Velvet Song

by Jude Deveraux

  “The first time you’ve drawn blood?” Raine asked gently, his face near hers, his voice soft as he watched her.

  She barely nodded, not wanting to meet his eyes as tears choked her throat and she remembered her life before two days ago.

  “How did you hurt your leg?” he asked.

  Blinking rapidly, refusing to cry, she glared at him. “By running from one of your kind,” she spat at him.

  “Good lad.” He smiled and again those dimples appeared. “Don’t let anyone scare you. Keep your head high no matter what happens.”

  She rinsed out the bloody cloth and started washing all of his arm.

  “Should I tell you the duties of a squire?” he asked.

  “Having never had your advantages of personal servants I am afraid I am at a loss as to what one should do for h—”—she had almost said “her”—“his master.”

  A snort from Raine was his reply to her answer. “You are to clean my armor, care for my horses, help me personally in any way you can, and”—his eyes twinkled—“serve me my sweet cakes. Do you think you can do all that?”

  “There’s no more?” she taunted.

  “A true squire would learn the rudiments of training to be a knight, using a sword, a lance, that sort of thing, as well as write his lord’s letters and at times deliver important messages. I do not expect so much from you though since—”

  Alyx cut him off. “Since I am not of your class and you do not think I have the brain to learn? My father was a lawyer and I can read and write better than most of your nobles, I’ll wager, and I can do it in Latin and French as well as English.”

  Raine tested his arm for a moment, curling his hand into a fist, making his bicep bulge, all the while smiling slightly, not at all offended by her accusations. Finally, he looked back at her. “You’re still too small to do much heavy training,” he said, “and it has little to do with your birth status. As for reading and writing, you must be better than I am, for I do not read more than the names of my family. Good!” he said as he stood. “You have a delicate hand with a wound. Perhaps Rosamund can use your help.”

  “Another of your women?” Alyx sneered, motioning her head toward the tent flap where Blanche had been.

  “Are you jealous?” he asked, and before Alyx could sputter that she was jealous of no women, he added, “You’ll have your share of women yet, when you get your first beard and we put a little meat on you.” Cocking his head, looking at her, he said, “You’re pretty enough if you don’t get scarred on the battlefield. Women like pretty faces on their men.”

  “Such as yours?” she snapped and could have bitten out her tongue.

  “I do well enough,” he said, obviously highly amused. “Now I have some work for you to do. This armor needs cleaning and after that it must be polished to keep the rust off.” Quickly, he piled pieces of steel armor together, back and front together forming a large shell which held arm and leg coverings. The helmet went on top.

  Confidently, arrogantly, Alyx held out her arms and in the next moment she staggered backward and would have fallen had not Raine caught her at the small of her back.

  “It’s a mite heavy for a lad your size.”

  “My size!” she gasped, trying to steady herself. “If you weren’t as large as a pair of oxen the armor need not be so big.”

  “Your insolence is going to earn you some bruises, and I would advise you to show some proper respect for your leige lord.” Before she could make a reply, he fairly pushed her from the tent. “There’s a stream to the north,” he said, piling several cloths on her burden of mud-encrusted armor. “Wash it well then bring it back. And if I find one new dent in it I will add five dents to your hide. Is that clear, boy?”

  Alyx could barely nod, as she was more concerned with staying upright under her burden, wondering how in the world she was going to walk, than making any smart retorts to Raine. Slowly, one step at a time, she started forward, her arms already aching, her neck craned sideways to see around the high pile of steel she carried. When her body hurt so badly there were tears in her eyes, she finally saw the stream. At its side she started to drop the armor to her feet, but remembering Raine’s threat, she braced her legs apart, squatted and carefully lowered all seventy pounds of it to the ground.

  For a moment she sat there, her arms extended, wondering if they’d ever feel the same again. When feeling came back to them, and all the feeling was pain, she plunged her arms, shirt and all, into the cold clear water of the stream.

  Several minutes later she glanced back at the pile of armor with a great sigh. So much for women’s drudgery. What was the difference between washing dishes and washing armor? With another sigh she picked up the cloths and began removing the crust of mud, sweat, rust and whatever else held the filth together.

  An hour later she’d succeeded in taking the dirt off the armor and placing it on herself. Never had she sweat so much in her life, and every drop made the dirt cling to her skin. Removing her tunic, she used a clean cloth to wash most of the dirt from it and left it to dry on a rock while she washed her face and arms.

  As she came up from washing and reached for a dry cloth, someone handed it to her. Quickly drying her face, she opened her eyes to see an astonishingly handsome man. Dark wavy hair framed a perfectly formed, high-cheekboned face. Hot, dark eyes blazed under long thick lashes. Alyx blinked twice to make sure this dark angel was real and, in her stunned silence, she did not see the sword pointed at her belly.

  Chapter Four

  WHO ARE YOU?” this man who was too perfect-looking to be real asked.

  Alyx, unused to danger in her life, did not fully react to the sword, but what she did react to was the music in this man’s voice. She’d felt that Raine, with his deep voice, could sing if he tried, but she was sure this man did sing. “I am Raine’s new squire,” she said quietly, using her voice and all her many years of training to bring the voice from deep within her chest.

  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.

  Gently, Rosamund took Alyx’s leg, lifted it, turned it this way and that, seeing no external signs of injury.

  “My name is Raine Montgomery,” he said, his back to them. “I prefer my name to being referred to as . . . whatever animal you choose.”

  “And should I preface it with ‘your majesty’ or will ‘your lordship’ do?” She knew she was greatly daring and had no idea what his wrath would be like, but she was still angry over the way he’d forced her to stay in his camp.

  “Raine will do fine,” he said, looking back at her, smiling. “I find the rules of society are fairly useless in this place, and what may I call you?”

  Alyx started to speak, but Rosamund pulled her leg in such a way that Alyx gave an involuntary squeal of pain and lifted straight off her seat. Trying to control the tears in her eyes, she clenched her teeth and said, “Alyxander Blackett.”

  “What’s wrong with the lad?” Raine asked.

  “He’s pulled some of the muscles and there is nothing to be done except bind it and let it heal by itself. I can offer no medicine, perhaps a poultice tonight but nothing else.”

  Raine ignored Alyx’s I-told-you-so look as he held the tent flap open for Rosamund and watched her leave.

  In seconds, Alyx dressed again while Raine’s back was turned, and she tried for a normal tone of voice. “She’s a beautiful woman,” she said, trying not to betray how interested she was in Raine’s answer.

  “She doesn’t think she is,” he said, “and it’s been my experience with women that they must believe themselves to be beautiful before they are.”

  “And no doubt you are very experienced with women.”

  One of his dark eyebrows lifted as he smiled at her.

  “Get up off that scrawny rear of yours and let’s get to work.”

  Trying not to be hurt by his too personal comments on her body, Alyx followed him outside, his big legs eating up ground at a furious pace as she hurried along behind him. Without pausing, he grabbed a large loaf of black bread from a makeshift brick oven, tore it in half and gave a piece to Alyx, who looked at the loaf with some consternation, as the bread was more than she normally ate in a day.

  Raine, eating his way through the heavy, solid bread, led her through the village of outlaws. All the shelters were shoddy things, not even hinting at permanence, and the smells emanating from them were horrible. Obviously, there were no sanitary ordinances here as there were in her pretty, walled town.

  “Not much, is it?” Raine asked, watching her face. “What can you teach people who empty their chamber pots on their own front doorsteps?”

  “Who are these people?” she asked, looking in disgust at the filthy, tired-looking women ambling about doing various housewifely chores while men sat and spit, now and then looking up at Raine and Alyx with insolent glares. Without realizing she was doing it, she stepped closer to Raine.

  “There,” he said, pointing, “that one killed four women.” His voice held a great deal of disgust. “Stay away from him. He likes to terrorize anything smaller than he is. And that man with the patch over his eye is the Black Runner, the highwayman. He became so famous he had to retire at the peak of his career,” he added sarcastically.

  “And them? The men huddled by the fire?”

  Raine frowned slightly. “They are suffering from melancholia. They are farmers, displaced by the enclosure acts. They know nothing except farming and, as far as I can tell, want to learn nothing new.”

  “Enclosures!” she gasped. “No wonder they hate you.”

  “Me?” he asked, truly astonished. “Why should they hate me?”

  �
��You have taken their farms, put fences around what was their land and put your nasty sheep in the pens,” she said smugly, letting him know that not everyone of the non-nobles was as uneducated as these louts.

  “I have, have I?” he said, not smiling but a dimple giving away his amusement. “Do you always judge an entire group of people on the actions of one? Is there no villain in your little town? If this villain picked my pocket should I hang everyone in town for justice’s sake?”

  “No . . . no, I guess not,” she reluctantly admitted.

  “Here, eat this,” he said, handing her a hard-boiled egg and taking away what was left of her loaf and eating it himself. “You’ll never grow any bigger if you don’t eat. Now we’ll try to do something about your lack of muscle.”

  With that comment, he led her through the trees toward the sounds she’d been hearing since she’d arrived. When they reached a large, cleared area, she halted, eyes wide, staring at the scene before her. Men, many men, seemed to be trying to kill either each other, their horses or themselves. Men lunged at one another with swords, at stuffed dummies with lances or performed bodily contortions wearing stones strapped to their bodies.

  “What is this?” she whispered, not knowing how to react.

  “If the men are to survive, they must know how to fight,” he said, his eyes on the men. “Here, you two,” he bellowed so loudly Alyx jumped. With two furious strides, he reached two men who’d dropped their swords and gone after each other with their fists. Raine grabbed the back of the rags they wore, shook them like dogs and tossed them apart. “Men of honor do not fight with their fists,” he growled. “As long as you are under my rule you will fight as if you were decent men and not the scum you are. If you break my training again, you will be punished. Now get back to work!”

  Silent, somewhat awed by Raine’s fierceness, Alyx stood stone-still until he turned back to her. The man’s voice ranged from the sweetness he used with Rosamund to this terrifying bellow.