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away.
    "Ungrateful wench," Armand blustered. "I told meself this haughty wench’d be the first t’run. Aye, ye’ll fly away on the high road wit’ the first willin’ man."
    The corners of Alicia’s mouth were turned up slightly as she struggled to keep up a serene front. She met eyes with Rodney and found some of her gaiety reflected there, and that was her permission to smile. Her eyes danced in delight and her face virtually sparkled. She handed the small bundle to Rodney and he worked at fastening it on the back of the horse that would carry her.
    "Did ye consider that ye’ll get nothin’ of what’s been promised, girl?" Armand questioned. "Here at least ye earn a civil wage and have a decent place t’lay yer head."
    Alicia turned to him. Her eyes were cool and distant as she considered the squat, gluttonous man. "A pile of hay with the rats?" she asked him. "And wage? That sum you send to your brother, Osmond—I earn nothing here. That generous man doesn’t yield me enough from what I’ve earned to buy a bolt of cloth. If not for Mae and her old clothes, I’d be naked."
    "It costs t’feed a houseful such as Osmond’s got hisself, but he at least cares fer what he’s got. Ye’ll find no strong arm on the road t’London, miss. Ye’ll be back and ye won’t find me a forgivin’ man."
    At this, Rodney turned toward Armand and his eyes were angry. "I’ve seen the protection offered this lass under your care. You’d happily see her mauled and used to sell one more cup of ale. Aye, she’d fare better in the hands of thieves."
    Armand’s face got redder and he was about to shout something more to Rodney, but the latter turned to help Alicia mount the horse. Behind Armand he could hear Gert’s shrill whine. "Cartin’ ‘er proper arse off t’court, says she." Her cackle was piercingly clear. "An’ goin’ ‘t snatch ‘erself a foin laird..."
    Armand turned abruptly and slapped the wench, turning her cackle into a squeal, but shutting her mouth quickly thereafter.
    "Ye’ve a debt t’me, Miss Queenie. I was t’have a wench to’serve through the harvest time. Don’t show yer face here fer honest work when he’s used ye and tossed ye aside fer the next. Aye, I knew ye’d run with the first more’n a year ago when that noble bastard played his way with ye and left without even payin’ his lodgin’."
    Alicia had barely settled herself on the saddle when that statement came, and her eyes shot to Armand’s face. Her mouth formed a thin, furious line as she glared at him, and from behind him she could hear the smothered giggles of the other maids.
    "Ye thought I didn’t see what ye were thinkin’?" He let go a loud and sarcastic laugh. "I saw the way ye flaunted yerself under his nose and reckon ye hoped he’d take ye out of the shire. Mark me, lass, nobles don’t give a tavern wench more time than it takes t’spoil ‘em and leave ‘em by the roadside."
    Alicia’s eyes bore down on him and she instinctively refused to show how it hurt to have her foolishness thrown in her face. She had had years of practice in pretending not to feel the insensitive jeers thrown at her. The remark seemed not to penetrate Rodney’s tough hide, for he turned to Armand calmly but sternly.
    "Aye, there’s a debt, man, and I trust it’s to this one who’s served so well through the summer. What do you owe her for her work?"
    "Owe her?" he questioned.
    "Aye. Her ‘honest wage.’ Your brother won’t need it for her keeping, now that she won’t be going back to him."
    Alicia blinked her eyes closed, hard, fighting tears. Earlier, as she had bundled her few belongings together, she had felt such optimism and hope, but then Culver Perry had been a long way from her memory. It wasn’t until Armand taunted her with her folly that she felt fear and apprehension rise within her at the thought of leaving the village with Rodney. It was possible that this man was no more trustworthy than Perry. But it was too late