The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) by Nicola Thorne Page A

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