Free My Own True Love by Susan Sizemore Page B

Magnificent, but that was for the best. Her heart got more caught up every time she talked to the man. It kept trying to get her brain to agree to the ludicrous idea of marrying him. Better to go with the well-meaning missionary aunt and forget all about marrying Toma.

    ******************
"Marry Toma, Aunt Molly?" Sara couldn't help but smile no matter how incredulous she felt at the woman's suggestion.
    They were seated in the kitchen of the woman's very respectable inn. It turned out Aunt Molly wasn't a missionary after all, at least not professionally. She and her late husband were committed Methodists who also ran the Blue Rose inn. Now that she was a widow, Molly had decided to devote most of her time to charity work among the Anglo-Romany.
    The inn's kitchen was closed for the evening, and most of the guests were in bed or conversing quietly in the common room. Beth was tucked into bed in a small room off the kitchen. Sara had been given a room next door. She'd spent part of the day helping out in the kitchen with Molly and the couple who worked for her, then had played guitar quietly in the common room while the guests ate dinner. Her second public performance hadn't been anywhere near as nerve-racking as her first, but she'd been happy to escape to the kitchen when Aunt Molly suggested a little chat.
    She didn't know why she was so surprised when marriage to Toma turned out to be the subject of the conversation. "You said he'd asked you to talk to me. I'd forgotten."
    Molly nodded. "He's such a respectful boy. When Beng refused to discuss the marriage with him he remembered that you had one female relative. So he asked me to discuss the marriage with you. I really think you ought to marry him, dear," she repeated. "He's really quite exceptionally good-looking."
    "Yes. Yes, he is," Sara agreed. She tried not to sigh romantically. "I . . ." She let her words trail away.
    How could she explain that she couldn't marry him even if she wanted to? If she had to make explanations she'd save them for Toma. For now she said, "I'll think about it."
    "You don't want to disobey your father, do you?"
    Sara nodded stiffly.
    "I understand," Molly went on. "I know what it's like to go against your family and everything you know." She stood. "Time we got some rest, my dear. Join me in a prayer for wisdom."
    Sara stood and bowed her head. When Molly had finished Sara said, "Thank you for taking me in, Aunt Molly."
    The woman waved her thanks away and handed Sara one of the candles on the table. "Off to bed with you."
    Gripping the candle by its brass holder, Sara followed its feeble light down the back hall to her bedroom. The room was smaller than the tent and held in the August heat like an oven, but Sara didn't mind calling it home. It had only a narrow bed with a thin mattress, a clothes chest, and a small table for her to rest the candlestick on, but it was better than any other alternative she'd been presented.
    "Better than a prison hulk," she whispered as she closed the heavy door behind. "Anything's better than that."
    "I couldn't agree more," Toma said, stepping out of the deep shadows by the wardrobe.
    Sara jumped in surprise. Her movement snuffed out the candle, which she dropped anyway. A shaft of moonlight fell in a neat square in front of the room's only window. Toma drew her into it. She realized how much she'd missed him as she saw his angular features outlined in the silvery light. She didn't know how it was possible to get attached to someone so quickly, but it had happened.
    She touched his cheek, feeling the faintest trace of stubble. "Maybe there is something to this own true love business," she said, not sure if she was admitting it to him, herself, or the ring.
    Her confusion disappeared when Toma bent his head and his lips met hers. The kiss was one of gentle greeting at first, but grew more ardent and hungry by the second. She wasn't sure who started it, but before long their hands were all over each other. The