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

about whom she was curious because she said so little about herself. With the gypsy’s respect for an individual’s privacy neither Selinda nor her brothers would have dreamt of questioning Analee. They knew she was not from the north like them. Like them she spoke in the Romani tongue, but her accent was not theirs. At first they had thought she was foreign; she was so tall and her skin was of an olive cast like their brother and sister gypsies they occasionally met from Italy or Spain. But at night as they sat around their fires Analee just listened while they spoke of their experiences or joined with them as they quietly sang the gypsy lullabys which were universal.
    They stopped outside a busy hostelry and Randal went inside, emerging after a time with the tavern keeper who knew them and welcomed them. He looked with open admiration at the lithe form of Analee, noting with approval her brightly coloured gypsy skirt, her loosely tied bodice with her big firm breasts carelessly exposed in the gypsy fashion. Yes, he thought, she would put his customers on fire. Now that she was more rested, her skin had burnt to a deep olive brown with exposure to the fine weather, and the sun had given her black hair a lustrous sparkle.
    The innkeeper grunted and nodded towards her with satisfaction.
    ‘A relation?’ he queried.
    ‘We are all brothers and sisters,’ Randal replied, his brown eyes flashing a little with jealousy as he saw the looks the innkeeper was giving Analee. Almost from the moment he had seen her coming to him in the light of the many fires that night in the camp, Randal had felt that here was the woman for him, the promised one, the tomnimi. Because he and his brothers and sister had moved outside the formal tribal structure, and as no one knew where Analee had come from or to which tribe she belonged, an elaborate courtship was not necessary. However, strict customs governed gypsy life and these were inbred enough in Randal for him to want to adhere to them.
    But he was always close to Analee, helping her, trying to show his feelings by his presence. However, not by so much as a glance or a smile did she indicate whether he had succeeded or not.
    But the way the gadjo innkeeper had looked at Analee enraged Randal, the way he’d ogled her breasts which, like a true gypsy she did not try to conceal. The important parts of a gypsy woman to keep concealed were her midriff, her thighs and her legs and, in accordance with custom, Analee kept these very well hidden indeed by her long skirt and the several petticoats she wore underneath.
    Analee became aware of the tension as the innkeeper’s red face, after staring at her bosom, peered into hers. It had happened to her too often for her to be affected by it. But what surprised her was the way Randal’s face grew dark and his chest heaved; for a moment she thought he would strike the innkeeper. And then she understood. Randal wanted her.
    But before she had time to weigh these implications, the innkeeper stepped aside and, in a gesture of benevolence, motioned them into the inn where there was a roar as soon as they were seen and a space on the rush and sawdust strewn floor was made for them.
    Hamo had seen his brother’s wrath and was disturbed by it too. But he put his fiddle to his chin and started a merry gypsy zorongo. Benjamin lifted the flute to his mouth and Selinda shook the tambourine above her head while Analee, impatiently clicking her castanets, her head raised expectantly, her body taut, her feet tapping time, waited for the cue to enter. Then as Randal, excited as much by the sight of her preparing to dance as by the music nodded to her, his eyes gleaming, she lifted the edge of her skirt, her other hand curled on her hip and made the zarandeo, or swirling movement of the skirt, that preceded the dance. Then his hands on his hips, Randal came in from the other side and, their bodies so close together that at times they almost touched, they went