The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (10 page)

‘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?’

‘But my friends ...’

‘They will sup with us, too. Say yes.’

‘Oh, I know not ...’

Analee couldn’t remember when she had last eaten indoors. The thought of the succulent roast pig, barons of beef and fowl that she had seen in the dining room tempted her ... Surely Randal would not mind, for once ... But what then?

‘Well ... I will sup with you, though if my friends will or no I can’t say. But ...’

‘Yes ... ?’

Brent moved nearer to her, wanting so much to take her into his arms; but he knew that now he could not. This strange wild girl had an effect on him he’d never known before.

‘When will we meet again, Analee, is that what you wanted to say.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

We shall find a way,’ Brent said, ‘I shall find a way.’

All during the meal Randal was aware of the glances between Brent and Analee even though they did not sit together, but gazed at each other across the table. For the Buckland family it was a new and strange experience to sit on a chair and have your food put on a platter before you on a table. Randal was at first suspicious of the food and asked a servant what they were eating so as to be sure it was not horse or cat or dog, food abhorred by gypsies. Brent laughed uproariously at the very idea and patted Randal on the arm assuring him that it was bullock and pig and fine fresh chicken.

Tom didn’t laugh. He knew well the strict customs of the gypsies. He had come across many of them in his journeys through France and Italy. His monastery had often sheltered them as they fled from persecution. What worried him was the fact that his brother clearly had designs on this gypsy girl.

It seemed that where love was concerned Brent had a reckless foolish streak in him. Tom could see it now, and grieve for it.

Tom had the cripple on one side of him and the shy young girl on the other. A very different type she was from the bold Analee who, aware of her charms, flaunted them in front of his enamoured brother – surely her bodice was too far down, even allowing for lack of gypsy modesty? To gypsies the breasts were purely functional, for the purposes of rearing children, not for alluring men. Yet Analee would know how the
gadje,
the nongypsies, reacted to that portion of the female anatomy. But she was a beautiful woman, Tom thought – there was a proud, almost aristocratic tilt to her head, a disdain in her eyes that he had seen in noblewomen far, far better born. Was she perhaps half-gypsy? The daughter of a gypsy woman and a nobleman, or the other way round? If the sin had been known the gypsy parent would have been an outcast from the tribe, particularly if it was the mother. Any gypsy having anything to do with the excluded member would have been polluted,
marime.
No, it was fanciful, Tom decided; he had seen her dancing. That magic, that special skill, came from a pure bred gypsy, little doubt of that.

Still, she was a puzzle. She was different from the troupe she was with, that was clear. She was taller and spoke good clear English. Her fingers were long and thin, and there was an air of breeding about her that was certainly at variance with the Romany life – the hard life of the road. Only her calloused feet and her tanned complexion betrayed that.

Tom saw Randal’s dark glances as he listened to the prattle of Benjamin, the engaging little cripple, or tried to induce the shy Selinda, who kept her eyes on her plate, to say a few words.

Brent and Analee didn’t need to speak – their eyes did that for them. Brent found it difficult to stop looking at her, although as the host he was aware of his duties. He was also trying to seek a way of seeing more of her. But how could he? He was bound for Keswick and then France. He was dedicating his life to the service of the King. What place did a wandering gypsy girl have in that?

The genial landlord appeared at the table, honoured to have served their lordships but indicating that the hour was growing late.

Tom got up, looking at Brent who rose reluctantly, his heart heavy. If only he could think of a way. He walked with his guests to the door aware of Randal just behind his shoulder, Analee a little in front of him.

‘Will you stay at least as my guests for the night at the inn?’ Brent said desperately.

‘No thank you, my lord,’ Hamo replied. ‘We have found a place just beyond the town up by the forest. We gypsies do not like to sleep under a roof. It is foreign to our natures.’

Brent nodded, keenly aware of Analee’s receding back. Soon he would see her no more. Outside the moon had risen, as round and as bright as on the night they had first met. Analee was looking at it too. Randal and Hamo paused to bid farewell to Tom and thank him and Analee, looking up at Brent, whispered.

‘Our camp is in the forest up the hill.’

‘We can meet ... ?’ Brent could hardly believe his ears.

‘When they are asleep. Say within two hours ... I will stay on the edge of the wood looking for you. Take care not to get lost. You will see the cart and the horse in the field nearby.’

Without another word she walked swiftly away from him and waited for her companions in the shadow of the inn. Then, after farewells were said, they turned and walked out of sight.

Brent and Tom watched them go, Brent’s heart still thudding from the excitement of the unexpected initiative.

‘I see you were fascinated, Brent,’ Tom said cautiously.

‘She is a fine woman,’ Brent said, then frankly to his brother,‘Tom, we have met before. I am very taken by her.’

‘Oh, folly,’ Tom said aghast, ‘but Brent, ‘tis absurd.’

‘I know it is absurd. But it is a fact. I am taken by Analee the gypsy girl and I think ... I think she is not indifferent to me.’

‘But what can you do? She is a nomad, a wanderer ...’

‘Do you not detect something about her, brother, that is not like a gypsy? She has breeding and refinement such as the shy young lass with her has not. Analee is not true gypsy if you ask me.’

‘’Tis odd you should say that ...’

‘Then you feel it?’

‘There is ...
something.
Has she said aught to you?’

‘No. We have hardly spoken. But I will find out.’

‘How? We leave on the morrow. By next week we shall be in France. Brent, you must not let this passion, this folly, hinder you from serving the King. It is not the time for indulgence.’

Brent gazed at his brother, that good man, that ascetic monk. How could he understand the awakening of desire, the burning of the flesh? Tom had put this aside from him, but Brent could not. However much he tried, the thought of Analee, the desire for her, obsessed him. How it would work out he did not know. He turned away from his brother, his head bowed.

‘Nothing will hinder me from serving the King, Tom.’ Brent stretched and yawned. ‘Right now I’m for my bed.’ Tom smiled to himself with relief. At least Brent had got his priorities right. For a moment Tom had thought he was going after the girl. He clasped his brother round the shoulder as they climbed to their respective chambers and bade each other goodnight.

Brent felt his skin tingling with excitement. The town below was bathed in moonlight and above it lay the thick forest. Brent went up the steep slope of the main street and on the outskirts of the town, following the brief directions given to him by Analee, saw the field and the wood beyond. In the clear light he could see in the distance the cart and the horse grazing beside it. Suddenly a shadow appeared from the tree and Brent walked quickly towards it.

It was Analee. The moonlight was behind her, nearly obscured by the tops of the trees, but it seemed to make a halo round her head so that she looked of almost ethereal beauty. Brent gasped and the blood pounded in his throat; his chest felt tight and constricted. As he drew near her she put a finger to her lips and, turning, disappeared quickly into the trees. He followed her, terrified of losing her because she wore a big black cloak, and was guided by the path of light made by the moon glinting through the trees.

When they were in the heart of the wood, surrounded by trees, she stopped and turned to him. He saw they stood on a smooth green sward about the size of a bed and beyond that everything was dark. It was so magical that Brent felt he must be possessed by some sort of gypsy spell and he drew her towards him pressing his face into her hair, murmuring into her ears.

Analee was trembling and as her mouth sought Brent’s he clasped her round the waist. The cloak she was wearing slipped from her shoulders exposing her beautiful rounded breasts, the nipples erect like tiny rose-buds.

As they kissed the rest of the cloak fell to the floor revealing that she was naked underneath. With a cry Brent held her away from him and gazed at her vibrant body shimmering in the moonlight. Leaning forward, he kissed her. His hands moved from her breasts to the small of her back and, still locked in a deep embrace, they slid gently backwards until they they rested on the soft grass.

Eventually they lay facing each other, the intimate parts of their bodies still in contact, their mouths almost touching, their eyes open, gazing at each other.

‘I love you,’ Brent whispered.

Analee, her eyes smiling, said nothing.

‘Ever since that moonlit night when we met, when I merely felt the outline of your lovely body, I have wanted this. I have thought of nothing else.’

Analee touched his lips with her finger pressing them together. ‘Do not say it. It is not love.’

‘It is love. For me it is.’

His heart grew cold at the thought that, for her, it was not so. Was this just some ritual at which she was particularly adept?

‘Love grows with time,’ Analee whispered. ‘This is passion. It is good of itself. It needs no other commitment.’

‘I am committed,’ Brent said, ‘to you.’

Analee stared beyond him to the sky, dark blue velvet above the trees.

‘Sir, you know it is not possible. I am a wandering gypsy ... you a nobleman. I must go one way, you another. I ...’

‘I have nowhere to go. No home. Analee, let us go together. I am free. Come with me!’

Analee’s face twitched with amusement; the sadness had gone. ‘And what will your brother say?’

‘My brother?  He will be going to France. I can stay here with my cousins. I can serve the King
here.
Analee –’

Analee suddenly gazed sharply over Brent’s head, her eyes filling with horror. He saw how, petrified, she was about to speak and turned quickly to try and see what it was that had so terrified her. But the blow fell too soon, and the darkness when it came was sharp and sudden. The moonlight was extinguished completely.

5

The cart jogged along the narrow road that wove through the flat country between Penrith and Carlisle. The mountains of Lakeland receded into the distance the further north they got and soft undulating hills had replaced the high Pennine range.

Analee lay in the back of the car, Benjy humped up beside her. There was now no room for Selinda, so the troupe of formerly gay musicians had to make frequent stops so that she could rest. No longer gay ... indeed it was a melancholy group that strode silently beside the lurching cart and the tired old horse.

All Analee could see as she lay on the floor of the cart was the lowering sky, for it had begun to rain and nothing protected her from the soft insistent drizzle. Her feet had been loosely bound so that she could not leap over the side and run away; those who had seen her dance had no doubt as to her ability to perform this feat. They had let her hands free and she used them to pillow her head against the rough planks of the cart.

Sometimes she sat up and propped herself against the side, straining to see the peaks of Lakeland now well to the south; but they were scarcely etched in the mist and even as she looked they disappeared altogether. There was no hope for her, no comfort or solace; no beauty around her, no bright skies or singing birds. She closed her eyes as she once again recalled the awful events of that night. She had seen Randal coming. He must have been skulking in the woods, watching her and Brent making love. Indeed, he had confessed that it was that sight which had driven him to such madness, made him pick up the huge stone and crash it down on Brent’s head. Whether he was dead or not Analee had no means of knowing. It had been nearly dawn, and immediately Randal had ordered his family to pack up. Within half an hour they had left the field and the still figure lying face down, the back of his head a tangled mat of blood and hair.

Randal had gone about his business very deliberately, saying nothing, giving no explanations – his brothers and sister meekly obeying him. Analee, too shocked to react let alone protest, was bound hand and foot and tossed in the cart like a trussed sheep. No one thought to explain anything to her or say a word, no one asked what had happened. Randal had thrown her cloak at her in the forest and until nightfall when they stopped this was all she wore. Selinda had quietly and unquestioningly packed her few things – her brightly coloured skirt, her petticoats and her stiff white bodice with the black lacing up the front.

They knew something terrible had happened; but no one asked what.

Analee was used to this taciturnity – the instinctive obedience of the gypsy to the head of the family. They would not question Randal’s motives or his right. He was the head of the family and that was enough. Even Analee fatalistically thought he had a right to behave as he had. He had wanted her, had been prepared to court her in true gypsy fashion and then he had caught her making love in a forest glade to a non-gypsy,
a gadjo.
In some gypsy tribes a maid would have had her head shaved, be an outcast and forced to wear a headscarf knotted under the chin, rather than at the nape of the neck as was the custom, so that everyone would know of her sin.