The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (43 page)

Analee savoured the peace and beauty of the scene around her. Here in the hedgerows, among the pine forests she had found brief happiness. Thinking as she did constantly of the lover she had left and the baby she had lost, the magnificent countryside was a balm to her tired soul. But although she saw many people on their way to market at Penrith, drovers with sheep or cattle, farmers with their produce, the odd pedlar, she saw no gypsies. No one had seen a gypsy tribe, no one a gypsy woman and a fair-haired baby. Of everyone she saw and stopped, she asked the same question.

But the answer was always a smile and a regretful shake of the head.

The purple range of Blencathra and giant Skiddaw on her right, Helvellyn, and the distant mountains surrounding Ullswater to her left, Analee finally saw in the distance the ribbon of blue that was Derwentwater enclosed by its hills. Just as she saw it the sun broke through the clouds lowering over the mountains, and the purple clad hills were bathed in the gentle light of early morning. Suddenly in her mind’s eye Analee saw the house on the side of the lake, pink stoned and surrounded by water, almost hidden in the forest of pines.

Would they receive her? Welcome her? Did she dare? At least she would know what had happened to Brent, Morella’s father.

Purple Skiddaw now loomed above her and, ahead of her, the wide expanse of Derwentwater glittered in the sunlight. The mountain tops covered with snow stretched like sentinels of uneven height guarding the entrance to a magic kingdom.

Analee took the path to the right before she reached the town nestling in the valley. At once she began to climb through a forest and when she emerged the hills towered about her, their purples, browns and greens a kaleidoscope of colour while below her stretched a much longer, wider vista of the lake. Her heart quickened as she rounded a hill and there, perched on a promontory, was Furness Grange, its pink stone and black beams reflected in the still waters of the lake. Analee began to descend until she reached the wood and then she saw the jetty where the boat landed, and the small crofter’s cottage that nestled against the mountain side, wood smoke spiralling upwards through the trees.

Analee approached the lakeside and sat on a stone. She pulled up her torn skirts to her knees and rubbed her sore calloused feet. She was very weary. Five days had passed since she had left Falcon’s Keep, and now it seemed that even her mind was numbed by the harsh winds that wrapped round her at night instead of the warm blankets she had become used to.

Used? Analee sat up and stared at the distant peaks. Had she become used to the easy life, even the attic at Falcon’s Keep? A roof over her head and food, however humble, however roughly thrown at her, to eat?

But the master had offered her much more. He had offered her untold wealth and security, a place of honour and status by his side.

Analee shook her head. It was not for her. She let her feet soak in the clear water even though it was icy cold and stared at the pebbles sparkling beneath. Yes her belly was empty; she was cold and almost permanently damp. Maybe the Allonbys would let her spend a night in their barn? After all, she had not harmed them.

She rose and, picking up her bundle, walked round to the kitchen entrance from which came the good smell of baking bread. Maybe Betty would be there and ... suddenly she stopped. A woman was staring at her from the window; a woman whose face she recognized, but whose expression was hostile, even frightened.

Mary Allonby had on her face a look of such bitterness that Analee stepped back and shielded her eyes from the morning sun to be sure she was not deceived.

‘Hey!’ a voice called out and Betty Hardcastle stood at the door of the kitchen, her arms on her hips. ‘We want no vagabonds ... why?’ She went up, her eyes screwed against the sun which had risen over Walla Crag, and stared at Analee. ‘Were you not the gypsy that was here?’

Analee nodded, half smiling, half afraid.

‘Then get thee off quick. Thou art not welcome here.’

‘But why?’

Analee backed away, frightened and dejected. What had she done?

‘Let her stay.’ Mary Allonby stood behind Betty, gazing at Analee. Then she brushed past Betty and went over to her, her face a mixture of emotions –pity, anger and curiosity. ‘’Twas not her fault he preferred her to me.’

‘Me?’ Analee faltered. Then gradually, intuitively, she understood what Mary was talking about.

‘He is not here?’

‘You had better come inside,’ Mary turned and Analee followed her through the kitchen into the hall, then into the room overlooking the lake she remembered so well. And there was Charles the Martyr on the wall and the heads of all the Allonby ancestors looking, it seemed, down at her.

‘I see you are cold and wet,’ Mary said. ‘Sit by the fire, and Betty will bring you some nourishment. But what are you doing, Analee? What has happened to you?’

‘I left a baby when I came here, driven out by the Buckland gypsies. Then when the war started I knew I had done wrong. I wanted to know what had happened to her, where she was. I found the Buckland camp pillaged and half the tribe dead ...’

‘The baby ...’

Analee shook her head. For once in her life she felt close to tears.

‘No. I have sought her. I have not found her. Some escaped. I think they went further south, maybe to Lancaster. I only ask for a night’s rest in the warm barn and I shall turn back the way I came ...’

She stopped and looked at Mary, aware of the things that were unspoken between them.

‘I am not welcome here, am I? It is because ...’

Mary’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He does not love me, but you. He went mad when you disappeared, tried to follow you.’

‘But did you not wed?’

‘Oh, we
wed
,’
Mary said bitterly. ‘My brother held a knife at his throat though I only discovered that afterwards. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, anyway, Brent knew that. But he does not love me, Analee, he cannot. Although three months wed I am still a maid.’

Mary bit her lip and looked anxiously at Analee.

‘He has tried but he cannot. He was glad to go to the war, glad to get away from me.’

‘And that is where he is?’

‘Aye, with the Prince. If not dead. He was wounded at Clifton, but he avoided capture at Carlisle, although my brother Stewart is now imprisoned in the gaol there, awaiting death.’

Analee saw the tears stealing down Mary’s face and her heart filled with companion. She got up and gently put her arm around the weeping girl.

‘May I, Mary? Do you forgive me? I liked you so much when I was here before; you were so good to me, so kind. I lay with Brent but once; ‘twas a circumstance ...’ She faltered. Mary nodded.

‘He told me. He said it was magical, the moonlight, the forest. He said you bewitched him.’

Analee laughed derisively. ‘I am no witch.’

The memory of Brent, or Randal, or her first faraway love, seemed so remote now. She thought of her latest love, the Falcon. Her heart lurched at the memory of his vigour, the strange power he exercised over her, the compelling, riveting look in his hooded eyes. Truly she was half afraid of him half – dare she think it – in love? Yes she did have a power over men, but it was not sorcery.

‘When you and Brent meet again, Mary, I will be far away. I will go south back to where I came from, maybe find my own tribe.’

‘Can you not release Brent from your spell?’

‘I have
no
spell, Mary.’

‘But Stewart said ...’

‘Oh, that was folly.’

‘But she
did
fall in love with him! Emma, our cousin, the one he loved. She said she suddenly seemed to see him with new eyes.’

Analee was aware that she was cold despite the warmth of the fire. She shivered. The power of the
cohani ...

‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘maybe there
is
something we can try ...’ She stopped at the sound of a footstep and stern-faced John Allonby stood at the door.

‘John, this is ...’ Mary stepped forward but John brushed her aside.

‘I know who it is. Betty told me. Don’t you think you have done enough harm, you
gypsy
...’

‘John, do not speak to her like that! She is not to blame if she is beautiful ...’

‘’Tis not beauty, ‘tis sorcery. She should be burnt like others of her kind.’

‘John, how can you be so cruel? They have not burnt witches for many years in these parts. Analee is my friend.’

‘
And
with the rest of her tribe,’ John said contemptuously. ‘See, more are gathered outside.’

Analee ran to the window, her eyes scarcely able to believe what they saw.

‘Tis Nelly. Oh, Mary, ‘tis
Nelly
!
I thought I would never see her again.’

Nelly sobbed as soon as she saw Analee, and it was a long time before she could explain why she had come. The stout William who had brought her on his horse eagerly quaffed from the tankard of ale he was offered.

‘We were on our way back, having waited at Penrith and scoured the countryside, I asking after you constantly, when someone remembered seeing a gypsy of particular beauty,’ Nelly looked slyly at Analee, ‘on the way towards Keswick. I remembered the house here, and on the chance ... Analee, you are to come back! His lordship is pining for you. He has had to return to the Army ...’

Mary and John were looking with astonishment at Nelly and Analee, embarrassed and realizing they had no idea what Nelly was talking about, put a hand on her arm saying. ‘Shh, desist.’

‘His lordship?’ John said abruptly. ‘Lord who?’

‘Lord Falconer, sir,’ Nelly bobbed, ‘he is very smitten with Analee.’

‘The Falcon,’ John thundered, ‘the terror of the Jacobites.
You
and him?’

Analee met his eye boldly, nodding her head.

‘His lordship found me when the gypsy camp had been overrun and despoiled by
your
soldiers, sir, the Jacobites for sure it was raping our women before killing them. He had me taken to his home as a servant and ... he did me the honour of ...’

Analee, seldom at a loss for words, couldn’t for once think quite how to put it. Mary felt her hatred for the gypsy woman evaporating. After all, she had suffered much, too. How tired and worn she looked.

‘He fell in love with you obviously,’ Mary said with a sad smile, ‘as other men have. My brother Stewart half fell in love with you too.’

Mary looked at John and saw how, despite his initial hostility, even his face had grown softer after some time in Analee’s company. John, whose heart had turned to stone on the death of his young wife.

‘The Marquess of Falconer,’ John murmured disbelieving. ‘He swoops on his foe like a falcon, is feared and hated ...’

‘He is not as bad as he might appear,’ Analee said defensively.
‘Once
you get to know him.’

‘He saved me from a flogging,’ Nelly said supportively, ‘mind you he ordered it in the first place, then he changed his mind. Oh, I can see how he could appeal to a woman.’

Nelly was nevertheless thinking of the lusty McNeath whom she personally preferred. She sighed at the very thought of him away at the war.

‘Then, Analee, will you go back since you are sent for?’ Mary said.

‘I?  No.  I will find my baby and maybe take her to the south away from here, to my tribe. His lordship would have me set up in style as his mistress, but I am not that sort.  I am a vagabond, and so I shall remain.  As for Nelly, what she will do I know not; but if you will give us a day’s rest in your barn we shall be on our way. Eh, Nelly? On the road again?’

Nelly had become extremely attached to McNeath in the short time she had known him and the thought of not seeing him again was almost more than she could bear to contemplate. She stared in alarm at Analee and then said quietly,

‘First I have to discuss something with thee. Something very important.’

‘Analee, you and Nelly will have your old room overlooking the lake,’ Mary said. ‘Yes, I insist, and that you dine with us at table. You must tell me what you have seen of the war. I cannot believe the terrible things you speak of our soldiers. Now you and Nelly go upstairs and I will have Betty fetch hot water for the tub and some fresh clothes for you. No, I am adamant ...’

Analee was overcome by such kindness on the part of someone she had so unwittingly wronged. Despite her protests, though, she and Nelly were taken firmly in hand and ushered up the broad staircase of Furness Grange.

                                       ***

That night Analee and Nelly snuggled down together in the large bed in the room overlooking the lake. The moonlight rippled along the water, as though moved by a mysterious current, and Analee had spent a long time at the window looking at the broad sweep of Derwentwater, from Keswick nestling under massive Skiddaw in the east right to the jaws of Borrowdale in the west. It. was a cold night and snow had started to fall again. Analee thought of the Falcon preparing, perhaps, to do battle against Brent, against the people the Allonbys supported and loved.

Analee sighed and Nelly put her arms around her hugging her, her hand stroking the smooth silky flesh of her back.

‘Come, you will not make love to me!’ Analee protested laughingly. Nelly blushed in the dark.

‘Nay, it is not like that. I do not love you as a man; but I love you, Analee, you know that. I missed you so much. I feared I would never find you.’

‘Aye. I thought we had seen the last of each other.’

‘Analee, will you not return to his lordship? He ...’

‘No.’ Analee lay on her back, her head resting on her hands. ‘I am a gypsy. I will find Morella and go south. We ...’

‘Analee ...’

Timidly, nervously Nelly put her hand on Analee’s shoulder. She put a hand up to stroke her cheek, tilting Analee’s face towards her.

‘What is it, Nell?’ Analee was aware of something troubling her friend.

‘Analee, I have found the baby ... Morella.’

‘What is it you say?’ Analee sat upright in the bed. ‘You what? Oh Nell, she is ...’

‘No, no ... she is alive, she is well. Analee, she was found by Brent on his way to Penrith, he not knowing who she was, sick and ailing with Reyora. Being a kindly man he sent her to his mother at Delamain Castle nearby. The mother took a fancy to the baby, not knowing it was her granddaughter, and has kept her. Is it not a miracle? Reyora had just left when we arrived.’