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

back inside again when a hand gently grasped her shoulder and she could feel warm breath on her cheek.
    She turned around and looked up at him. He was now dressed in a travelling cloak, a tall hat on his head. He looked even more elegant and awe-inspiring.
    ‘Sir, what is it you would have with me? I am but a wandering gypsy, not fit for the likes of you, milord.’
    ‘I sought you the day after we met in the forest and you were gone,’ Brent said, smiling down at her. ‘I felt we were destined to meet again, but my grandfather died and I could not come and look for you. Now I am bound for Keswick with my brother, and chance has let me find you again. What is your name?’
    ‘Analee, my lord.’
    ‘I am not a lord, Analee, merely a gentleman – Brent Delamain by name. My brother is now Sir George Delamain and, having come into possession of the great Delamain estates, has sent me packing.’
    ‘Packing, my lord. You?’
    Brent laughed bitterly. ‘Aye. But my brother Tom has come from France and we journey to our cousins who will give us food and shelter. Analee, I may go to France with Tom, my brother. How can I see you? How can we meet?’
    He came close to her and looked into her eyes. Unlike other men, other gadje, the non-gypsies, he was not groping and fumbling for her bosom as soon as he had the opportunity. Although he was tall she did not feel dwarfed, as she too was tall.
    ‘I am on the road,’ Analee said, ‘with the musicians you saw. We earn a living dancing and singing ...’
    ‘Then dance and sing for my cousins! Analee, that is a capital plan. They dwell near Keswick ...’
    ‘But sir, we are bound for Carlisle. To go to Keswick is to turn back. We have just come from Lakeland – ‘tis too remote, there are too few people, the nights are too cold. The troupe does not wish to go to Keswick. I cannot do that.’
    ‘Then come by yourself, Analee. What happened to the people you were stealing horses with?’
    ‘Oh, I left them in our last camp. I cared not for the father of the family I was with. But here, with these people I have a nomad life which I like and money, so that we can eat well and occasionally buy materials for new clothes.’
    There were footsteps behind them and Tom appeared, also caped and hatted like Brent.
    ‘Brent what ails thee? Why ...’ Tom’s eyes opened wide in wonder to see his brother in such intimate conversation with the wild gypsy dancer. Even though he was a monk and dedicated to celibacy, Tom was still a man; and both as a man and a monk he had admired the grace of the gyspy dancer, felt the power of her supple sensuous body as she had danced before him, her hands high in the air, her skirts whirling about her body, her bare feet moving so fast over the floor that at times he could barely see them.
    ‘Tom, this is Analee. We have met before. Analee, my brother Tom Delamain.’
    Analee dropped a small curtsey as Tom bowed his head. She felt shy in the presence of this stern-looking stranger; like Brent, yet not like him – there was distance about him, something forbidding. ‘Brent, we must go. We shall never be there before dark.’
     Brent glanced at the sky.
    ‘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