She shook her head and was barely aware that Jocelin left her alone.
There didn’t seem to be any thoughts that went through her head as she waited for him to return. Raine believed her, believed that she thought her music was so very, very important. The people of the camp were willing to believe she was a thief and were eager to see her punished. Yet what had she ever done in her life to make anyone trust her, believe that she was a good person?
“Are you ready?” Jocelin asked from beside her, Rosamund a silent shadow behind him.
“I am sorry I have caused you—” she began.
“No more,” Joss said firmly. “We must look to the future now.”
“Rosamund, you will look after him? See that he eats? See that he doesn’t train too hard?”
“Raine will not listen to me as he does to you,” she said in her soft voice, her eyes devouring Jocelin.
“Kiss her,” Alyx whispered. “Someone should give their love and not hide it.” With that she turned away, and when she looked back she saw Rosamund clinging fiercely to Jocelin. When he returned to Alyx there was a look of surprise on his face.
“She loves you,” Alyx said flatly before they started the long journey to reach the outer edges of the forest.
PART II
August 1502
Chapter Twelve
ALYX PUT HER hand on the small of her back and eased herself down in a grassy patch just off the road, giving a grateful little smile to Joss when he handed her a cup of cool water.
“We’ll rest here for tonight,” he said, his eyes studying the tired lines on her face.
“No, we must play tonight—we need the money.”
“You need rest more!” he snapped, then sat down beside her. “You win. You always do. Hungry?”
Alyx gave him a look that made him smile, and he glanced downward to her big belly as it pushed out the wool of her dress. The summer’s heat and their constant walking made Alyx miserable.
It had been just over four months since they’d left Raine’s camp, and in that time they’d barely stopped walking. At first it hadn’t been difficult. They were both strong and healthy and they were popular musicians. But after a month on the road, Alyx became ill. She vomited so often people refused to travel with them, fearing the boy had some disease. And Alyx became so weak she could hardly walk.
They stayed for a week in a little village while Jocelin sat by the city gates and sang for pennies. Once Alyx came to him carrying bread and cheese, and as he watched
her he thought how she’d changed since the time in the forest. Perhaps it was because he’d grown to care about her lately that she seemed to have grown lovelier, softer, prettier. Her boyish swagger had turned into a gentle, rolling, definitely female walk. And even though she’d been ill, she was gaining weight.
All of a sudden, it had hit Joss what was “wrong” with Alyx: she was carrying Raine’s child. By the time she reached him he was laughing, and if they’d been alone, he’d have swirled her about in his arms.
“I will be a burden to you,” Alyx said, but her eyes were alight. Before Joss could reply, she began chattering. “Do you think he will look like Raine? Would it be wrong to pray for a child to have dimples?”
“Let’s save our prayers and wish for the means to dress you as a woman. If I travel with a pregnant boy I don’t think I will live long.”
“A dress,” Alyx smiled, something soft and nice to make her feel like a woman again.
Once Jocelin was relieved of his feeling that Alyx was dying of some dread disease, he was more confident about allowing her to journey from castle to castle. And Alyx, after finding she had not lost all of Raine, was in much better spirits. She talked constantly about the baby, what it would look like, how Raine’s features would look on a girl and if she did have a girl, she hoped the child would not grow to be quite as big as her father. Alyx also laughed over the fact that she never did anything properly. Instead of being ill the first three months, she was ill the second three.
Joss listened to everything over and over again. He was so pleased she was no longer silent and sullen as she’d been for months after they left the forest. At night, sleeping on pallets on the floor of whatever house they were performing at, he often heard her crying, but she did not mention her sorrow during the day.
Once they played and sang at a large manor house belonging to one of Raine’s cousins. Alyx had again become very silent, but he could almost feel her straining to hear any bit of news.
Jocelin had dropped a few hints to Montgomery’s wife and the woman had told him much. Raine was still in the forest and King Henry, in his grief over the death of his eldest son, had nearly forgotten the outlawed nobleman. The King was much more worried about what to do with his son’s wife, the Princess Katherine of Aragon, than what to do about a private feud. He ignored the petitions of the Montgomery family to punish Roger Chatworth. After all, Chatworth had not killed Mary Montgomery, only raped her. He had harmed her in no way. It was on the girl’s soul that she committed suicide.
There was news that in July Judith Montgomery had borne a son and later in August Bronwyn MacArran had also been delivered of a son. The Montgomery cousins were still incensed over Stephen’s adopting the Scot’s name and ways.
Alyx listened avidly to everything Jocelin reported to her.