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“Are there caves hereabouts?” he asked with what seemed genuine interest.
“No, of course there aren’t! The countryside is quite flat.”
Jack burst out laughing, and Harriet was tempted to join him. But the mystery nagged at her. “I don’t see how this came about.”
“It was just a matter of good luck, it seems,” he said.
Jack smiled down at her. Harriet refused to melt. “No, I don’t believe that. I am convinced you wrote that letter.”
“Well, perhaps I am the earl,” he said.
She snorted. “And I am the princess royal.”
“You are to me.”
“Will you be serious?”
“I could be the earl,” he answered. “Journeying incognito.”
“With a troop of Travelers? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If I were…”
“You are not!” Harriet exclaimed. “Fortunately, you are nothing whatsoever like an earl.”
He flinched as if something had hit him. Harriet actually looked over her shoulder to see what the threat might be, but there was nothing there. When she turned back, Jack the Rogue seemed rueful and perhaps sad.
For the first time in their acquaintance, Harriet felt uneasy. Jack was always so lighthearted. He’d given no sign of caring about rank, and he’d appeared impervious to insults. Not that she’d meant to insult him. Nearly all the noblemen she’d met were arrogant and vain, and some were positively despicable. The few exceptions merely showed up the others. She should tell him her remark had been a compliment.
“Look at that then,” he said before she could speak. He pointed.
Harriet turned, becoming aware of the others around them. All around. Their conversation had certainly been overheard by a number of Travelers.
“There,” said Jack.
Following the direction of his arm, Harriet saw Samia sitting beside Mistress Elena on the steps of the old woman’s caravan. The little girl threw back her head and loosed a peal of youthful laughter.
“Mistress Elena is finally teaching Samia palm reading,” Jack explained. “Samia’s nagged the life out of her to learn.”
Harriet looked up. He was smiling now. There was no trace of sadness in his expression. She must have imagined it. Jack the Rogue could not be dejected.
“Come and see,” he added.
Harriet wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t decide what exactly. And then he had walked away. She followed him to the caravan.
“Just what we need,” said Mistress Elena when Harriet reached them. “Samia will look at your hand.” Her dark eyes gleamed with humor. “Mine has too many wrinkles.” She made an imperious gesture. “Rolf, bring a chair.”
A boy went to the central fire circle, turned a bit of log on its side, and rolled it close. He set it upright in front of Mistress Elena and plopped a cushion on top with a flourish. “My ladies,” he said. Samia giggled.
“Sit, sit,” said Mistress Elena.
Harriet sat.
“Give Samia your hand. The one you write with.”
Harriet obeyed, and the little girl bent over her open palm, earnest and yet also ready to laugh. “This is your Life line,” she said, tracing a crease that ran diagonally down Harriet’s hand. “And this is your Heart line.” She indicated a more horizontal mark with a twinkling glance.
“What do you see?” asked Mistress Elena.
