The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) (18 page)

Ambrose looked curiously at Brent’s left leg which even now was hurting Brent through standing too long.

‘Only temporarily, Mr Rigg. It was injured in an accident.’

‘But they take time to heal, boy. I heard about the “accident” too which makes me think you should hasten to the altar before she fetches you another one and despatches you for good!’

Ambrose leaned back roaring with laughter, his red face puce with merriment, his eyes watering. Here was a lad of spirit! A seducer of every woman he came upon apparently, and bold to boot. Brent’s face was nearly as red as his.

‘’Twas not like that ...’

‘Oh, I know you can’t remember.  Knocked cold. No lad, wi’ your hot blood you need a good woman and a steady job. Take my advice. There will be plenty of time for dalliance when you are wedded and your wife bedded with an infant or two.’ A roguish look came into his eyes, ‘I can show you in time one or two places in Whitehaven, and not just for sailors of the rough type either; but well kept, nice girls ... don’t worry, when you are settled there is no need to become a dull fellow!’

Ambrose winked broadly and roared with laughter again and Brent began to understand why the perpetually sour look had transformed Sarah’s once not unpleasing face. ‘There now, come and see me in a day or two. Talk it over with your family. ‘Tis a fair offer.’

Brent slept badly that night, tossing and turning in his bed. The thought of working for Rigg was abhorrent to him, yet one thing did trouble him and continued to do so. He was lame; his leg seemed the one part of him which refused to get completely better. If he walked or stood too long it hurt, not just a mild pain but an agony that precluded long hours marching, for the time being anyway.

Also there was Mary. She expected to marry him almost at once. She wanted to and so did he; but tomorrow he was going to have to tell her of his promise to John and his mother after that fearful family scene when they had both accused him of being a philanderer – too easy with women. The only way to show his sincerity was to wait, to prove to himself and them, and, above all, Mary that he was a man of honour, someone who kept his word, capable of giving and receiving true love.

They were immune to his arguments about the war, the question of losing his life. Who knew when the war would come? The Prince might stay in France forever, for all they knew. No, a year.

Brent gave a promise for a year. Now he would have to tell Mary.

Brent arose with the dawn, and, dressing quickly, went to look for his eldest cousin who was always about at that hour doing his accounts or walking in the grounds. He found John in his study hunched over his ledgers, the room still lit by candles because the dawn light outside had scarcely penetrated the thick mullioned windows.

John looked surprised as Brent came in and rubbed his hands. ‘’Tis cold. The winter will come early. Could you not sleep, Brent?’

‘No.’

‘I thought as much. I know how keen you are to wed and I know why. But you owe it to Mary ...’

‘It is not that only,’ Brent sat down, legs apart, hands on the arms of his chair and gazed at his cousin. ‘Ambrose wants me to work for him. He wants an answer, not today but soon.’

‘Work for Ambrose?’ John said, echoing Brent’s own sense of amazement. ‘Doing what?’

‘Learning the business, being his right hand.’

‘But you don’t want to do it do you?’

‘No.’

‘Then say no and that’s it. Say it today before he goes,’ John cocked an ear. ‘I think I hear them stirring now. See, ‘tis dawn.’ John blew out the candle and gazed at his cousin in the half light.

‘John, I have been thinking a lot during the night; plans tossed about in my head like a bobbin on water. My leg is much worse than I admit ...’

He saw a sceptical look come over John’s face.

‘Oh? I thought it was mended.’

‘Well not quite. It gets very painful if I walk far. Well that is a factor about going to France. If I become a fugitive I shall have much walking to do. How can I serve the Prince ...’

He left the sentence unfinished noting the steady unfriendly gaze of his cousin.

‘Aye. ‘Tis as I thought. You do not wish to join your brother because, as always Brent, you put your heart first. You want Mary and by God you will do anything to have her – even renege upon your duty ...’

Brent rose from the chair his face white with fury. ‘John, how can you say such a thing! You think I am a renegade? I tell you I’ll not touch your sister whether I go to France or no. I’ll not see her or have ought to do wi’ her, just to
prove
to you that I am not what you think, a craven rogue. Whether I go to France or whether I stay in England I will
not
abide a moment more at Furness. You have worked me up right proper, John.’

And before his astounded cousin could say a word or intervene Brent stormed out of the room and took the stairs two at a time to where Ambrose was just emerging from his bedroom door fastening his cravat.

‘Why Brent, you’re abroad early lad!’

‘I’ll work for you,’ Brent said. ‘I’ll come with you today, if you’ll have me. I can start at once.’

Ambrose’s taciturn morning face broke into a grin. He put out an arm and drew Brent into the bedroom where Sarah was putting the finishing touches to her toilet.

‘Excuse us, my dear,’ Ambrose said, observing that his wife was fully dressed and decent. ‘But Brent and I have business to discuss.’

‘I have the children to see to,’ Sarah said shortly and gathering up her shawl and putting it over her shoulders against the chill morning, left the room.

‘Now, Brent,’ Ambrose said turning to the light so that he could see his face, ‘you’ve reached a decision overnight?’

‘I have.’

‘Why do you look angry then? You look as though you were in some sort of temper.’

‘Well ... I told John and he ...’

‘Thinks you’re too good for me. All the Allonbys do, lad, aye
and
the Delamains ...’ Ambrose reached out and patted Brent’s shoulder. ‘I am well used to their contempt; but I could buy and sell them all, you know, maybe even your brother although I do not take his property into account. No I’m used to the scorn of the Allonbys – John and Stewart – I know what they think. But they take my money right enough and they tolerate me because I am wed to their sister. Oh, not worthy of it, I know ... don’t think she doesn’t make me feel that too, rather she tries but I take no notice. An Allonby woman in bed is like all the rest, I find, and once you’ve lain with a woman that’s all you need to know about her ... as I don’t need to tell
you
lad!’ Ambrose gave him the same obscene wink as the previous night. ‘Oh no, what they say don’t worry me ...’

Brent felt he should defend his cousin but didn’t know how. To tell him what John had said was to betray the cause. He bowed his head in shame at his inability to tell the truth.

‘No, it was not like that exactly, Mr Rigg. John thinks I stay here to be with Mary. That is why I want to come with you today, to get right away.’

‘Oh good.  Capital.  Pack your bags boy and you can come with us. Sarah and the children go with the maid to Keswick and back by coach, the way they came. I have to be in Cockermouth by dinnertime and it is hard riding over the hills. Be off now.’ He took Brent to the door and shook his hand, well satisfied that the day had started so well.

Brent hurried to his room and began to put together his possessions. The mist from the lake was gradually being dispersed by a wintry sun whose weak beams played across the floor of his room. Brent suddenly stopped and looked about him. He had come to love this room; it was his home. How could he have known this time yesterday as he waited for Mary to enter with his breakfast, and the brief kiss she allowed to go with it, that today he would be gone?

Everyone told him he was too quick off the mark, too sharp tempered. He’d hardly given John a chance ... but what chance had John given
him
?
Accusing him of philandering, of reneging, of pretending hurt, or forsaking the cause, all for a maid.

His wounded pride made him angry again and he hurriedly crammed his things into a small leather bag that stood in the corner. Then he cast a final look round and strode to the door which, just as he reached it, burst open and Mary flew in, her face ashen.

‘Brent, Brent what is this? You are going? What is Ambrose saying?’

She hurled herself into his arms and, putting down his bag he folded them about her and hugged her to him, caressing her hair with his lips. Suddenly he felt too uncertain, too broken-hearted to speak. He felt a rare idyll was coming to an end. She leaned away from him and looked into his eyes.

‘Is it true?’

He nodded.

‘Why, Brent?’

‘I have to prove myself ... for you.’

Mary broke away and stood back, a finger pointing incredulously towards herself.

‘For me?’

Brent observed how pale she was, how her thin frame trembled and his heart went out to her in pity, and remorse. But he was still too angry, too stung with John’s remark. He drew Mary to him and kissed her hungrily, pressing her body roughly against his until he felt her shudder with pain and try and draw away. Brent roughly let her go.

‘Ask your brother! He has taunted me this morning and I have had enough Mary. I have sworn not to see you or to have aught to do with you until
they
think I am worthy. Ask
them
!’

The look of anguish she gave him told him she did not understand – the reason for his sudden departure, his brutal and passionless embrace. He felt tears of frustration and rage sting his eyes as he ran down the stairs, aware that she was not following him.

He did not see Mary again. As he quickly broke his fast and said his farewells she remained upstairs. John did not try to make him change his mind, did not know what to say, but shook his hand and wished him well. His mother, so lately reunited with him, only sorrowed to see him set off so quickly again; but she knew the reason. Had she not herself helped to contribute to it? She kissed him sadly, her eyes half filled with unshed tears.

‘Go well, my son. Thank God you are recovered. You know where I am when you need me and, Brent,’ she looked gravely into his eyes, ‘
I do
trust you. I know you will do what is right and that in time you will think that what we did was right.’

Brent turned from his mother, kissed his sister, still half asleep, shook the hands of his silent cousins and mounted a horse lent to him by Stewart. Then with Ambrose Rigg panting on his horse behind him he set off along the narrow track that led over Catbells, across the Newlands Valley, and up over tree-covered Whinlatter to the prosperous little town of Cockermouth.

8

Analee lay in the dark next to Randal. She was cold and she pressed up against his body to draw the warmth from it. Randal stirred and sighed in his sleep; she was conscious of his buttocks against her stomach, her breasts against his lean hard back.

It was two months since Randal had bound her hand and foot and tossed her in the cart, taken her off and married her. Two months and the weather had turned from a warm and mellow September into a bitter November. But more than that, Analee had turned from a free wandering gypsy into a settled married woman who cooked for Randal, kept the tent clean and chatted endlessly with the other women of the tribe while the men squatted together mending pots and pans, smoking and drinking beer.

At night she and Randal came together and made love but, apart from that, apart from knowing that she was his woman and he was her man, they had very little knowledge of each other; they had very little to say. It had not been like that with her last real love, the reason for her wandering – they had talked the day and night round, yearning continually for each other’s company, the touching and the hearing of sounds.

Analee knew it was not usual for women and men to want to be together so much, to have so much to say to each other. She had observed enough around her, experienced it in her own life, to know that the sexes were very different. Except for making love, or dancing, they kept apart even in the camp. She and the women chatted and gossiped; the men talked in low tones about what they were doing. Men and women had really nothing in common at all, except for this one thing – the need to communicate with each other bodily in order to breed.

And that was what worried Analee this bitter November night as she lay awake pressed against Randal. She knew she was with child. It had happened to her before and it was happening again; she knew the signs – the absence twice of her woman’s monthly time when, in some tribes, women were considered unclean,
marine,
and had to go into a separate tent and sleep apart from their menfolk until it was over. In addition her breasts pained her and she felt tired and listless.

Analee didn’t want a child. She was already feeling constricted living here in this camp with the chattering women and the swarms of children who ran around their feet every day. The thought of a baby and then another, until she was fat with heavy pendulous breasts and a perpetually tired and harassed expression ... it didn’t suit her at all. Analee already wanted to be off on her travels. The compulsion she’d had ever since the tragedy was with her again: to be tied to Randal as his wife and the mother of his child, children ... she shuddered. She couldn’t take to the road when she had children. She would be trapped.

Besides, Analee, because she had second sight, because she was experienced in these women’s things as well, knew this child was not Randal’s. She knew the cycle of the woman and that when she had lain with Brent she had been fertile.

Brent Delamain was the father of her child. Even if she had not known the physical signs; she knew in her gypsy’s heart it was so. She with child by a
gadjo,
not by her husband, and the child might have blond hair, a white skin and an aquiline aristocratic face – just like Brent Delamain and not like Randal Buckland at all.

Analee felt heavy-hearted as she lay in the dark waiting for the glimmer of dawn to appear through the entrance to the tent. She thought with tenderness of the beautiful
gadjo,
of their two meetings in the moonlight forests – one to meet and one to make love. That was all. Oh, but she had danced for him. When she had seen him in the tavern standing looking at her darkly from the shadows, it was for him
alone
she had danced, flaunting her body and offering herself to him as only she, Analee, knew how.