PROLOGUE
Kent, 1785
The last heatof summer was lingering in the air, mist curling around the roots of the trees as the ground warmed for the day. The forest was still, a wild section of weald more ancient than the people that lived there.
Alaric would have to leave it all behind soon, and this was his way of saying goodbye. Hopefully not for long.
If all went as planned, he would travel to London, locate his ninny-brained younger sister Sarah and bring her safely home to her family. Where she belonged, despite the trouble she had caused.
It pained Alaric that despite his six and twenty years keeping an eye on the chit, Sarah had managed to get herself in trouble for all his warnings about the fickleness of men. He only hoped that she had not yet married the charlatan who tricked her into running away with him. At least then she could come home quietly without further ordeal.
Alaric sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose as he willfully forced the worried thoughts to fall away into the soft morningair. His shoulders gradually relaxed as the familiar bird calls and scents of the forest washed over his senses, calming him as nothing else had ever done.
Alaric had spent his entire life treading the animal trails and deep thickets of this ancient wood, at first following in his father’s footsteps and then later, alone. No matter where Alaric travelled, there was something about this part of the Dartford wilds, something old, watchful, that stirred his spirit as nothing else.
Moving forward again, his soft leather boots made not a sound as he carefully stepped between twisted tree roots, ducking beneath hanging vegetation and observing every aspect of this world in the finest detail.
Balance was everything.
As much as he preserved the game for the lord's pleasure, as his father had taught him, Alaric also preserved the very forest itself, for nothing would thrive where it was not cared for.
He walked on, spied a badger hole and took note. Spotted a fallen tree that would make the perfect spot for a rabbit snare, his mind calculating, always alert to the surroundings.
Suddenly, something unnatural broke the early morning silence. It was a soft sound, but distinct. A painful keening that stopped him in his tracks, alarm firing along his senses.
Perhaps an illegal snare, some poor creature left too long to suffer?
Poaching bastards.
Alaric ground his teeth in ire and padded carefully towards the sound, stopping occasionally to listen, pinpointing the direction he should move in through the gloom of the forest.
It was best to put the animal out of its misery as soon as possible. Then, Alaric would see if he could catch the trail and alert his father to the interlopers.
The closer he came, the more Alaric doubted his initial suspicion. There was a hitch to the cry, almost a sob, that made him consider that perhaps he was not alone in the woods that morning.
At last, he found himself standing behind an ancient oak, nothing but the thick, knarled trunk separating him from the source of the jagged, gasping sobs. Carefully, so as not to shock the person, he circled the tree.
Alaric was not one to care much for the plight of his fellow man, but there was something about this moment that felt important. Something that churned his gut and made him want to soothe the keening.
Finally, he peered through the leaves, trusting the brown leather jerkin and rough buckskins he wore to hide him in plain sight.
Before him in the clearing crouched a girl, head tucked tight against her knees, which she clutched with white-knuckled hands as she rocked unsteadily where she sheltered in the undergrowth.
Alaric frowned, taking in mud-caked boots and hems, the bright blue of the gown signalling her service at the manor house. The girl sniffled, raising a hand to her face to swipe roughly at the tears that ran down her soft cheeks, swollen from crying. As she raised her arm, a sleeve fell back, and Alaric noticed a bruise on her forearm, already darkening to blue.
Alaric clenched his fists, looking closer now. Noticing the mussed brown hair escaping the neat confines of the pristine white cap, the way her bodice had come unpinned, torn away from its fastenings.
A pang of something like fury flared deep in his chest.Who on this earth would dare to defile such a creature?
Alaric was rooted in place, heart thumping hard and fast, as the need to find the perpetrator and commit violence rushed through him.
He must have made a sound, as the girl suddenly stiffened, head flying up as she searched the clearing with large, fearful eyes. As her gaze flickered over his hiding place, Alaric felt the air leave his lungs with a surge.
Those eyes.Thosefucking eyes.
No wonder a man had coveted her. Taken what was not his to have.
She had the eyes of an angel, a light sky blue that sought to pierce his very soul, pale lashes darkened with tears. Her brows drew together as fear flashed across her face and she stumbled to her feet, gathering her skirts with hands that shook as she suddenly took off, ducking through the brush and rushing back to wherever she had come from like a deer fleeing through the undergrowth.
