The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (39 page)

The expression, totally unexpected in one about to be raped, stopped his lordship in his tracks and though he still straddled her he put his hand on his hip, gazing at her with astonishment. Analee smiled.

‘Must you
rape,
my lord, when you can take me to my pleasure as well as your own?’

The dignity, the charm with which she spoke, reminded Angus of a London courtesan of his acquaintance who had begun life as the daughter of a French nobleman, but who had taken to whoring when her family were faced with destitution.

She was still a gracious lady, but had completely abandoned herself to carnal delights and her conversation was as witty as her style elegant. She was, it was said, making a fortune so much were her talents appreciated by those gentlemen who liked their love to be amusing and sophisticated, if ephemeral.

‘Your
pleasure?’ His lordship said. ‘You mean you will not resist?’

‘Does it please you more if I do?’

‘Of course not.’

The Marquess of Falconer began to feel rather foolish and backed away from the half recumbent form of Analee putting out a hand to help her to her feet, tantalized by the sight of the mocking curve of her mouth.

Still clasping her hand he pulled her gently over towards him. Her eyes were wide and, as she offered her half parted mouth to him, he could see in them a desire similar to his own. The thought excited him beyond reason and he crushed her body in his arms.

Slowly they sank to the floor and lay there on the thick Persian rug that his late father had bought in the east many years ago.

As he made love to her he could see she enjoyed it too, just as the courtesan in London did, the excellent Marie-Claire. She expressed great satisfaction with love-making and always declared how much it pleasured her, unlike some of his mistresses who never ever admitted to anything other than that they were rendering him a supreme favour.

He saw Analee’s dark eyes looking into his. ‘Better than rape, my lord?’

‘Much,’ he gasped. ‘How did you learn this art?’

‘I am a sorceress.’

‘I can believe you.’

The Falcon rose and, going to the table poured more brandy. Then he brought two glasses over to where Analee lay still on the rug, and sat down beside her.

‘Drink?’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ She sat up and took the glass, sipping delicately from it. He saw that her body, though, thin, was without blemish and her skin shone with health despite the vicissitudes she must have endured. Her dark hair hung about her face as she drank and the long elegant curve of her breasts reached towards the fire.

‘You are a mystery,’ he said. ‘You have just lost a husband and yet ...’

Analee shook her head.

‘It is not as you think. He was my husband but I deserted him many months ago. That is why I was not in the Buckland camp. I had wandered from it and when the war began I decided to return.’

‘And Nelly?’

‘A companion, a poor woman like myself.’

‘Why did you desert your husband?’

‘It is too long a story now, my lord,’ Analee looked at him and he could see her eyes were sad. ‘One I might tell you some day.’

‘Some would despise you for what you did just now,’ Angus said harshly, ‘lying so easily with a man.’

‘Do
you
despise me?’

‘I ...’  His lordship was again surprised by Analee. ‘No ... but I am a man of the world. I have known many women; but you, Analee, you remind me of a very remarkable woman of my acquaintance in London whom some would call a whore; but ...’ Angus shook his head, ‘in some curious way she transcends whoring. I never think of her as a whore though I pay her well for her services.’

‘She likes love,’ Analee said simply. ‘I am like that. I understand it. I need men as much as any man needs a woman. That is why I wanted to turn rape to love, because I knew you needed me and would have me and I ...’ she looked solemnly at him, ‘I did not want to have to hate you. I cannot forget the dead gypsy women in the camp with their skirts above their buttocks.’

‘No,’ Angus drained his glass. ‘I can see that. It was vile. Unfortunately I see it often in war. Violence excites men’s passions. The same thing can be both horrible and beautiful.’

Analee smiled and moved closer to the black giant.

‘Your manservant told us that some said you could be gentle, but he scarcely ever saw it. I think those people who do are mostly women.’

‘Aye,’ Angus laughed, conscious of her warm body pressed up against his. ‘I am a soldier used to war and giving commands. Certainly few of my men consider me gentle. I am glad you do Analee. I am glad I did not take you by force.’ He leaned over to her and kissed her shoulder, aware that she turned towards him and nestled her cheek against his. ‘Can I take you to my bed and we can do this again in comfort?’

‘I think it comfortable here by the fire, but I will do as you say, my lord.’

She smiled at him with mock humility, but Angus Falconer, great lord that he was, was already too besotted by the gypsy to notice.

17

Analee sat in her clean attic room looking out at the snow which fell on the Cheviot Hills surrounding Falcon’s Keep. The lair of the Falcon ... She shivered. Although Lord Falconer’s lovemaking was breathtaking, there was something menacing about him as well. She had no objection to the fact that he used her as an object, as a servant she expected nothing more, but his overpowering strength had at times frightened even her, a woman used to the ways of men.

‘He is a violent man,’ Analee had gasped wincing with pain as Nelly rubbed some ointment on the sore places, ‘he admits it. He is a soldier used to war and has never really known a gentle home life. His Mother died when he was a boy and he went for the army as an ensign aged only eighteen.’

‘I see he tells you everything to gain your pity,’ Nelly had said sarcastically.

‘But he can be so tender and loving ...’ I think I am more than intrigued by Lord Falconer.’

Her eyes sparkled and Nelly marvelled that one so hostile at first could now appear so enamoured.

Analee seldom had the chance to sit down, and she crouched by her bed looking out of the narrow window. After a night in the Falcon’s bed she had crawled upstairs to try and snatch half an hour’s sleep before the bustle of the castle began again.

Mrs Ardoine, the housekeeper, had disliked Analee on sight and delighted in giving her the most menial of tasks; grate blacking, floor scrubbing, anything that involved hard dirty work. Even some of the tasks that were normally done by boys Mrs Ardoine gave to Analee, and that morning she had cleaned and laid the fires in the grates of all the main rooms, staggering along by herself with great piles of logs.

Nelly spent almost all of her time at the sink, her arms in water to the elbows. In a great house such as Falcon’s Keep there were many mouths to feed, and different hours for the many classes of people who lived there – the family, guests, then the servant hierarchy beginning with the housekeeper, the majordomo, the head butler and so on right down to the meanest skivvy like Nelly and herself who were not even allowed to sit at a table but grovelled on the floor for what they could get.

It was a mean existence and Analee looking out longed for the open spaces again where she was her own mistress, alone and free. And now that the master of the house had taken her to his bed? What could she expect once his lordship had tired of her?

Her eyes searched the bare, harsh mountains for a path that would lead her away from the house, out of sight of the narrow road that approached it. Maybe when the thaw came and there was no snow to betray her tracks?

‘Analee! Analee!’

Nelly came rushing in nearly tripping herself up in her haste. ‘Oh, Analee, you are there! Mrs Ardoine says she will whip the hide off you when she finds you. What ails you, Analee?’

Nelly knelt down looking anxiously into the eyes of her beloved friend. She knew what hour Analee had come to bed; how she had scarcely eased her aching body on to her pallet or closed her eyes when they were harshly awakened. Nelly was fearful for Analee now that the dreaded Falcon, the master of the house, had chosen her as his prey. Why, he was such a terrifying man he would surely treat her even more cruelly and once he had had his way cast her aside, maybe with child, uncaring as to what would become of her. Nelly had been unable to believe that Analee had spent all night with Lord Falconer until, recovering her humour, she had described to Nelly the vastness of the master’s bed and how at times she thought she would lose herself in it, but his lordship always seemed to be able to find her again!

But there was no humour in Analee’s eyes now, only tiredness and a kind of despair as she returned Nelly’s gaze.

‘I was so tired after doing the grates, I thought I would faint. I had to come here for some rest.’

 Nelly tugged anxiously at her arm.

‘Oh come down, I beg you, Analee. She knows you are missing and has gone to look for her birch.’

‘I will not be birched,’ Analee said standing up and straightening her skirts. ‘I will birch
her
.’

Nelly clutched at Analee’s arm dragging her towards the door. ‘Oh Analee, pray do not vex Mrs Ardoine. Say you are sorry and ...’

‘Nelly, I am going to
quit
this place!’ Analee hissed before they were out of the door. ‘I cannot stand it. I am the most menial of servants, hated by Mrs Ardoine. I must go and find my baby! The thought of her whereabouts haunts me. Maybe she and Reyora were captured by the soldiers. I am going to cross the border into Scotland and find where they may be now.’

‘They will not have taken a woman and a baby. They ...’ Nelly avoided Analee’s eyes.

‘They did not kill them,’ Analee whispered, ‘they were not there...’

‘No of course not. They fled. They must have gone south, back to Penrith ...’

‘Then I will go to Penrith ...’

Analee and Nelly were tumbling down the narrow dark staircase that led to the servant’s quarters whispering as they went, but when they came to the large stone kitchen which was full of bustle, steam and smoke they fell silent. The awful Mrs Ardoine was standing by the stairs, her arms akimbo, a thick bundle of fine twigs clasped in one hand which she beat against her ample hips. Although she was a large, comely woman who looked as though she might at one time have been a beauty, many years of hard work and disappointment, the loss of all her children in childbirth or infancy, had soured her and she wore a cruel expression on her thin twisted lips.

‘Now do we have the servants skulking upstairs away from their duties!’ Mrs Ardoine roared so loudly that it penetrated the clamour of the kitchen and a few who scurried about stopped in their tracks to listen and observe. ‘Put up your skirts girl and bend over that chair.’ Mrs Ardoine pointed authoritatively. ‘I will administer to thee such a sound thrashing that your buttocks will be raw like rumpsteak! And I care not who sees thee,’ she said gesturing towards the male servants who stood gawping hopefully.

Mrs Ardoine seized Analee by the shoulder, her eyes glistening with malice, and threw her across the room. Analee fell heavily but, before the termagant had time to advance on her to administer further humiliation, she nimbly sprang up and faced her persecutor.

‘You lay the canes on me and I will thrash you six times as bad even though you
kill
me for it!’

Mrs Ardoine faltered in her steps, observing the way Analee’s lips curled showing her fine white teeth bared in a snar, so that she had the look of a fierce beast. That blaze in her eyes, the heaving of her breast convinced the housekeeper that the gypsy meant what she said, but it infuriated her the more and she raised her birch to bring it across Analee’s face when her arm was arrested in mid air and the birch roughly wrested from her hand.

McNeath stood towering over her, a foul curse on his lips.

‘Damn you to hell woman! Would you mark the face of someone who is enjoying his lordship’s favours? A small price I’d give for your continued existence here if that were the case.’

McNeath threw the birch on the floor and gestured to Analee who was still staring with some surprise at her saviour, while Nelly gazed with adoring eyes at their liberator for she had no doubts that her turn would have come to bare her buttocks to Mrs Ardoine’s birch.

‘His
lordship
...’

Mrs Ardoine stepped back, her face white with terror.

‘Exactly. His
lordship
has pleasured this young woman all night and wishes her to serve his breakfast.
Now
do you understand you old faggot? A mark on her face and I dread to think of his lordship’s wrath ... Analee! Smart now to the pantry where one of the footmen is preparing a tray for his lordship who will take his breakfast in his bedroom. You are to follow the footman and serve him yourself. Do you understand?’

There was no misunderstanding McNeath’s leer or the chagrin on the face of Mrs Ardoine. Analee tossed her head and pushed past the housekeeper giving her a little nudge as she did so as if to say ‘so there.’

McNeath was looking at Nelly, noting the becoming bloom to her face caused by the heat of the kitchen. She did not have the figure or the presence of her friend, but what she lacked in physical attributes maybe she would make up for in enthusiasm? Besides, her waif-like appearance appealed to him. He winked at her.

‘Maybe I should follow my master’s path, if you understand me?’ Nelly pretended not to and raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘Forge a furrow for myself,’ McNeath looked at her meaningfully.

Nelly blushed and looked away, her heart beating furiously. Could this handsome, vigorous McNeath possibly desire
her
?
He was almost as tall as his master but fair with a red face and sandy hair, fierce blue eyes and ginger whiskers that covered almost all the lower part of his face.

‘I will see thee later,’ McNeath whispered to her. ‘Meanwhile keep out of the way of the dragon and I will see that my master is properly served his breakfast.’