Elena shivered a little. 'It is chancy, leaving this sort of thing to
'True enough,' Lily agreed. 'Whatever trial they give him is going to be dangerous. But letting him wander about in the forest like a donkey would have been dangerous. Sending him off on
So they worked on, side by side, with a tacit agreement to say no more about it. If Alexander passed his trial, and
Well, it was out of her hands now. And whatever happened, she would have to live with the result — or the blame.
Hob had outfitted him with moleskin breeches, stout boots, a doeskin jerkin, and a most remarkable game bag. 'Made it myself, back in the day,' he'd said with great pride — and besides being of fine workmanship, there was another reason for the pride. It was magical; it would hold virtually as much as you cared to put into it, without ever getting an ounce heavier.
Alexander had already stuffed two pheasants and a half dozen quail into it. It was much better than trying to carry around a conventional game bag, or tying the game to your belt. It was better even than having to trail around with a crew of servants to carry what you shot, since a pack of servants always managed to scare off so much game that it hardly seemed worth having them along.
He missed having beaters or a dog, though; having to go it alone, flushing his own game, was chancy. When confronted with a single man, quail and pheasants were as likely to run away under the cover of the grass as they were to flush into the air.
On the other hand, given those circumstances, he wasn't doing badly, and it was wonderful being out here, without anyone looking over his shoulder. It was a perfect day, too; sun bright in a blue sky, air crisp, not enough breeze to give him any serious windage problems.
In fact, he could almost believe that he was a free man, free to do whatever he —
A shriek cut across the peace of the meadow, startling a covey of quail into the air practically at his feet.
They whirred away, tiny wings a blur, presenting him with five clear shots. But he had no time for game now, not when a second scream rent the air, and he knew it for the cry of a woman in terror.
The quail were barely in the air, and he was already half across the meadow, running in the direction from which the scream had come.
A third scream put more speed into his heels, and he burst through a coppice of birch trees to find himself at what was clearly a woodcutter's cottage, with an axe still in the stump and a pile of wood chopped that was as tall as the cottage, and a second and third beside it. A chestnut palfrey in fancy tack was tied to a sapling nearby. He took little more note than that of his surroundings, though — not with the bleeding body of what must have been the woodcutter himself lying facedown on the ground, and a young woman struggling in the grasp of a richly dressed man not thirty feet away.
Without even thinking about it, he had an arrow nocked and flying, and a second one drawn. The first flew right past the man's ear, close enough to brush him with the fletching, and
The man froze, the struggling girl still in his grasp.
She could not have been much older than fourteen or fifteen, and only just woman-ripe. And once, maybe Alexander would have laughed to see this, and gone on his way, for the girl and the man on the ground were only peasants, after all. And had he not come down the path that Madame Elena had laid for his feet, some future, harder Alexander might even have demanded
But that past Alexander was gone, and the future one erased. And this bastard, be he never so noble, was not of a like kind with the Alexander who stood there with his second arrow aimed for the eye.
The stranger slowly met Alexander's gaze. He was clad in blue velvet and silk, and around his neck was a thick chain of golden links. Otherwise he was nondescript, with short hair cut to fit beneath a helm, and an ordinary enough, moustached face. 'Well met, fellow,' the man said, coolly. 'Come to take a share of the spoils? I saw her first, but you're welcome to her when — '
'Let her go,' said Alexander, feeling an icy fury rising up in him at the sight of the poor child's terror.
'I don't think you