The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (3 page)

He looked down in amazement at the slender wrist he was holding, then up at the rider. He saw bright eyes gazing fiercely at him, a full, firm mouth that grimaced in pain and a beardless chin tilted in the moonlight.

A boy! A mere boy. The voice had given him away if not the narrow wrist and unshaven face. Well he’d have a mere lad off his horse in a trice and he’d beat him soundly before handing him over to the magistrate, who no doubt would eventually hang him. Brent tried to spring on to the horse behind the lad but in the effort loosened his grasp on the wrist and, with the cunning of an expert horseman, the boy sharply backed his horse, causing Brent to lose hold completely and fall flat on his face.

With a laugh the boy grabbed hold of the two horses tethered together and sped off.

Now Brent was furious. To be worsted by a mere lad, a beardless youth scarce fifteen, or maybe younger since his voice was still unbroken. He grabbed hold of Marcus, sprang onto his back and kicked him into full gallop after the disappearing thief who had not only taken the horse he was on, but had had the nerve to steal two more as well, despite being pursued!

The path through the forest taken by the thieves – leading towards Appleby as Brent had suspected it would – was tortuous and narrow. It was familiar to him from boyhood ramblings, but he guessed that the riders in front of him were gypsies and no one rode as gypsies rode, especially when they were stealing other people’s horses. A grudging admiration for them rose in his breast. And to employ a boy into the bargain – what nerve!

Suddenly Brent saw his quarry in front of him; he was being held back by the two other horses he was leading. Looking back and seeing his pursuer, the boy let the tethered horses go and they halted abruptly causing Brent to falter. As he turned aside to avoid a collision Marcus at the same time stumbled on a gnarled bough in the undergrowth and Brent, without a bridle or saddle, went over his horse’s head and fell heavily to the ground. In front of him, the rider hearing the cry and the commotion of horses whinnying turned and paused. When he saw what had happened he kicked his horse and sped towards the fallen man.

Brent lay on his face, winded and heaving, but aware that he was not hurt. He was also aware that the rider was coming back and as the horse trotted gently up to him made no move. The rider paused for a while and then dismounted, coming stealthily towards Brent. Brent saw the feet then the legs of the rider’s harsh leather boots, waited until they were a few inches from his face and then, drawing a deep breath, he gave a mighty lurch and dragged the boy thief to the ground sitting astride him so that this time there would be no escape.

The boy gasped and struggled but Brent had his wrist between his knees and his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

‘Now my young rogue, I’ve got you,’ Brent cried banging his head on the ground. ‘They hang horse thieves, you know, no matter how young.’

The boy gave a cry and struggled, arching himself, and Brent’s hands moved downwards to pinion him more firmly by the chest. But instead of a bony boyish frame such as he expected, his hands encountered twin mounds of firm flesh such as Brent had never felt on a male body, but many times on that of a woman. With an exclamation he drew his hands away still sitting astride, and pulled off the cap that the ‘boy’ had worn on his head.

‘My God. ‘Tis a woman!’

He was so amazed that he continued to sit where he was gazing at the defiant face that looked up at him, the dark luxurious hair that now, loosed from its cap, spread on the ground. That firm small mouth, that tilted beardless chin pointing aggressively at him belonged to no youth but a full grown, beautiful – nay voluptuous even, he thought, aware of her curved hips beneath him – woman.

‘A woman horse thief,’ Brent continued as if talking to himself. ‘I do not believe it.’

The woman stopped struggling and decided on another tactic having seen the look on his face, so clear in the moonlight. And a handsome noble face it was too – certainly the master of the house, no servant he, no clod-hopping menial sent to catch them.

‘Sir,’ she said. ‘I beg you will let me go or I will be horsewhipped.’

‘Or you will be hanged you mean,’ Brent said beginning to smile at such audacity. ‘Horse-whipped will be mild compared to what they do to thieves in Carlisle. You are a thief, are you not? Woman or no? A common thief.’

Analee – for it was she – knew men well enough to realize when a threat was real and when it was not. And this fine lord, this nobleman whose graceful body was sitting astride hers in the sort of position that, despite the gravity of the circumstances, could not help but give rise to idle fancies – this gentleman with his light bantering tone surely didn’t mean what he said.

‘I am not a common thief sir, but a woman reduced to what I do through harsh circumstances. I beg you to free me for if they know I am caught I shall be given no more work.
Please
sir. We are to leave here soon; we shall not trouble you again.’

‘But be free to steal from others, eh?’

Brent was reminded how much he had hated the thieves but a short time ago; how willingly he would have given a mature common gypsy man to the sheriff to be hanged.

He stared at the girl and saw her teeth gleam in the light of the moon that streamed through the trees. He was aware of her body under his, a soft pliant body with a narrow waist, full hips and legs spread just that little bit enticingly apart. He was aware that she had stopped struggling and the look on her face was no longer defiant – it was warm and inviting, coquettish.

The moment passed. Her thighs were encased in breeches, her body in a thick jerkin.

‘I cannot make love to a lad,’ he laughed and reluctantly released his sure hold on his captive, pulling her to her feet with him.

She was tall and her body was still close to his. He was aware of her round full breasts beneath her leather jerkin, even though they’d been flattened and tied with some sort of cloth to make her look more like a boy. And indeed in her man’s garb with her long black hair and her sinuous gypsy body, her dark flashing eyes looking so challengingly at him, he thought she looked even more desirable than she would dressed as a woman, or indeed dressed in nothing at all.

They stood for a moment – aware of each other but not speaking. There was a tantalizing body smell about her, a fresh smell as though she either washed or soaked herself in a compound of herbs and exotic spices. It was a lingering alluring smell that made him want her even more.

‘I will let you go if I can see you again,’ he said, ‘if I could meet you on proper terms.’

‘
Terms
sir?’

‘I would not take advantage of a woman like this – you know what I mean.’

‘Oh I can see you
are
a gentleman,’ Analee said mockingly. ‘I’ll warrant the first one I ever met.’

Of course she was crude, Brent thought, what else could he expect of a gypsy? Her voice was from the south. It was not as uncultured as he might have expected; but whichever way she spoke troubled him not. She excited him.

‘I will see you again,’ he murmured, his voice shaking. ‘I will, I must.’

He grasped her hand, but Analee shook her head, regretfully, and backed away.

‘Why not?’ He followed her, still holding her hand. ‘Not now. Not here. They might come back.’

‘When then, where?’

She continued to walk backwards and he followed her, looking for the chance to pinion her against a tree and seize her in his arms. As though aware of his intention Analee stepped back carefully, enjoying the game, her mouth beginning to show an enticing smile.

She was such a coquette! He reached out to grasp her, but she eluded him.

‘Take care lest you fall again, sir. This time I might
not
help you to get up.’

Analee knew she had to deceive him, get away from him ... alas. Alas because he was so handsome, with his blond aquiline looks, his strong young supple body. It was not hard to imagine the ecstasy their union would bring. But she had to resist him, this
gadjo
with the strong, clever face, the suspicion of a sardonic smile, blue eyes set deeply on either side of a straight, broad nose. His thick curly hair was so very fair that it appeared almost silver in the moonlight, and a lock of it fell over his forehead enhancing the virile, dramatic quality of his appeal – someone, she felt, who was masterful and sure as a lover, yet tender and gentle as well.

With a last rueful glance she turned and sprang agilely onto the horse that stood docilely where she had left him.

‘We cannot meet,’ she said looking at him, observing the desperation of his stance as though he would spring onto her.

‘But you said ...’

‘I like you well enough, sir. I like you very well. Were circumstances other than what they are I would with pleasure ...’

Analee sprang on her horse and set its head up river.

‘Why?’ Brent cried. ‘
Why
can’t we meet? I will not betray you. I want only to see you dressed as a woman, yes, to hold you again in my arms ...’

‘Some things are possible,’ Analee said sadly, ‘some things are not. You and I are not of the same ilk. There would be no point in our meeting again. It would only bring disaster. Besides, where could we meet?’

‘There are
taverns
,’
Brent cried furiously, angry with himself for letting such a chance go. ‘I only ask to see you again, then ...’

‘Then when you tire of me you might remember the magistrate, my lord.’ Analee said, glancing back, ‘As you observed, I am but a common horse thief.’

And she kicked the horse’s flank and rode off through the forest.

‘Women,’ snarled Brewster Driver, as soon as he saw her emerge from the trees, ‘incapable of doing a thing right. Where the devil have you been? I feared you were taken. They’d hang you.’

‘Aye, I know,’ Analee said, thinking how near to the truth he had got. ‘I waited in the shadows until they gave up.’

‘And the horses?’

‘I had to let them go. They held me back. Anyway I got this fine one,’ and she gestured towards the mount she was riding.

‘Aye,’ Brewster said grudgingly, ‘we didn’t do too bad. The boys have gone ahead. Well, we have taken eight horses between us and saved our skins.’

‘Just,’ Analee grunted, thinking if he knew he’d flay her!

‘They’re good horses,’ Brewster turned towards the town. ‘Belong to Sir Francis Delamain, one of the most notable breeders in the country.’

Analee thought of her handsome captor, her would-be seducer, of the light in his fascinating blue eyes. Sir Francis Delamain! She felt regret, but knew she had had no other choice. No time, no chance for adventure here. Besides they were moving on as soon as the horses were sold.

‘Won’t his horses be recognized?’

‘Not with a lick of paint here, a touch of varnish there,’ Brewster smiled. ‘We’ll get rid of them by first light, which it nearly is now by God, and we’ll pay you and you can be off.’

‘Off?’ Analee cried, ‘may I not move with you?’

‘Oh no girl,’ he looked at her slyly. She was a fine strapping girl and a good trouper, wonderful horsewoman too. Any other qualities he’d not been able to find out about; she was too agile, not unfriendly, just quick off the mark. But the children liked her, and even Margaret had got used to her. She cooked and cleaned and had made herself useful. ‘No. We don’t need thee.’

‘You do. Tonight without me you would have had four horses instead of eight. ‘Twas I enabled you to make off while I kept them looking for me. I can be the decoy.’

‘Ah ...’ Brewster’s eyes grew thoughtful. She wanted to stay, that was a good sign and yes, she was useful. ‘Maybe you could be more ... accommodating,’ he said, ‘if I allowed you to stay. Not so quick to be off, if you know what I mean.’

Brewster’s eyes were always watching her; she could sense that he was for ever looking for an opportunity to be alone with her. Thankfully it was almost impossible to find such a moment, living in a close community with eight children and a watchful wife hardly ever out of sight. At night Analee shared a tent with the women. On the whole Analee thought she was safe; safe enough now to give Brewster one of her flirtatious smiles – a hint of a promise she didn’t mean to keep.

‘I’ll have to see about that,’ she said, ‘but then
if
I’m to go it’s out of the question, isn’t it?’

‘Well you can stay,’ Brewster said, excited by the bold look she’d given him, ‘for a while. We’ll move on to Carlisle, steal a few more nags.’ Brewster looked anxiously up at the sky, ‘Come let us make haste, ‘tis nearly dawn.’

Analee fell into line behind Brewster; she was tired and dejected, now that the excitement was over. What sort of life would she have, stealing horses, always trying to be one step ahead of Brewster, to be out of reach of his roving hands? But she’d wanted money and shelter, a rest from walking and wandering as she had been now for a year ever since ... well that didn’t bear thinking about. Even now she couldn’t think about it. That was why she’d gone back when the man pursuing her had fallen, just to be sure she wasn’t leaving someone else half dead or wounded, needing help. But to have seen him again ... no, a risk she could never have taken. Men, being what they were, turned nasty when spurned.

And she was now a horse thief, a criminal, not merely a travelling gypsy girl. One who lived by singing and dancing, eating berries or begging food, and sometimes getting pleasure in a dry ditch or a sheltered corner of a field from a wandering gypsy lad picked up on the way, who helped her just for a time to forget the memory of the love she had lost.

2

Brent Delamain and his brother George, accompanied by a single manservant, rode out from the huge gates of Delamain Castle later that morning, well after the sun had risen. George was full of righteous indignation, a determination to see those villains hanged and his horses restored. He sat pompously on his horse and fulminated about the lawlessness of the society in which they lived.

But Brent cared little about restoring the horses or capturing the thieves. He knew something that his brother did not ... that one was a woman. There had been something so extraordinary about that midnight encounter that he could still hardly believe it had happened. Was it a dream to find such a beautiful girl wearing men’s clothes? To know without any doubt that they were destined to meet.