“The king of the outlaws,” she said somewhat dreamily. “He must be very fierce. He isn’t a . . . a murderer, is he?” she gasped.
The servant looked back at her, laughing at her girlish changes in mood, but when he saw her face, he stopped and followed her mesmerized gaze straight ahead of them.
Sitting on a low stool, his shirt off, sharpening his sword, was the man who was unmistakably the leader of any group of men in his presence. He was a big man, very large, with great bulging muscles, a deep thick chest, thighs straining against the black knit hose he wore. That he should be shirtless in January in the cold, sunless forest was astonishing, but even this far away Alyx could see that he was covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
His profile was handsome: a fine nose, black, black hair, sweat dampened into curls along his neck, deep set serious eyes under heavy black brows, a mouth set into a firm line as he concentrated on the whetstone before him and the sharpening of the sword.
Alyx’s first impression was that her heart might stop beating. She’d never seen a man like this one, from whom power came as if it were the sweat glistening on his body. People often said she had power in her voice, and she wondered if it was like the power of this man, an aura surrounding all of his enormous, magnificent body.
“Close your mouth, girl,” the servant chuckled, “or you’ll give yourself away. His lordship won’t take to a lad drooling on his knees.”
“Lordship?” Alyx asked, coming up for air. “Lordship!” she gasped and reason came back to her. It wasn’t power she saw coming from this man, it was his sense that all the world belonged to him. Generations of men like Pagnell had reproduced themselves to create men like the one before her—arrogant, prideful, sure that everyone was destined to be their personal servant, taking what they wanted, even an old, ailing lawyer who got in their way. Alyx was in this cold forest and not at home practicing her music where she belonged because of men like this one who sat on a stool and waited for others to come to him.
The man turned, looking up at them with blue eyes, serious eyes that missed little of what he saw. As if he were a king on a throne, Alyx thought, and indeed he made the rough stool look like a throne, waiting for his lowly subjects to approach. So this was why she had to dress as a boy! This man with his lordly, superior ways, demanding that everyone bow and scrape before him, bend down so he could place his jeweled shoes on their behinds. He was the leader of this group of outlaws and murderers, and how had he gotten that dubious honor? No doubt from all of them believing in the natural superiority of the nobility; that this man, because of his birth, had the right to command them and they, as stupid as criminals must be, did not question his authority, merely asked how low they should grovel before his lordship.
“That’s Raine Montgomery,” the servant said, not seeing the way Alyx’s eyes hardened, a great change from her original softness. “The king has declared him a traitor.”
“And no doubt he well deserves the title,” she spat, still watch
ing Raine as they drew nearer to the man, his strength seeming to pull them toward him.
The servant glanced at her in surprise. “He was once a favorite of King Henry’s and was leading men to the king’s own Wales when Lord Raine heard that his sister had been taken prisoner by Lord Roger Chatworth and—”
“A feud among themselves!” she snapped. “And no doubt many innocent men were killed to feed these nobles’ taste for blood.”
“No one was killed,” the man said, bewildered by her attitude. “Lord Roger threatened to kill Lord Raine’s sister, so Lord Raine retreated; but King Henry declared him a traitor for using the king’s own men in a personal war.”
“Lords!” Alyx snarled. “There is only one Lord and King Henry was right to declare the man a traitor, since he well deserved the title for using our good king’s men for his own personal fight. So now he hides in the forest using the ruffians as his subjects. Tell me, does he kill them at will or is he content with having them serve his dinner to him on silver platters?”
At that the servant laughed, at last understanding her hostility toward Lord Raine. No doubt the only noblemen she’d met were Pagnell and his father. Using them as criteria, she had reason to despise Lord Raine.
“Come sit down,” Raine said, taking the reins and looking up at the weary man on the horse.
Alyx’s first thought was: He can sing! Any man with such a deep, rich voice had to be able to sing. But the next instant her kind thoughts were gone.
“Step down here, boy, and let’s have a look at you,” Raine said. “You look a bit thin to me. Can you do a day’s work?”
Alyx had never ridden astride a horse before, and the new exercise had made the inside of her legs stiff and sore. When she tried to swing off the top of the horse with at least a bit of bravado, her hateful legs refused to obey, and the left one, still hurt from her fall, collapsed under her.
Raine placed a steadying hand on her upper arm, and to Alyx’s chagrin her body reacted instantly to this man who represented everything she hated. “Get your hand off me!” she snarled at him, seeing the surprised look on his handsome face before she had to grab the saddle of the horse to keep from falling. The stupid horse shied away, causing Alyx to stumble again before she could right herself.
“Now, if you are quite finished,” Raine said, his blue eyes alight, that delicious voice of his running across her like melted honey, “perhaps we can find out something about you.”
“This is all you need to know about me, nobleman!” she hissed, drawing the knife at her side, pointing it at him, despising his easy assurance that she meant nothing while he was God’s gift to the earth.
Completely startled by the boy’s hostility, Raine was unprepared for the sharp little dagger lunging at him and barely had time to move away before it cut, not where it aimed, his heart, but the top of his arm.
Stunned at what she’d done, Alyx stood still, her eyes fastened to the slow trickle of blood coming from the man’s bare arm. Never in her life had she hurt anyone before.
But she didn’t have long to think on her rash act because before she could begin to apologize, or before she could even blink an eye, Raine Montgomery had grabbed the seat of her pants and her collar and sent her sliding, face down, across about half an acre of forest floor. She should have closed her gaping mouth because her lower teeth acted as a shovel and collected bushels of leaves, dirt and whatever other filth made the spongy floor.
“Now, you young devil!” Raine said from his place behind her.
Sitting up, using both hands and furiously gouging handfuls of Heaven-knows-what from her mouth, wincing at her sore leg, she looked up to see him standing at what seemed to be quite a distance from her. Between them was a deep, scoured path that had been made by Alyx’s body. And what she saw renewed her anger. Raine Montgomery, that vile nobleman, was surrounded by a disreputable looking crew of men and women, all laughing, showing black, rotten teeth, choking on their tongues, generally enjoying her agony. Raine himself was laughing harder than anyone, and the sight of deep, long dimples in his cheeks emphasizing his mirth did nothing for her temperament.
“Come on,” said a voice beside her, the man who’d brought her, as he helped her stand. “Hold your tongue or he may toss you out altogether.”
Alyx started to speak but paused to remove a piece of stick from its hiding place between her gum and cheek and missed her chance.