The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga)

by Thorne, Nicola

  ‘We best turn back,’ Analee said. ‘We have not eaten well for days, Randal, and Selinda grows even thinner.’

  Analee looked at her with pity; yes, a puny, delicate girl with large eyes black-rimmed with fatigue. She was ill-suited for the road, for the harsh life they led.

  Randal threw his stick into the bushes and took the reins of the pony, circling the cart so that it faced the way they had come. Analee didn’t know why, but the gesture filled her with foreboding and she glanced behind her at the massive wall of rock they were forsaking as though there were something about it that would protect her. Somehow she felt there was some symbolic meaning in the act of turning back, that it was the wrong thing for her to do. She wondered if she should abandon them and go on, press on ever towards the sea?

  Randal was looking at her. He smiled and held out a hand beckoning her on.

  So they turned their backs on the heart of lakeland, and returned the way they had come towards the flat countryside lying between Ullswater and Penrith. Their spirits rose as they found more nourishing food to eat, sometimes given them by crofters or a kindly farmer’s wife.

  In many ways it was an idyllic life in that fine hot summer. Sometimes they would stop in a village and Hamo would get out his fiddle and Benjy his flute, and Analee and Randal would link arms and begin the measured steps of a saraband, Analee accompanying herself on the castanets and Selinda throwing her tambourine high over her head. At the end of an hour or two when the whole village had gathered and some were beginning to drift away, Benjamin would limp around with a bag attached to a stick, going one way and Selinda going the other so that the whole circle of onlookers was encouraged to give a coin or two. Then they would buy food in the village and that night they would eat well.

  Thus they made their way back to Penrith the town perched on a hill, so high that from parts of it you could see into Scotland. The great castle in the centre towered over the narrow streets and houses, which clustered together so that in some places they almost seemed to lean over and touch one another.

  As soon as she came into a town Analee was aware of a constriction that made her long to be away from it again. She hated the feel of cobbles beneath her bare feet, the noise and shouts of those who thronged the streets going about their business. Selinda seemed aware of her fear and moved closer to her.

  ‘We know several of the tavern keepers here and always do a good trade. Sometimes we are asked to one of the great houses in the area. Twice we have played and danced at Lowther Castle, but at night we go to a field outside the town to make our camp. Do not fear.’

  Analee smiled and grasped Selinda’s hand. ‘I do not fear; but I hate towns. Would we could always keep to the open road.’

  Selinda glanced at her companion about whom she was curious because she said so little about herself. With the gypsy’s respect for an individual’s privacy neither Selinda nor her brothers would have dreamt of questioning Analee. They knew she was not from the north like them. Like them she spoke in the Romani tongue, but her accent was not theirs. At first they had thought she was foreign; she was so tall and her skin was of an olive cast like their brother and sister gypsies they occasionally met from Italy or Spain. But at night as they sat around their fires Analee just listened while they spoke of their experiences or joined with them as they quietly sang the gypsy lullabys which were universal.

  They stopped outside a busy hostelry and Randal went inside, emerging after a time with the tavern keeper who knew them and welcomed them. He looked with open admiration at the lithe form of Analee, noting with approval her brightly coloured gypsy skirt, her loosely tied bodice with her big firm breasts carelessly exposed in the gypsy fashion. Yes, he thought, she would put his customers on fire. Now that she was more rested, her skin had burnt to a deep olive brown with exposure to the fine weather, and the sun had given her black hair a lustrous sparkle.

  The innkeeper grunted and nodded towards her with satisfaction.

  ‘A relation?’ he queried.

  ‘We are all brothers and sisters,’ Randal replied, his brown eyes flashing a little with jealousy as he saw the looks the innkeeper was giving Analee. Almost from the moment he had seen her coming to him in the light of the many fires that night in the camp, Randal had felt that here was the woman for him, the promised one, the tomnimi. Because he and his brothers and sister had moved outside the formal tribal structure, and as no one knew where Analee had come from or to which tribe she belonged, an elaborate courtship was not necessary. However, strict customs governed gypsy life and these were inbred enough in Randal for him to want to adhere to them.

  But he was always close to Analee, helping her, trying to show his feelings by his presence. However, not by so much as a glance or a smile did she indicate whether he had succeeded or not.

  But the way the gadjo innkeeper had looked at Analee enraged Randal, the way he’d ogled her breasts which, like a true gypsy she did not try to conceal. The important parts of a gypsy woman to keep concealed were her midriff, her thighs and her legs and, in accordance with custom, Analee kept these very well hidden indeed by her long skirt and the several petticoats she wore underneath.

  Analee became aware of the tension as the innkeeper’s red face, after staring at her bosom, peered into hers. It had happened to her too often for her to be affected by it. But what surprised her was the way Randal’s face grew dark and his chest heaved; for a moment she thought he would strike the innkeeper. And then she understood. Randal wanted her.

  But before she had time to weigh these implications, the innkeeper stepped aside and, in a gesture of benevolence, motioned them into the inn where there was a roar as soon as they were seen and a space on the rush and sawdust strewn floor was made for them.

  Hamo had seen his brother’s wrath and was disturbed by it too. But he put his fiddle to his chin and started a merry gypsy zorongo. Benjamin lifted the flute to his mouth and Selinda shook the tambourine above her head while Analee, impatiently clicking her castanets, her head raised expectantly, her body taut, her feet tapping time, waited for the cue to enter. Then as Randal, excited as much by the sight of her preparing to dance as by the music nodded to her, his eyes gleaming, she lifted the edge of her skirt, her other hand curled on her hip and made the zarandeo, or swirling movement of the skirt, that preceded the dance. Then his hands on his hips, Randal came in from the other side and, their bodies so close together that at times they almost touched, they went through the intricate movements of the dance.

  Such was the atmosphere, the appreciation of the crowd that all, musicians and dancers, gave inspired performances. But perhaps it was Randal who worked the hardest because he was trying, through the proximity of his body, the messages sent from his eyes, to tell Analee how he felt about her – how much he resented the amorous glances of the gadje who leered at her flying breasts, trying to catch a sight of her legs as the skirts whirled and twirled about her lissom form. And then when each dance finished they would crowd around her, trying to touch her with their hands, offering her drink and food.

  Selinda, at the edge of the crowd, was aware of the charged atmosphere, a feeling that had been absent from their previous performances since Analee had joined them. For the first time, she felt apprehensive and wished that they and Analee had never met. Somehow she felt she would bring an unwelcome change to their fortunes. Randal had admired women before, may have loved some of them, but he had never quite reacted as he did with Analee so that he seemed hardly able to bear her to be out of his sight. His temper had not improved either since she had come among them. He was short and snappish with them and everywhere Analee went his eyes followed her.

  Selinda sighed as her body swayed and her knuckles tapped the tambourine or she shook it above her head in a long trill. She knew that compared to Analee she was an unformed slip of a girl. She was neither as tall as Analee nor as well built; she lacked her swaying hips, the full bust and the luxuriant black hair that fell over her shoulders. And Anal
ee’s eyes ... by any standards they were beautiful as they either flashed boldly or were modestly concealed by lowered lids while her thick lashes curled up even more enticingly, if that were possible, on her cheeks.

  Of the many gypsy beauties Selinda had seen, none were quite like Analee; she certainly far eclipsed her, Selinda, and she had been told many times she was beautiful. For the first time in her gentle life Selinda realized she was jealous – jealous of another woman’s beauty, and afraid of what she might do to the close knit family with whom she roamed the northern parts of England.

  Suddenly Selinda saw a tall, well-dressed man step out from the back of the tavern and join those who pressed forwards eagerly, scarcely able to restrain themselves, in the front row of the crowd. But, unlike the heaving lascivious men whose tongues had lolled out and whose foreheads perspired as their lustful eyes followed the leaping shimmering body of Analee he merely stood, his pot of ale in his hand, and gazed at her thoughtfully, his face unsmiling. There was something about the intensity of the look that intrigued Selinda and made her feel sure that Analee and the graceful young man with a fine broadcloth jacket and breeches and a crisp white cravat, had met before.

  Then the music stopped again and, as the crowd once more pressed towards Analee, the man, who stood a head taller than the tallest man there, gave an imperious gesture with his hand and stepped forward. Analee, who had been about to turn and seek refuge with the musicians, stopped in her tracks and gazed into the face of the blond stranger.

  ‘So we meet again.’ The man’s eyes bored into hers, but he was not smiling. Analee’s heart gave a lurch and she stepped back. ‘I know you not, sir.’

  ‘I think you must remember if I remind you ...’ he glanced round, his expression now roguish, and put his mouth to her ear. ‘The first female horse thief I ever encountered.’

  Analee felt her face redden under her dark tan despite the heat. She had recognized him immediately; the unforgettable sight of his young vibrant face lit by the bright moonlight peering into hers as he straddled her body.

  ‘My lord, I ...’

  ‘Don’t disturb yourself. I shall not betray you. I want to talk to you!’

  ‘But my lord I’m dancing. I cannot!’

  ‘After. Meet me outside. I’ll wait for you.’

  There was a commanding note in his voice and Analee found she was impressed, despite her dislike of authority. Her mind in a whirl she turned to join her companions. What bad luck! But what did he want, this young nobleman? Surely not to betray her, now? No, she knew what he wanted. She could feel the press of his body as his thighs imprisoned her, the urgency of desire that he had transmitted to her in that forest glade transfigured in the shadows cast by the moonlight.

  And then his face had come out of the crowd, so different from the coarse, brutal, lecherous faces that leered at her, seeming strangely evil and cruel in the light of the glittering candles. His had been aloof, unsmiling; but as he had looked down at her she noticed the tenderness in his eyes, the hint of a smile on his curved aquiline lips.

  Randal had seen it too. As he came up to them the joy, the ecstasy of the dance, had vanished from his face and she saw it was sullen and suspicious.

  ‘Who was it?’ he whispered. ‘What did he want with thee?’

  ‘Like all the rest I suppose,’ Analee said nonchalantly, gratefully accepting a jug of ale from a serving maid and putting it thirstily to her lips.

  ‘I thought you knew him?’

  ‘Me? Did you see the cut of his clothes, the elegant way he walked? I should know a nobleman like that? I’d be lucky indeed!’

  Randal looked at her doubtfully. He was sure she was lying, but her face turned to his was so innocent and beguiling. Randal’s heart flooded with love for Analee at that moment and he knew that he must have her; an overwhelming desire for her possessed him. Yet he knew she didn’t return his feelings; her attitude to him was just the same as towards the others. He would have to find a drabarni, a herb woman, to make him a love potion with which to win Analee.

  The crowd of drinkers started calling for music and dancing again, but Randal and his companions were tired. Analee had been on her feet, twirling and swirling, for over three hours. It was getting late and they had to find a camp for the night. Analee wondered how she could get away from her companions to meet the lord – because meet him she knew she must. In him, from the beginning, she had felt an unusual challenge; someone with the power to hold her, to make her cease her wandering.

  Analee had suspected Randal’s feelings for her; he made them so obvious, poor youth, as he hovered around her. She could feel him following her everywhere with his eyes. But she had known many men like Randal, many gypsy lads with whom she had lain for a night or maybe two before going on her way. If she was to stay with Randal and his troupe of musicians she could not allow herself to become involved with him. If she did she would have to leave, and as for a wedding, why, it was out of the question.

  Analee glanced round the crowded tavern and could see no sign of the nobleman. Then she saw that Randal and Hamo were engaged in a harangue with the tavern keeper, doubtless about payment. Most tavern keepers kept a proportion of what the gypsies took – some of them demanded as much as half, and it was best to keep in with them or else you would not be welcome again, either to the tavern or maybe even the town. There were still those who would harry and persecute the gypsies, as happened in parts of Europe. She had heard that in places like Spain, at the sound of the tocsin the local population of a town set about hunting the gypsies like animals; they were even rewarded for each gypsy they captured.

  Analee slipped outside and went round to the back of the inn. The sun was sinking. Horses were tethered to the posts and grooms went back and forth saddling one here, unsaddling another there where the owner had come for a night’s rest or entertainment. Analee looked round and then, feeling conspicuous in her dress, knowing how she stood out among all these men, turned to go back inside again when a hand gently grasped her shoulder and she could feel warm breath on her cheek.

  She turned around and looked up at him. He was now dressed in a travelling cloak, a tall hat on his head. He looked even more elegant and awe-inspiring.

  ‘Sir, what is it you would have with me? I am but a wandering gypsy, not fit for the likes of you, milord.’

  ‘I sought you the day after we met in the forest and you were gone,’ Brent said, smiling down at her. ‘I felt we were destined to meet again, but my grandfather died and I could not come and look for you. Now I am bound for Keswick with my brother, and chance has let me find you again. What is your name?’

  ‘Analee, my lord.’

  ‘I am not a lord, Analee, merely a gentleman – Brent Delamain by name. My brother is now Sir George Delamain and, having come into possession of the great Delamain estates, has sent me packing.’

  ‘Packing, my lord. You?’

  Brent laughed bitterly. ‘Aye. But my brother Tom has come from France and we journey to our cousins who will give us food and shelter. Analee, I may go to France with Tom, my brother. How can I see you? How can we meet?’

  He came close to her and looked into her eyes. Unlike other men, other gadje, the non-gypsies, he was not groping and fumbling for her bosom as soon as he had the opportunity. Although he was tall she did not feel dwarfed, as she too was tall.

  ‘I am on the road,’ Analee said, ‘with the musicians you saw. We earn a living dancing and singing ...’

  ‘Then dance and sing for my cousins! Analee, that is a capital plan. They dwell near Keswick ...’

  ‘But sir, we are bound for Carlisle. To go to Keswick is to turn back. We have just come from Lakeland – ‘tis too remote, there are too few people, the nights are too cold. The troupe does not wish to go to Keswick. I cannot do that.’

  ‘Then come by yourself, Analee. What happened to the people you were stealing horses with?’

  ‘Oh, I left them in our last camp. I cared not for the father of the
family I was with. But here, with these people I have a nomad life which I like and money, so that we can eat well and occasionally buy materials for new clothes.’

  There were footsteps behind them and Tom appeared, also caped and hatted like Brent.

  ‘Brent what ails thee? Why ...’ Tom’s eyes opened wide in wonder to see his brother in such intimate conversation with the wild gypsy dancer. Even though he was a monk and dedicated to celibacy, Tom was still a man; and both as a man and a monk he had admired the grace of the gyspy dancer, felt the power of her supple sensuous body as she had danced before him, her hands high in the air, her skirts whirling about her body, her bare feet moving so fast over the floor that at times he could barely see them.

  ‘Tom, this is Analee. We have met before. Analee, my brother Tom Delamain.’

  Analee dropped a small curtsey as Tom bowed his head. She felt shy in the presence of this stern-looking stranger; like Brent, yet not like him – there was distance about him, something forbidding. ‘Brent, we must go. We shall never be there before dark.’

  Brent glanced at the sky.

  ‘Tom, it is already getting dark! Let us stay here for the night in the tavern. We cannot risk the horses over the paths to Keswick. ‘Tis too far-Tom,’ he pleaded. Tom smiled and glanced at the gypsy. It was an hour or so to darkness yet. Still, Brent was right. They had tarried too long in Penrith. Tom felt awkward in the presence of the girl.

  ‘Brent, I’ll go and seek rooms for the night. They may be hard to find if it is market day, as I think it is.’

  ‘You go in, Tom, and I’ll join you.’

  Tom smiled at Analee and inclined his head, while she gave a brief bob.

  ‘Analee! Come sup with us! Surely you will not say no?’