"Perhaps an eagle lifted her up and took her away, Bulin," one of his cronies suggested.
Bulin backhanded him across the mouth, but with a weary negligence that allowed the man to duck the blow easily; he seemed quite adept at it. "Be still, Tolb," Bulin growled. "She may be small, as women are, but far too big for any bird to carry."
"She may have hidden her tracks," another bandit said. "The village folk do say she is keen for woodcraft."
"Aye, Lambert, and that she had oft gone a-poaching by herself, in the little Home Wood."
"She will be well poached surely," Bulin grunted, "as the game, not the hunter. She is in the forest now, not some little Home Wood."
"Still, let us go warily about this poaching," Lambert counseled. "The village lad told us that she slew the Count!"
"A mishap," Bulin grunted, "and like as not he died in the throes of ecstasy, for he was very old. How else could so slight a girl slay a lord?"
"With a dagger." Quicksilver stepped forward from her screen of brush.
The outlaws' heads snapped up; they gawked. They had been prepared for a grimy urchin in clothing torn by brambles; they had expected anything but a lady in a good broadcloth traveling dress, though it was hiked up to her knees to give her more freedom of movement. Still, she was clean and, frankly, more beautiful than any woman any of them had ever seen.
Bulin recovered from his surprise and smiled, a curve of the lips that widened into a wolfish grin as he said, "Well, then! You have seen that you cannot live in the greenwood without a man to protect you, eh?"
"Oh," said Jane, "I think I can manage."
"Then why did she draw us?" Lambert grumbled.
"Be still, fool!" Bulin snapped. "You do not think she would admit to her need, to you? Nay, need of a man in more ways than one, by the look of her."
Jane's lips tightened. Why, she wondered, did men seem to think that the prettier a woman was, the more she needed a man's caresses?
"Even one man alone will not protect you well enough, lass," Bulin informed her, "for there are many bands of outlaws in this wood, and no one fighter can stand against them. Nay, you are wise to seek out a band to join with and ours is the strongest band in the forest!"
Jane hoped that it was true—it would make her task simpler—but she doubted it. "To have a band about me seems wise. But what is the price of your protection?"
Some of the men snickered, some chuckled, and some guffawed. "Why, what do you think the price would be?" asked one.
"Cooking and nursing, like as not," Jane said airily. "There is that," Bulin conceded, "and making beds."
"And sleeping in them," one of the men said with a chuckle.
"What, all?" Jane widened her eyes in mock innocence. "Well, not all in one night," Bulin conceded. "Nay, each night you would have a new bed."
"Why would I need so many beds?"
"Come, do not play the fool!" Bulin snapped. "You would share each man's bed, and couple with him!" Now Jane could let her brows draw down in the anger she really felt. "Nay, I like not the sound of that."
"More's the pity, then," Bulin grunted, "for if you will not come willingly, you will come by force but you will come to bed, pretty one, be sure of that."
"Have I no choice, then?"
"To come willingly, or by force." Bulin grinned, and several of his men chuckled, gloating, as though they would prefer the second. "Those are your choices."
Jane fought to keep her voice from shaking with the anger she felt. "Well enough, then—you have named your price. Now I shall name mine."
"I had thought you might," Bulin said smugly. "Women are quick enough, for silver."
"Nay, I am quick to fight," Jane said, "and my silver is here." She brought Count Laeg's sword out from behind her skirts.
The bandits lost their grins and exclaimed to one another in a roar of confusion. Bulin, though, only kept his grim gaze fixed on Jane and held up a hand to quiet them. They did, and Bulin said, "You had best give us that toy, lass, ere you hurt yourself with it."
"Not myself," she assured him. "Have the villagers not told you why the soldiers seek me?"
"For killing the Count," Lambert said, frowning. "I doubt not 'twas because you were too frisky in bed..."
"Nay." Jane's tone was ice. "I slew him with this." She flourished the dagger in her left hand. "This sword was Count Laeg's—but by right of conquest, it is now mine." She moved her feet slightly, bending her knees just a little, and stood guard in a stance that any practiced swordsman would have recognized—but these men were peasants, and had never been taught proper swordplay. Bulin only frowned. "Then what is your price?"
"Your head," she answered, and leaped at him, sword slashing through a triple arc.
Bulin stepped back with a shout of anger, brought his own blade up to block hers—and left his midriff wide open. Jane pivoted, thrusting her dagger into his belly. Bulin stared at her in horror as he folded over in sudden agony, his lips moving but unable to form words. Jane called up a vision of what he had meant to do to her and thrust the sword through his chest, giving him a mercifully quick death that she thought was probably much more than he deserved.
Then she leaped back, yanking her sword clear. Bulin's lifeless body rolled on the ground.
The outlaws stared down, dumb with horror.
"Who else would seek to bed me, then?" Jane demanded, her voice still cold as ice.
That brought them out of it. Every head snapped up; every pair of eyes stared at her, suddenly afraid.
She stepped forward with swift precision, and the outlaws fell back with shouts of alarm—all except Lambert, who stood stiff as a rail, not daring to move, because the sword's tip was under his chin, at his throat. Jane nudged a little, and his head lifted; he dared not move his jaw, but a whine of fear came out his nose.
"Shall I slay your friend, then?" Jane demanded.
They glanced at each other, and she could see it written in their faces that they were on the verge of fleeing, and leaving Lambert to his fate—but one bowman plucked up the courage to draw an arrow from his quiver.
Another outlaw knocked it out of his hand. "Nay, fool! Draw that bow, and she'll slay Lambert!"
"Why, Stowton?" the man demanded.
"Because it would be one less fool that I would have to slay," Jane snapped. "Be sure that I can cut his throat even as I leap aside—and do you truly think that the ten of you together could stand against me?"
They stared at her, but they could tell by her tone that she meant every word. A few at the back began to edge away.
"Hold!" Stowton cried. "The fewer of us there are, the more we're apt to fall before another band! We must be all together—and we're already less by one!"
"Aye, and the one with the brains, I dare say," Jane told him.
They muttered, not liking the sound of that, but none denied it. "Spare our mate, mistress," Stowton pleaded. "We have done you no harm."
"Nay, but you would have! Perhaps I shall spare him after all—if he swears to obey me." She twitched the point, and a trickle of blood ran down Lambert's throat. He stiffened even more, whining in terror. "How say you, Lambert? Will you obey my commands?" She drew the sword back an inch. "There! Room for you to move your jaw, enough to say yes or no."
"Yes," Lambert muttered through his teeth, not daring to open his mouth. "Yes, mistress—spare my life! For I see that we have misjudged you, and you are a lady of quality!"