The silence left in her wake was momentous.
Alaric stood still as a statue as he stared at the spot where she had crouched. The angel brought low by the base lusts of man.
He knew nothing of who she was. Although he would surely be able to find out if time wasn’t against him. His runaway sister’s trail, however, was growing colder by the minute. The fact that he would have to choose between them felt like a blow to his gut.
The need to avenge the girl simmered like a slow-burning fire deep in his soul. Why, he could not fathom.
All Alaric knew was that the look they had exchanged, as unaware of it as she might be, had felt like a promise.An oath.
A plea.
Only, he was not sure who was the one asking. Or how he would ever break free of the hold this girl now had on him.
HANNA
Almost 2 years later
Hanna wokebefore the dawn light, the harsh chill of the room rousing her where she lay curled up on a pallet near the kitchen hearth.
For a moment, she just lay there, half asleep, enjoying the sound of the birds awakening, greeting the sun with their soft warbling chirps.
Then, reality slowly returned to her, reminding her of her aching back and tired limbs.
Groaning, Hanna hauled herself up out of the blankets, wrapping a shawl quickly across her chest and tying it at her back as she crouched before the fireplace, scrabbling for kindling and blowing softly until the small glow still hiding in the ashes once more burst into flames.
Satisfied, she stretched and then started on making the porridge. Her father would be awake soon, and it did no good to anger him so early in the day. After all, there were still many hours ahead for her to earn his displeasure.
After placing the pot of oats on the hook, Hanna stripped to her shift and washed quickly from a basin near the fire, ignoring the ache of her full breasts as she dressed, fastening the front of her short stays and pulling a plain cotton round gown down over her head, securing the bodice with a few precious pins. Thank goodness for the soft, well-worn canvas of her supports. These newly styled gowns were pleasantly loose and easy to make up. Although she missed the comforts of working in the manor house, they were far more strict about the cut of the servants' fashions there.
The clomp of her father’s boots sounded on the stairs, and Hanna rushed to ladle out the porridge and set it on the table, placing a small dish of butter within reach.
“Hmmm,” was Johan Weatley’s only thanks, slanting Hanna an annoyed look as he started to eat. “And where are you working today, girl?”
Hanna dished herself a small bowl and sat across from her father. A man who seemed now as if a stranger.
“I am for the bakery shop this morning. Mrs Morgan needs the floors scrubbed and I-”
Her father held up his hand, stopping her instantly. “And to think, just more than a year ago you would have been well on your way to being an upstairs maid at the master's house.”
Hanna said nothing, the porridge sticking in her throat as she struggled to swallow it down.
“Make sure you are back before the afternoon grows late. I need you to help me in the workshop.”
“Yes, Father,” said Hanna obediently, rising quickly to wash their bowls and place them neatly back on the dresser.
As she fastened her cape and headed out the door, her father striding ahead to open the doors to his workshop beside their small cottage, she spied the new gamekeeper coming down the lane on his horse.
He seemed often here seeking her father’s work, although it was nothing unusual. There was always saddlery, knife sheaths or some such to be purchased or mended.
But it was unusually early for estate business.
Alaric Wolff was the man’s name, as Hanna knew from her time working at the manor. The rumours said he had gone away for a time, but had recently returned home to take over the position from his ageing father, now too old to walk the forest or keep up with the hunt and moved to a retirement cottage near the rectory.
The work suited Mr Wolff well. He had a rough-hewn face, with wide cheekbones and a lean, hungry-looking build. His eyes were always alert and watchful under the brim of his dark tricorn hat.
And it seemed he watched her now, even as he swung himself down in front of the workshop where her father stood, waiting by the door for him to enter.
Hanna blinked and put the man out of her mind as she hurried down the lane to the main street, her thoughts already turning to the work of the day.
