Disclaimer: The characters in this story are copyrights of Paramount and Fireworks Productions. No infringement is intended. This story plot is original and copyright of the author, Maril Swan.

Author's Note:There are references in this story to other stories on this site: Gitano,

The Lovers

by Maril Swan

"In readings, Card 6 often refers to a relationship that is based on deep love - the strongest force of all. The relationship may not be sexual, although it often is or could be. More generally, the Lovers can represent the attractive force that draws any two entities together in a relationship - whether people, ideas, events, movements or groups. ...The Lovers can indicate a moral or ethical crossroads - a decision point where you must choose between the high road or the low road. This card can also represent your personal beliefs because to make such a decision you must know where you stand. Following your own path can mean going against those who are urging you in a direction that is wrong for you."

Part one

Another exciting day in Santa Helena, Montoya thought wryly, as he stared out his window at the dust whirling in the hot dry air of the pueblo street. I could almost wish the Queen of Swords would make an appearance just to relieve the boredom. What an incredibly dull place! The brilliant sun on the pastels of the adobe buildings, the colours of the flowers and vines, the animation of the folk in the plaza, all were lost on him, as he sunk further into ennui. Even the thought of his accumulating wealth could not uplift his spirits today. He drew in a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly. How did I ever end up in this dreary backwater of Spain?

As Montoya was about to turn from the window, a wagon pulling up across the street caught his eye. Senorita Alvarado and her Gypsy woman, he thought, without much interest, as he observed the young woman getting down and seemingly giving some orders to her servant. She is having the devil's own luck keeping her hacienda, Montoya thought with bitterness. Nothing seems to shake her enough to make her go home to Spain. Not even the death of her lover. She clings to that place like a limpet. He grimaced at the thought of her. Almost as much of a nuisance as the Queen, he fumed, observing her youthful exuberance as she alighted from the wagon and strode away.

The younger woman went up the street and out of sight, leaving Marta with the wagon. She reached behind her to pick up a basket and then stepped down, heading for the market. Her easy grace and confident stride attracted Montoya's attention as he watched her wandering through the market stalls, searching for produce. His eyes narrowed and an idea formed. He smoothed his beard abstractedly as he considered this plan, and smiled to himself. Suddenly, the day seemed brighter and he hummed tunelessly as he put on his tunic, checked his image in the mirror, and went out into the street.

Unconscious of being observed, the Gypsy woman picked over the fruit and vegetables, haggling with the vendors, as she filled her basket. A hand reached for her basket, taking its weight off her arm and she turned swiftly, her mouth dropping open when she saw who had accosted her. Recovering quickly from her surprise, Marta said, "Buenos dias, Colonel." Glancing down at his hand on her basket, she gave him an annoyed frown.

"Let me take that for you, Marta. It looks heavy," he said smoothly. His hand brushed her arm, raising the hairs as if a cool wind had blown across her skin. She felt her pulse quicken and looked away, confused by this unwonted sensation. Pulling the basket from her arm, he slung it over his own, a knowing smile in his pale eyes.

"I can manage, Colonel. Please do not trouble yourself." Marta tried to retrieve her market basket but Montoya steadfastly hung on to it. Resigned, Marta said, with asperity, "Well, if you insist. I have only a few more things to get before my mistress returns. She does not like to be kept waiting."

"All the more reason for me to help you, Marta. How about some of these grapes? They look very fine."

"We do not buy them, Colonel. We grow them," she said in irritation. Marta searched the street for some sign of Tessa, some rescue from his unwanted company, but for the time being she was stuck with him. What does he want?

"Of course. How foolish of me." Montoya regarded her with a speculative gleam in his eyes, a look Marta found disconcerting. "I have been somewhat remiss in getting to know you better, Marta. I have observed you for some time, and wish we could become friends." He smiled ingratiatingly, and added, "Perhaps you would join me for dinner sometime...soon." His eyes never left her face, the look warming to an intensity that made her want to flee.

Like a serpent's eyes, Marta thought, bright as jewels, attractive and deadly. In spite of the hot sun on her bare shoulders, she shivered with dread as those cold eyes held hers, mesmerizing her with the mystery in their pale depths. She did not want to remain near him, the aura of evil disturbed her, but something seemed to have hold of her. What does he want?

She broke the spell by looking away quickly, as her cheeks flushed with anger at his invitation. "It is hardly fitting that you should ask me to dine with you, Colonel. We both know why it is impossible. I am just a servant. What could you want with me, other than the obvious? And I will not become anyone's mistress, and shame the Alvarado family. Now, I must go."

Marta snatched the basket and was about to turn away when Montoya held her back with a firm grip on her arm. He lifted her hand to his lips, and gently turning it over, traced a kiss across her wrist, keeping his eyes on hers without wavering. A lazy smile spread over his face as he watched the flame leap into her eyes, a flame of passion. She stumbled back, raising her hand to strike, then remembered who he was, the power he wielded. Instead, Marta reached into a pocket of her gown and withdrew some coins.

"I have something that belongs to you, Colonel." She showed him the money he had given her as a bribe to influence Tessa into returning to Spain. "We have no understanding. We never did." With that, she dropped the coins in the dust at his feet, and tried to move past him.

He cut off her retreat and said, "There is something between us, Marta. You know it as well as I."

She shook off his hand, and hissed, "If you touch me again, there will be something between us...a knife!" She took the basket and hurried back to the wagon, her breathing as ragged as if she had run miles, her mind in turmoil as she put the basket in the back.

Tessa strolled up and was about to speak, when Marta said urgently, "Get in the wagon. We are going home."

"Why? I'm haven't finished my business yet." The young woman squinted up at her companion, already on the wagon seat, and preparing to leave. "What's wrong, Marta? You look upset."

"Get in or I leave you behind!" Marta snapped, unlocking the brake and picking up the reins. Seeing no alternative, Tessa climbed up beside her. The older woman whipped the horses and turned the wagon in a narrow circle across the street, nearly throwing Tessa off the bench. In a cloud of dust, the wagon sped out of town.

"Now will you please tell me what this is about?" Tessa asked, frowning as she looked at the flushed, angry face of her guardian. "What has upset you so much?"

"Montoya!" Marta spat.

"What about Montoya? What has he done?"

"He asked me to dinner, then kissed my hand," Marta said, her voice an angry growl. Tessa collapsed back onto the wagon seat, laughing so hard she nearly fell off.

"The scoundrel!" she cried, gasping for breath. "Turn the wagon around, Marta! I'll call him out for that." She fell to giggling hysterically, as each glance at Marta's face brought on a new gale of merriment.

"You may think it's funny, Tessa. But what do you think he wants?" Marta asked, with an angry sidelong look at Tessa.

"Well, Marta, you're older than me, so I shouldn't have to explain it to you," Tessa replied, exploding with laughter once more.

"Besides that. What if he suspects you're the Queen of Swords, and hopes to get information from me?"

"Don't give him any," she chuckled. Sobering, Tessa realized her amusement at Marta's expense was causing the other woman more distress. She took her hand, patting it affectionately. "Marta, you're making too much of this. Ignore him and he'll leave you alone. Don't let him get to you."

But he had already gotten to her, Marta knew. The long dormant fever in the blood had been awakened, and she could still feel the skin on her wrist pulsing where his lips had been. Why am I drawn to such a man, she wondered desolately. His darkness and danger? The possibility of redeeming whatever good still exists in him? She sighed heavily, and thought, the Fates are playing with me-a cruel joke it is too.

"I knew it was too peaceful, Marta. Montoya is always at his most dangerous when he is quiet. These last few weeks have been almost dull without him stirring things up. Now I know what he has been up to." Tessa sat back from her gardening, and pulling off her gloves, set down the trowel. The roses and other plants surrounding the villa had revived under their care, as the two women worked to restore the gardens to their former beauty.

Tessa stood up, stretching, and looked over their handiwork. She glanced at Marta with a satisfied smile. "You were right about the garden, Marta. It will be beautiful again."

"I always keep my promises," the woman answered with a quick hug for her ward. She frowned slightly, and asked, "What about Montoya?"

"He has levied a new tax, this time on livestock. The peasants who can't pay are being kept in the prison then taken to work on a new road that will adjoin el camino real. They're being driven like mules or worse. Of course, the tax is illegal. I'm sure none of the gold ever goes to Monterey. It just lines his pockets." Tessa's troubled look vanished, replaced by the determined expression Marta had grown to dread. The Queen of Swords would ride tonight. Marta tried a valiant smile but it was forced.

"What are you going to do, Tessa?" she asked anxiously. As the younger woman opened her mouth to speak, one of the workers rushed onto the verandah toward them, his face flushed from running.

"Senorita Alvarado," he panted. An older man with a fringe of white hair around his bald pate, he looked like an old monk. His face was wizened and creased, his dark eyes shaded by a generously overhanging brow. "On your land, patrón" he gasped. "Gypsies!"

Tessa glanced quickly at Marta. The surprise and delight on her friend's face made Tessa laugh. "Where are they, Ignacio?" Tessa asked urgently. "Take us to them! Come on, Marta. Let's go and meet them." Her cares forgotten for the moment, she was an excited young woman with the prospect of some fun ahead of her, as she raced toward the stable to get her horse.

The tantalizing scent of something delicious cooking wafted on the breeze, telling them they were nearing the camp. Topping a small rise, the trio of riders gazed down upon the gitano camp with its circle of six colourful wagons enclosing the campfires from which the savoury aroma emanated. Unnoticed as yet, they watched the activity in the camp for a few minutes. Marta's face softened with remembrance as her people went about their work and play. The strains of a guitar floated up to them and she noticed the player leaning against a wagon wheel, strumming. The sound of voices carried on the air, the accents and language of the Rom. She smiled at Tessa, each remembering the secret they shared-the year Tessa lived with her people, the gitano.

"You can go back now, Ignacio," Tessa said to the old peon. He nudged his donkey into a joggy trot, not having to be asked twice, his superstitious fear of the Gypsies goading him into a hasty exit. Tessa laughed lightly, watching him go. Turning back to the camp, she said, "Do you think they'll mind us intruding, Marta?"

"Of course not. It will be an excuse for a fiesta. And as you remember, Tessa, any excuse is good enough." Marta chuckled with joy as she nudged her horse down the slope toward the camp with Tessa following. Several men gathered together while the others in the camp stopped what they were doing, nervously watching as the riders came closer. Marta called out in the Rom language, "Greetings, brothers and sisters!" A babel of voices rose in welcome and the women were soon surrounded by the people, their faces grinning with delight.

Sliding off the saddle, Marta introduced herself and Tessa. "Señorita Alvarado owns this land,"she explained, gesturing to her mistress.

"But you are welcome to camp here as long as you like," Tessa added.

Their leader, a swarthy middle-aged man somewhat shorter than Tessa, bowed and said, "I am Léon, and we welcome you to our camp, gracious lady. We accept your hospitality. Thank you. We need some time to repair our wagons and earn some money. Is there a town nearby?"

The women exchanged a worried glance. Tessa said, "There is a town, but it's not somewhere you would want to go. It's a dangerous place right now."

Léon laughed shortly. "What place isn't dangerous for the gitano? But come, join us for a meal. And tell us how you came to be in this part of the world, Marta."

Concluded in Part Two