Velvet Song (Montgomery/Taggert 4)

er, he went on with his plan quickly. “If you became a boy, you could hide with the outlaws. With your hair cut and boy’s clothes, perhaps a binding about your chest, you might pass. The priest says you can change your voice at will, and your looks might well suit a boy as well as a girl.”

Alyx wasn’t sure she should laugh or cry at his last remark. It was true that she was no classic beauty with full lips and big blue eyes, but she liked to think . . .

“Come now,” the servant chuckled, “there’s no need to look like that. I’m sure when you reach an age, you’ll fill out and look almost as lovely as a lady.”

“I’m twenty years old,” she said, eyes narrowed.

The servant cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Then you should be grateful for your looks. Now, come on, for it grows dark. I brought some boy’s clothes, and when you’re ready, we’ll travel. I want to be back before I’m missed. The earl likes to know where his servants are.”

This idea that she might be endangering him made her move quickly, taking the folded clothes he offered. At the touch of the cloth, she paused for just a moment before fleeing to the trees to change. It took only seconds to rid herself of the dress she wore, but the boy’s garments were unfamiliar. Tightly woven cotton knit hose covered her legs up to her waist, where she tied them snugly. A cloth came next, and she tried not to give a sigh of disgust when she realized she needed very little binding to flatten her breasts. A cotton shirt, fine and soft, went on, a heavier wool shirt with wide sleeves over that and, on top, a long doublet of sturdy, closely woven wool. The doublet came to the bottom curve of her buttocks and was beautifully trimmed with gold scrollwork. Never had she had such rich clothing next to her skin, and she could feel the raw places, rubbed by her woolen dress, beginning to heal. And the freedom of the boy’s clothes! she thought as she kicked high with first one leg and then the other.

Slipping on knee-high boots, lacing them at the sides of her ankles, she lifted her gold belt from the heap of her dress and hid the belt about her waist, under doublet and wool shirt. Ready at last, tying an embroidered sash about her waist, she went out to where the earl’s servant waited for her.

“Good!” he said, turning her about, inspecting her, frowning at her legs, which were just a little too fine looking for a boy’s. “Now for your hair.” He took a pair of shears from a pouch at her side.

Alyx took a step backwards, her hand on her long, straight hair. It had never been cut in her life.

“Come on,” the man urged. “It’s getting late. It’s only hair, girl. It will grow again. Better to cut your hair than have it burned, with your head, in a witch’s fire.”

With fortitude, Alyx turned her back to the man and let him have access to her hair. Surprisingly, as it fell away, her head felt strangely light and not at all unpleasant.

“Look at it curl,” the man said, trying to please her, to make light of her horrible situation. When he’d finished, he turned her around, nodding in approval at the curls and waves that clouded about her puckish little face. He thought to himself that the short hair and the boy’s clothes suited her better than the ugly dress she’d worn.

“Why?” she asked, looking at him. “You work for the man who killed my father, so why are you helping me?”

“I’ve been with the lad”—she knew he meant Pagnell—“since he was a babe. He’s always had all he wanted, and his father’s taught him to take what he should not have. I have tried at times to make amends for the boy’s misdeeds. Are you ready?” He obviously didn’t want to discuss the subject anymore.

Alyx rode behind the man on the gentle horse and they set off, staying at the edge of the forest, toward the north. All through the ride the servant lectured her on how she must act to keep her secret. She must walk as a boy, shoulders back, taking long strides. She mustn’t cry or laugh in a silly way, must swear, mustn’t bathe overmuch, must scratch and spit and not be afraid to work, to lift and tote, or turn up her nose at dirt and spiders. On and on he went until Alyx nearly fell asleep, which cost her another lecture on the softness of girls.

When they arrived at the edge of the forest where the outlaws hid, he gave her a dagger to wear at her side to protect herself and told her to practice the use of it.

Once they entered the dark, forbidding forest, he stopped talking and Alyx could feel the tension run through his body. She found that her hands, gripping the edge of the saddle, were white knuckled.

The call of a night bird came softly to them and the servant answered it. Farther into the forest another call and answer were exchanged, and the servant stopped, setting Alyx down and dismounting. “We will wait here until morning,” he said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “They will want to find out who we are before they let us enter their camp. Come, boy,” he said louder. “Let’s sleep.”

Alyx found she could not sleep but instead lay still under the blanket the servant gave her and went over in her mind all that had happened, that because of some nobleman’s whim she was here alone in this cold, frightful forest while her dear father’s life had been cut short. As she thought, anger began to replace her fear as well as her grief. She would overcome this problem and someday, somehow, she’d revenge herself on Pagnell and all of his kind.

At first light, they were back on the horse and slowly made their way deeper and deeper into the maze of the forest.

Chapter Three

AFTER A VERY long time of tiptoeing through the tangle of trees and undergrowth, following no path that Alyx could see, she began to hear voices, quiet voices, mostly male. “I hear the men talking,” she whispered.

The servant gave her a look of disbelief over his shoulder, for he heard nothing but the wind. It was quite some time before he, too, heard the voices.

Suddenly, surprisingly, a deep tangle of growth parted and before them was a small village of tents and crude shelters. A gray-haired man, a deep, old scar running from his temple, down his cheek, his neck and disappearing into his collar, caught the reins of the horse.

“You had no trouble, brother?” the scarred man asked, and when his brother nodded, he looked at Alyx. “This the lad?”

She held her breath under his scrutiny, fearing he’d see her for female, but he dismissed her as not of importance.

“Raine is waiting for you,” the scarred man said to his brother. “Leave the boy with him and I’ll ride out with you and you can give me the news.”

With a nod, the servant reined his horse toward the direction in which his brother pointed.

“He didn’t think I wasn’t a boy,” Alyx whispered, half pleased, half insulted. “And who is Raine?”

“He’s the leader of this motley group. He’s only been here a couple of weeks, but he’s been able to whip some order into the men. If you plan to stay here you must obey him at all times or he’ll have you out on your ear.”