“I’m not really. You’re just bored, so you’re imbuing me with traits I don’t possess.”
“You have jars of herbs and flower blossoms and plant roots. Your workroom could belong to an apothecary, and it’s obvious you boast of many bizarre skills. Where did you learn them?”
“From my Aunt Pru.”
“And where did she learn them?”
“From her mother.”
“Why didn’t your own mother teach you. Have you skipped a generation?”
“My mother died when I was very young, so she didn’t have the opportunity to teach me. Aunt Pru had to step in.”
“How old were you when you were brought to live with your aunt?”
“Five.”
“Are you part of a secret society? Are you a sect of pagans or are you witches or—”
She cut him off. “You’re not uttering that word around me. You promised, remember? The women in my family have simply accumulated an enormous amount of ancient wisdom, and we pass it down from one daughter to the next.”
“How far back can you trace your lineage?”
“A thousand years.”
He chuckled, certain she was jesting. “It’s impossible to track that far.”
She smiled coyly. “I might have exaggerated just a tad.”
“Would you do me a favor?” he asked.
“That depends on what it is.”
“You have those magical cards. The Taro cards? I’m curious about them. Would you read them for me?”
It was the type of exploit one might engage in at a fair or with a gypsy at his roadside wagon. He’d seen sailors using them. Elderly matrons occasionally displayed them too, as parlor entertainment. They were made for sport, so what could be the harm?
“I never read them for anyone,” she said.
“Why not?”
“It’s a kind of divining, where we can learn how our path will unfold. Some people find it threatening.”
In explaining her reservations, she was so serious, as if she actually assumed she could predict his future. Could she? And if she could, should he let her? Should any man know his future?
Even as he debated the issue, he scoffed. He didn’t believe in pre-destiny or that a man’s fate was written in the stars. He especially didn’t think a few colorful cards could tell him anything relevant, but he was eager to discover what she might say, to watch her slender hands as she fussed and contemplated.
She hesitated, and the wheels were spinning in her head as she tried to devise a reason to refuse. He raised a brow. “Will I have to call you coward again?”
The taunt was too much for her. She pushed back her chair, marched into her workroom, and returned with the deck. She kept them in a wooden box that had strange symbols carved on it. She removed them and gently placed them face down, as if they were fragile or perhaps even hot to touch. Then she went through the house, closing the curtains and shutters so no spies could peek inside.
She lit a candle and put it on the table, then she sat across from him. Shadows danced on the walls, and she appeared eerie and ethereal—as if she was about to wield great power. Her furtiveness made the whole endeavor seem illegal and perilous.
“I will oblige you this one time,” she said, and she was very somber, “but you have to swear you won’t ever talk about it. If you can’t swear, I won’t proceed.”
“Why would it matter if I talk about it?”
“Can it be our secret or not?”
She was so earnest that he could only say, “Fine, Joanna. I swear.”
She must have been reassured because she nodded and shoved the deck over to him. “Rest your palm on them, then shut your eyes and ponder the question you’d like to have answered.”
“Out loud or to myself?”
“To yourself—and be precise or you might have a different question answered, and the reply will confuse you.”
He was glad he didn’t have to speak his query aloud, for he’d have been incredibly embarrassed. His approaching marriage wasn’t a topic he should mention in front of her.
As she’d instructed, he shut his eyes and thought, Will I be happy in my marriage? Should I go through with it? Or will I be miserable forever?
It was three questions rather than one, but what the hell? It was a circus game, so no pertinent information would be revealed.
He’d decided to wed that year, but he hadn’t felt competent to select a candidate himself. His mother had arranged the match—practically on her deathbed. She’d picked Roxanne, as had always been the plan, and Roxanne had traveled from Italy to bring it to fruition. He should have been ready to walk to the altar, but he couldn’t picture it.
He eased away, and Joanna shuffled the cards, then pulled out six of them and laid them in a line. They were peculiar, but mesmerizing, awash with vibrant patterns and characters that were probably demonic.
The first was titled, The Lovers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?
There were others though, filled with swords and violent scenes that seemed to indicate it would involve strife and conflict. The final one showed an imperious woman sitting on a throne and staring out arrogantly. She had red hair that curled over her shoulders, and it took him a moment to realize she looked exactly like Joanna.
A shiver slid down his spine.
She studied the display, and he studied her, and the tension was nearly unbearable. He broke the silence. “If I didn’t divulge my question, how can you know what my answer should be?”
“The cards will tell me.” It was a response that made no sense. She pointed to them, clarifying their general purpose, then she said, “I recognize that you’re a very masculine man, so what I’m about to say will sound odd, but the main message being delivered is that you’re about to fall madly in love. She will be the woman you’ve waited for all your life, the one created just for you. There will be enormous struggle and jeopardy as you battle to win her, but in the
