For a moment he stared at her, puzzled, speechless, and very slowly he resheathed his sword, his eyes never leaving hers. “There’s something about your voice. Have you ever done any singing?”
“A bit,” she said, her eyes dancing, every ounce of her confidence making itself known in that simple statement.
Without another word he reached to his back and the quiver of arrows he carried there and pulled out a flute. He started to play a simple, common song that Alyx knew well. For a moment she closed her eyes, letting the music float about her. The last few days had been the longest she’d ever gone without music since that day ten years ago when she’d picked up the troubadour’s lute. As the music filled her, her lungs filled with air and she opened her mouth to sing.
After only four notes, the young man stopped playing, his mouth dropping open in disbelief, his eyes wide. Alyx grinned, kept singing and motioned for him to continue.
With one quick glance of thankfulness raised toward Heaven and a laugh of pure joy, the man again put the flute to his lips.
Alyx followed the tune for quite some time, but her need to create was too strong to let it rest. Here was someone who could play, and she wondered what else he could do. Looking about for something to give her more sound, she saw a hollow log quite near. Still singing, never losing a beat, she grabbed the back, breastplate and thigh covering of Raine’s armor and set them near the log. Sticks quickly made drumsticks and for a moment she stopped singing, tapping out sounds on the pieces of armor and the log. When she had the sounds down she began to hum some of the music in her head.
Fascinated, the young man watched her, and when she began to sing, a new song this time, he followed her on his flute, slowly at first until he caught the tune and rhythm. When he added a variation of his own she laughed, still singing, and followed him easily. It became a bit of competition after that, with Alyx going one way and the man another, yet both following each other, testing one another’s skill.
And when the man tossed the flute to the ground and added hi
s strong, clear voice to hers, it was Alyx’s turn to be stunned for a moment, at least enough to make her miss a beat which, from the look on his face, gave the man great joy. Grabbing her hands, both on their knees, facing each other, they blended their voices together, sending them upward toward Heaven.
At last they stopped and all around them was utter and complete silence, as if the wind and birds had stopped to listen to their magnificent music. Hands still clasped, they were still, looking at each other with a mixture of love, awe, surprise, delight and kinship.
“Jocelin Laing,” the beautiful young man finally said, breaking the silence.
“Alyx . . . ander Blackett,” she answered, stumbling over the male name.
One of Jocelin’s perfect brows lifted and he started to say something, but Raine’s voice stopped him.
“Joss, I see you’ve met my new squire.”
Almost with guilt, Alyx dropped Jocelin’s hands and stood, only to find her sore leg going under her.
Roughly, Raine grabbed her arm. “If the two of you are through entertaining each other, you can bring my armor back and scrape the rust off of it. Joss, did you get any game?”
With what were surely spots of color on his cheeks, Jocelin faced Raine, his slim, broad-shouldered body appearing miniature next to Raine’s massive form. “I have four rabbits by the stream.”
“Rabbits!” Raine grunted. “I’ll go and look for a deer or two later, but now, boy, come back to camp and let’s have a look at that leg. You’ll be no use to me if you’re crippled.”
With resignation, Alyx collected the pieces of armor and Jocelin loaded them into her arms, along with her damp tunic. She followed Raine back to the camp, wondering just how much of the singing he’d heard.
If he’d heard any of it, he didn’t comment as he entered the tent and pointed for Alyx to set his armor down.
“Now pull off those hose and let’s look at that leg.”
“My leg is healing nicely,” she said, standing firmly where she was.
Narrowing his eyes at her, he took a step closer. “You might as well understand now that everyone in this camp pulls his weight. We can’t afford the time to deal with sick people. Get undressed while I get Rosamund,” he said, slipping on a shirt and doublet over his hose before leaving the tent.
As soon as he was gone, Alyx quickly removed the tight hose, grabbed a cloth and tied it about her waist, bringing the end up and over the Lyon belt secreted beneath her clothes so that she formed a loincloth. A great deal of her thigh and hip were exposed, and as she looked down at them, thinking that they weren’t bad-looking at all, she knew that now she’d be exposed as a female. Oh, well, she sighed, it was nice to think that some part of her, if not her face, was so pretty it could only belong to a woman.
A sound at the tent opening made her look up and there, in profile, was surely one of the most beautiful women ever made on earth. Lashes so long they looked unreal, curled over pretty green eyes, a perfect nose and mouth that curved back, its lips finely shaped, chiseled, a classic beauty, how every woman dreams of looking. And behind her was Raine. No wonder he never noticed his squire! she thought. With women like this one around, why would he look at something plain and ordinary like her?
“This is Rosamund, a healer,” Raine said, and his voice held a sweet softness that made Alyx look at him in wonder. It would be nice to hear him use that voice when he spoke to her.
The next moment Rosamund turned and an involuntary gasp escaped Alyx, for the entire left side of Rosamund’s face was covered with a deep pink strawberry mark—the sign of the devil. Instantly, her hand raised to cross herself in hopes of warding off the evil power, but her eyes were drawn to Raine’s and those blue orbs were fastened on hers in warning and threat.
“If you’d rather I didn’t touch you . . .” Rosamund began in a voice that showed she was perfectly used to being repulsed.
“No, of course not,” Alyx said hesitantly, then gained strength. “There’s nothing wrong with my leg, only what this great horse of a man thinks is wrong.”
With surprised eyes, Rosamund looked up at Raine, but he only snorted. “The boy has no manners—yet,” he added, his words carrying a threat. He seemed satisfied that Alyx was going to treat Rosamund with respect and turned away from them, never once glancing at Alyx’s legs, she noticed with chagrin.