordplay or from the elements. On top of my very valuable corset I wore a pale green silk shirt and a long-sleeved velvet jacket that buttoned down the front. The coat fell to my mid-thigh, but as the duke felt this was not modest enough for a lady of the blood he had his tailor run me up a long sleeveless tunic of the same fabric and colour, which was little more than a length of fabric with a hole in the centre for my head. The tailor added a large hood to this, and once on my body the green velvet tunic fell to my ankles down the front and back. The garment was strapped to my body by the belt that was slung around my hips—in which was holstered my pistol on my right side while a scabbard that held my sword hung on my left. The additional tunic gave me the comfort of modest attire, but as there were no joins down the side of the garment, it did not restrict riding and swordplay.

With my hair braided back and the green velvet hood drawn over my head, I could easily pass for a man—albeit with a somewhat dated sense of fashion. Still, as a woman, I felt very bohemian.

On the first night of our journey, the males of the clan were delighted that their women had decided to journey with the caravans toward Orleans to await the outcome of my meeting with de Guise. Subsequent to my speedy victory, we met up with the rest of the Charon clan en route back to the road to Paris.

In the camp there was much rejoicing and the gypsies held a great feast in my honour that night—for we had provisions aplenty courtesy of the duke. I had the very great pleasure of being serenaded by Cingar, and he was masterful indeed; he played more passionate and heart-wrenching violin compositions than any famed composer I had been made aware of. In addition, Cingar was also one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen, with long unruly dark curls falling to his waist and a wee French-style beard and moustache. He had beautiful soft brown eyes, a tanned and vibrant face, and a body that was long, lean and fit from life on the road. I also loved all his jewellery—rings, ornate wristbands and charms on neck chains—but most of all I liked the large round earring attached to his left ear and indicated to any interested girl that he was still a single man.

But not for long, Chavi had informed me. As Cingar’s grandmother—her husband, daughter and son-in-law being deceased—it was Chavi’s responsibility to choose a suitable wife for Cingar from among other Romany clans. This she had done and Chavi invited me to the wedding, which would take place en route to the sea. Cingar had yet to meet his bride and was more than a little apprehensive about doing so. Apparently, the band had been heading home to Italy for the happy event when Cingar had received the duke’s request to play at the court in Orleans. As Cingar was willing to do anything to avoid facing his marriage vows he had had the caravan sidetrack to Orleans, which had nearly proven fatal.

Despite his engagement, in gratitude for his freedom the captain had pledged his undying devotion and service—for a gypsy, there was nothing on Earth that was valued more than liberty. Cingar said that he would make my feats legendary and dedicate to me everything he composed from this day forth.

Of course, I was flattered, but there seemed little point to such devotion when I dared not even tell my gypsy friends my true name. ‘If you will see me swiftly and safely to the sea, then I shall be forever in your debt, captain.’ Cingar insisted it was not enough, and so we argued in merry spirits for most of the evening.

In recognition of my service, an entire caravan had been vacated for me to inhabit. Not even Nanny was to share with me for she had taken up lodging with a family of three orphaned girls, aged between five years and fourteen, who were not prepared to relinquish her to my company for the night.

I had not seen Nanny so well and filled with such vitality in many years, so I was not about to break four hearts and do away with the opportunity for privacy and quiet into the bargain! The arrangement suited me just fine.

At dawn my consciousness was greeted by the sweet sound of Cingar’s violin and it stirred my heart fearfully. I had disciplined myself not to think about Devere and those precious few days we’d spent together, but the music was so emotive of love that I couldn’t help but recall those intimacies that now caused me pain and torment. ‘God damn that man,’ I muttered under my breath, my longing filling my eyes with tears. I surmised that my husband’s dread of his brotherhood’s wrath was the driving motivation behind his ardent pursuit of me.

‘I shall not mourn the loss of his favours,’ I lectured myself as I climbed out of bed to dress. I was convinced that that was all there was to it—I had never experienced sexual bliss with any man but Devere, so how did I know that such ecstasy could not be found with any man that tickled my fancy?

I found myself dwelling on Cingar as I dressed and how enchanting he was. I held no delusions that he was in love with me, but certainly lust was in the air.

That kind of thinking will land you in strife, Mrs Devere.

Noting his emphasis on the Mrs Devere part of that statement, I looked to find Albray leaning against the closed doorway of my quarters.

I forced a smile, not in any mood to be lectured. I wanted Devere out of my heart and Cingar was just the man to take care of it for me. And as the captain was to be married soon I would form no attachment. ‘I thought you said you were useless when it came to affairs of love?’