Goddess of the Hunt (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #1)

Lucy’s shoulder hurt like hell.

But she couldn’t stop to wonder what it was that had struck her, or where the devil it had come from—because at the moment, she was a bit preoccupied trying not to fall headlong into a ravine.

Her other arm—the uninjured one—clutched a tree limb, and there she clung until her slippers found purchase on the rocky outcropping. Even once she had regained her footing, she held on to that tree branch for several deep breaths. Then slowly, cautiously, she released the branch and turned around.

What she saw surprised her so greatly, she reeled anew. “Albert?”

The boy stepped forward, dim moonlight delineating a baffled countenance. “Your highness?”

“What are you doing here?” This they spoke in unison.

Neither rushed to answer.

Lucy took advantage of the mutual silence to size up her attacker. The sling that dangled from his hand told her the source of her pain. What a ninny she’d been. Thinking how fast Aunt Matilda was moving—of course she could never walk so quickly. Those footsteps hadn’t been old lady-sized; they were boy-sized. And it hadn’t been her aunt’s shift Lucy had seen fluttering in the distance; it had been Albert’s oversize, tattered homespun shirt.

He was swimming in it, that shirt. It must have belonged to his father.

His father, transported for … And Lucy realized she didn’t need him to tell her what he was doing here. She already knew.

“You’re poaching!” she accused.

The boy maintained his sullen silence.

Lucy stepped toward him. “So you won’t take Kendall charity, but you’ll steal from your lord as you please?”

“He ain’tmy lord.” Albert turned his head and spat. “Anyway, it’s his fault my father’s in Australia. How else are me and Mary supposed to eat?”

“It’s not Lord Kendall’s fault; it was his father’s. And you’re old enough to work, aren’t you?”

Albert strode boldly forward. He crouched beside her and picked up a small rock. “I do, when there’s work to be had. Planting time. Harvest. But now—there’s no farmer as needs me now.”

She watched him pocket the small stone. The rock that struck her shoulder, she concluded. As he stood, Albert eyed her silk-clad form with an expression that had turned unmistakably adolescent.

“What the devil are you wearing?” he asked.

Lucy chose to ignore the question. She also chose to wrap her arms about her chest and change the subject. “Do you really fell much game that way?” She nodded at the sling and stone he’d pocketed away.

Albert shook his head. “I’m not really a good shot with it.”

“You hit me well enough.” The throbbing in her shoulder attested to the veracity of that statement.

“Well, yes.” The boy paused, squinting up at her. “But I was aiming for your head.”

“Oh.” Lucy suddenly felt a bit dizzy. She folded her legs under her and sat on the ground. “What do you do then, take from the traps?”

Albert didn’t answer. She saw him flex one hand at his side, as though shaking off an ache or pain.

“That’s how you hurt your hand,” she said. “Before.”

He walked a few paces away and leaned against a tree.

“You ought to be more careful, you know,” she scolded. “A wound like that can fester easily. My father died from a wound like that.”

He shrugged. “Folks die for all sorts of stupid reasons.”

“True. But that’s not an excuse to go around acting stupid.”

The boy snorted.

It was a fortunate thing he had poor aim, Lucy decided, because her brain had just produced a rather brilliant idea. “Come to work at the Abbey.”

“What?”

“Come to work at the Abbey,” she repeated.

“Like hell I will.”

She frowned. “Why not? I’ll ask my husband—I’m sure there’s some work he can find for you. You’ll have steady income, and you won’t have to go wandering about the woods at night.”

“No!” Albert’s voice grew suddenly deep. He straightened and marched toward her where she sat on the ground. “Don’t you tell him anything about me. He’ll find me work, all right. In the poorhouse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The ground beneath her was icy cold, and Lucy hugged her legs to her chest. “He isn’t like that, I swear. He’s very understanding.”

Albert scoffed. “I heard how understanding he was at that party of yours.”

“That was … different. Just allow me to speak with him. Let me help you.”

“Thanks, your highness, but I don’t need your help.”