“Henry!” he snarled. “You talk of him as if he were a god. He is a greedy man. Do you know why he’s outlawed me? For my lands! He wants to take all the power from the nobles and keep it for himself. Of course, your class wants him to do this since he does good things for you, but what happens when a bad king has the power? With the nobles, at least, a bad one controls only a small area. What if Pagnell were king? Would you wish to follow a man like him?”
Hastily she pulled on her shirt. She’d never seen Raine so angry. “I wasn’t talking about all of England,” she soothed. “I meant us. Surely you could do more good for your family if you were with them.”
“And for that you wish me to go on bended knee to the king?” he whispered. “Is that what you want? You wish to see me groveling, forsaking my vows of honor?”
“Honor!” she said loudly. “What has honor to do with this? You were wrong to use the king’s men.”
For a moment she was sure he was going to strike her, but he took a step backward, away from her, his eyes blazing. “Honor is all to me,” he whispered before turning back to the camp.
As quickly as she could, she dressed and ran after him.
Standing before Raine’s tent was one of his brother’s men, a message in his hand. She was glad to see the man. Perhaps some good news from home would make Raine forget his anger.
Hurrying forward, she took the message and without a glance from Raine, slipped inside the tent. Smiling, she opened the message, and the next moment, her shoulders fell.
“What is it?” Raine growled. “Is someone ill?”
There were tears in Alyx’s eyes when she looked up at Raine. As they locked gazes, his eyes hardened.
“What is it?” he demanded of her.
“Your . . . sister Mary is . . . dead,” she whispered.
Raine’s face betrayed no emotion except for a bit of white appearing at the corners of his mouth. “And Bronwyn?”
“Escaped from Roger Chat worth, but she has not been found yet. Your brothers are looking for her.”
“Is there more?”
“No. Nothing. Raine—” she began.
He brushed her aside. “Go! Leave me to myself.”
Alyx started to obey him, but as she looked back and saw his rigid back, she knew she couldn’t leave him. “Sit!” she commanded, and when he turned to her his eyes were like black coals from hell.
“Sit,” she said, quieter, “and we will talk.”
“Leave me!” he growled, but he sat on a stool and dropped his head into his hands.
Immediately, Alyx sat at his feet, not touching him. “What was she like?” she whispered. “Was Mary short or fat? Did she laugh often? Did she rail at you and your brothers? What did she do when you were so obstinate she wanted to take a club to your head?”
He looked up at that, his eyes dark, angry. “Mary was good, kind. She had no flaws.”
“It’s a good thing,” Alyx said. “She would have to be a saint to stand your mule-headedness, and no doubt your brothers are as bad.”
Raine’s hand fastened about her throat as he went for her, the stool flying. “Mary was an angel,” he said into her face, pinning her body, his hands tightening.
“You will kill me,” she said in a resigned voice, gasping. “And still Mary will not come back.”
After a moment, his hands dropped and he pulled he
r close to him, twisting her body in impossible directions as his arms wrapped about her. Slowly, he began to rock her as he stroked her hair.
“Tell me about your angel. Tell me about your brothers. What is Judith like? And Bronwyn?”
It wasn’t easy to get him to talk, but as the words began to come, she saw a close, loving family. Mary was the oldest of the five and adored by her younger brothers. Raine talked of her selflessness and, recently, how she and Bronwyn had risked their lives to save a serfs child. He spoke of Judith, how his brother had treated her badly yet Judith had loved him enough to forgive him.
Alyx, living in her small, walled village, had never thought about the family life of the nobles, had assumed they lived untroubled lives. Listening to Raine, she had a glimpse of heartache and sorrow, of life as well as death. She was glad that she had not read aloud Gavin’s message to Raine. Roger Chatworth had raped the virginal Mary and, in horror, she’d thrown herself from a tower window.