The Enchantress (Book 1 of The Enchantress Saga) Read Free Page B

hips beneath him – woman.
    ‘A woman horse thief,’ Brent continued as if talking to himself. ‘I do not believe it.’
    The woman stopped struggling and decided on another tactic having seen the look on his face, so clear in the moonlight. And a handsome noble face it was too – certainly the master of the house, no servant he, no clod-hopping menial sent to catch them.
    ‘Sir,’ she said. ‘I beg you will let me go or I will be horsewhipped.’
    ‘Or you will be hanged you mean,’ Brent said beginning to smile at such audacity. ‘Horse-whipped will be mild compared to what they do to thieves in Carlisle. You are a thief, are you not? Woman or no? A common thief.’
    Analee – for it was she – knew men well enough to realize when a threat was real and when it was not. And this fine lord, this nobleman whose graceful body was sitting astride hers in the sort of position that, despite the gravity of the circumstances, could not help but give rise to idle fancies – this gentleman with his light bantering tone surely didn’t mean what he said.
    ‘I am not a common thief sir, but a woman reduced to what I do through harsh circumstances. I beg you to free me for if they know I am caught I shall be given no more work. Please sir. We are to leave here soon; we shall not trouble you again.’
    ‘But be free to steal from others, eh?’
    Brent was reminded how much he had hated the thieves but a short time ago; how willingly he would have given a mature common gypsy man to the sheriff to be hanged.
    He stared at the girl and saw her teeth gleam in the light of the moon that streamed through the trees. He was aware of her body under his, a soft pliant body with a narrow waist, full hips and legs spread just that little bit enticingly apart. He was aware that she had stopped struggling and the look on her face was no longer defiant – it was warm and inviting, coquettish.
    The moment passed. Her thighs were encased in breeches, her body in a thick jerkin.
    ‘I cannot make love to a lad,’ he laughed and reluctantly released his sure hold on his captive, pulling her to her feet with him.
    She was tall and her body was still close to his. He was aware of her round full breasts beneath her leather jerkin, even though they’d been flattened and tied with some sort of cloth to make her look more like a boy. And indeed in her man’s garb with her long black hair and her sinuous gypsy body, her dark flashing eyes looking so challengingly at him, he thought she looked even more desirable than she would dressed as a woman, or indeed dressed in nothing at all.
    They stood for a moment – aware of each other but not speaking. There was a tantalizing body smell about her, a fresh smell as though she either washed or soaked herself in a compound of herbs and exotic spices. It was a lingering alluring smell that made him want her even more.
    ‘I will let you go if I can see you again,’ he said, ‘if I could meet you on proper terms.’
    ‘ Terms sir?’
    ‘I would not take advantage of a woman like this – you know what I mean.’
    ‘Oh I can see you are a gentleman,’ Analee said mockingly. ‘I’ll warrant the first one I ever met.’
    Of course she was crude, Brent thought, what else could he expect of a gypsy? Her voice was from the south. It was not as uncultured as he might have expected; but whichever way she spoke troubled him not. She excited him.
    ‘I will see you again,’ he murmured, his voice shaking. ‘I will, I must.’
    He grasped her hand, but Analee shook her head, regretfully, and backed away.
    ‘Why not?’ He followed her, still holding her hand. ‘Not now. Not here. They might come back.’
    ‘When then, where?’
    She continued to walk backwards and he followed her, looking for the chance to pinion her against a tree and seize her in his arms. As though aware of his intention Analee stepped back carefully, enjoying the game, her mouth beginning to show an enticing smile.
    She was such a