It Was Only a Kiss

"I demand to see Mother Elena." The voice sounds familiar. I walk over to the centre of the camp. Hitting acorns with my cricket bat has stopped amusing me anyway.

I see one of Gemma's (Miss Doyle, I correct myself) friends from the lake standing defiantly in front of Ithal. I immediately realise why the voice sounded so familiar. It is the same voice that threatened me when I came across them the other night.

When I see Miss Doyle and the girl who stayed out of the water, I assume that this adventure of theirs to the Gypsy camp can only be dangerous. If they are asking to see Mother Elena, if she wants to see Mother Elena, the Rakshana will not be pleased with me. How is that I cannot manage a young girl they will ask. I won't be able to give them an answer.

Miss Doyle's voice breaks through these thoughts. She simply reiterates their need to see Mother Elena.

This must have been the first thing she has said because Ithal looks at her as if he has just noticed that she is there. Of course he has a personal reason to look nowhere but at Miss Doyle's friend. He raises his hands in front of him in a relenting gesture. "Ah…this gadje is yours. I apologise, friend," he says looking at Miss Doyle but still making it clear that he is talking to me.

My eyes briefly dart to Miss Doyle as I try to mask my mortification with an emphatic denial. Just because I have dreams doesn't mean that I want Miss Doyle to know that she is never far from my thoughts. Then I understand that by claiming her as mine, I can save her from someone else. I can let her run away and, at the same time, keep her from Mother Elena. With this in mind, I claim her and take her away from the circle of Gypsies.

My plan experiences a setback when a younger Gypsy takes her by the wrist as well. "How do we know she's yours? She does not seem so willing. Maybe she will come with me instead."

He has unknowingly voiced my secret insecurity: that she will never choose to be in my company. I cannot speak for a moment. The men find this silence rather humorous and laugh. I can't think of a response.

Before my challenger can claim her, Miss Doyle presses her lips to mine. My body relaxes. I can feel my temperature rising as the kiss continues. Though our lips are the only thing touching, it seems that my body has become hyper-sensitive to the location of hers. I can instantly calculate how much one of us would have to move in order to close the rather small but obviously present gap between our bodies. I wonder how to best close the gap. Should I just move? Should I wait for a sign that Gemma wants us to be closer? Do her lips on mine count as the sign? I want to be as close to her as is physically possible. My tongue appears to agree as it seeks admittance to her mouth.

For one glorious fraction of a second, I think she will allow the kiss to deepen. Her lips part just slightly, but that seems to bring her back to the woods, to the Gypsy camp, to the men and her two fellow adventurers watching us. She pulls away from me abruptly, and I try to keep a frown from my face.

During that surreal kiss, I had entertained the idea that Miss Doyle actually might feel same way I do. When she pulls away, I realise that this was a kiss of necessity. The truth is that, to her, I am simply the lesser of two evils. She would rather kiss me than subject herself to the whim of my challenger.

I take the girls to Mother Elena, my thoughts still reeling from her kiss. I understand very quickly that this is a gift I shall never receive again. I try to memorise the whole incident.

Once the two friends have gone into the tent, I pull her aside. "Just what do you think you're doing here?" I ask referring to her presence in the camp as well as her kiss.

"Having my fortune told," she says innocently. She is a terrible liar. "I apologise for my conduct. It was necessary under the circumstances. I hope you won't think me too forward."

I am right. A kiss of necessity, not of desire. This admission pains me more than it should. To release some of my pain, I take an acorn and hit it hard with my cricket bat. The bat is rubbish, the result unsatisfying. "I'll never hear the end of it from them later," I tell her, trying to keep emotion from my voice.

"Sorry to have put you out on my behalf."

I can't respond. Her formality stings. I need to change the subject. I remember the other girl from the lake. The pale one with the white shift. I remember that it was hard to look away from her, the wet clothe clinging to her body like a second skin and leaving little to the imagination. It was even harder not to imagine seeing Miss Doyle in such a state. I block that memory from my mind for the moment and focus on the missing conspirator. I ask where she is. Is she hiding in the woods?

"She's ill." Her voice has an odd edge to it.

"Nothing serious, I hope," I say out of politeness.

"Nothing serious. May I go in now?"

That means releasing her. But I can't keep her. I know that. The kiss was nothing to her. "Do not do this again," I tell her. The warning means so many things. I wonder if she understands them.

I walk back into the woods and to my tent. When I sleep, I dream of her lips on mine. I dream that we are alone and she does not pull away this time.