Although headed toward a popular city such as London, the road was neither large nor smooth. Thick, green foliage lined the pathway, with an occasional tree limb having blown across the way. Boulders littered the thoroughfare and were difficult to see in the moonlight that came and went in odd snatches.
Garrett found it hard to keep Ebony at a canter with so many bumps along the way. The woman sat straight as a board in front of him, only touching him the few times the holes in the road forced her to tighten his hold on his passenger’s narrow waist. He found her slender build deceptive. She had soft curves that melted into him when Ebony sidestepped a piece of debris or tried to avoid a rut.
Garrett found the contact pleasurable, yet it filled him with guilt. Though he’d not led the life of a monk since Lynnette had left, having such sweet temptation literally in his lap caused his mind to race in directions he knew it shouldn’t go. He willed himself to concentrate on the road and not the woman in his arms, though it seemed an impossible task.
The night wind grew cooler as they rode, and as she shivered, Garrett noticed for the first time that she was without a cloak. Rather than listen to another outrageous tale of how she’d lost it, he simply drew his own cloak from where it whipped in the wind behind him and wrapped it around them both. She went rigid at his touch, but he tucked the cape securely about her, nonetheless. Immediately, her chills ceased, and he sensed the tension draining from her.
A faint, “Thank you, my lord,” swept back to him, so soft that he wasn’t sure if she had spoken or if it was the whistle of the wind.
After an hour of silence, the road smoothed once again. Gradually, Garrett felt her become limp in his arms. Instinctively, he cradled her till she fit snuggly against his chest, as he, too, let himself be lulled by the horses’ hooves beating a constant rhythm in the dark night.
Her scent was intoxicating. It was light, something floral that he couldn’t quite place. She was leaning back fully into him now, her head braced against his jaw. He moved slightly and inhaled, her wavy hair tickling his cheek as it came out of its braid. He reached up and took a strand, the color of wheat, soft and inviting, rubbing it between his fingers. He suddenly longed to see all of her hair unbound, to be able to run his fingers through the strands slowly, sensually.
Startled, Garrett came out of his reverie. Holy Christ! What had come over him? He looked quickly over at Ashby. His friend gave him a lazy smile before returning his gaze to the road ahead.
Garrett tried to think rationally. Who was the young woman seated in front of him, the one who’d had him thinking lustful thoughts for the first time in ages? And why was she claiming to be his wife?
Of course, she’d told them how her husband’s name frightened off the robbers. He knew some called him “Satan Himself,” although never to his face.
He knew he was feared by many and loathed by a few more. Yet Lynnette had brought a softness to him for a short while. When she fled, the softness became harder than stone. Now, it was only in sweet Lissa’s company that he became human.
So if this chit had heard tell of him, then she was wise to use his name to cower the thieves.
But had there been any thieves? Her tale seemed implausible. So why was a lady—for surely she was a lady, her clothing and regal bearing, as well as her cultured tone, testified to that much—in the middle of nowhere? She had no obvious jewels, no money, no protector. Her story was full of holes.
And then there was the faint scar, high on her cheekbone, another intriguing mystery. What lady of breeding carried a scar across such perfect features?
Why did he feel the urgent need to protect her? Especially when he didn’t even know her name.
His thoughts raced as they rode. Yet as dawn broke over the horizon and they came within sight of the gates of London, he was no nearer an answer than when this unusual journey began.
Suddenly, Ebony stumbled. The horse quickly lifted his hoof out, only to falter again. Garrett’s heart began to thunder as he realized it was his own carelessness that had caused this. His horse started whinnying and twisting erratically. Off balance, the horse bucked as he scrambled up, tossing Garrett off in the process. He landed painfully on his hip, and a roar of anger escaped his lips as Ebony galloped past him.
Garrett saw that the woman had somehow managed to stay on Ebony. Her fingers grasped the thick mane, clinging to it. She grabbed the horse’s reins and brought him to a halt. She walked him back toward where Garrett lay sprawled on the ground, stroking Ebony’s neck and murmuring soothing words in the horse’s ear.
Garrett watched Ashby look from him to Madeleine and then back at him again. A fresh string of curses burst from Garrett as Ashby burst out laughing, a rich, deep sound, his mirth disturbing the quiet, misty morning. Ashby reached a hand down and offered it to Garrett, who scowled up at him, but took it nonetheless.
Once on his feet, Garrett limped slowly over to Ebony, his anger cooling since he knew the accident was his fault. “If horses could wear sheepish grins, I’d say you could teach them, you silly steed.” He stroked Ebony’s muzzle fondly, shaking his head. He looked up. “And you are all right, Lady Montayne?”
She frowned for a moment before answering. He could guess as to her confusion. He saw the moment that she realized that she was Lady Montayne and instantly willed herself back into her chosen role.
“Quite fine, thank you, Sir Garrett. But are you?”
Garrett rubbed his right buttock, tender to the touch. “Nothing a little rest cannot cure, my lady. But Ebony has thrown a shoe.”
He lifted his horse’s hoof, studying it for a long moment, then he stared off into the distance. “London’s gates won’t be open to travelers for another half-hour or so. I wouldn’t want Ebony going that far at any rate.”
“We passed a small row of cottages not three minutes ago, Garrett,” Ashby pointed out. “I believe there was a smith’s stand.”
“Then we will make our way back slowly.” Garrett motioned to their fellow traveler. “Lady Montayne, might you be so gracious as to ride with Sir Ashby? I’d like to keep any weight off Ebony’s back till he’s been properly attended.”
Her face brightened. “I would be happy to comply, my lord, but I would rather enjoy the chance to stretch my own legs, as well.”
Before she slid off the saddle, Garrett was there. His hands closed about her slender waist, lifting her easily.
Her feet touched the ground and she met his eyes. “Thank you,” she said meekly.
His hands rested around her waist a moment longer than necessary before he dropped them to his side and turned to take Ebony’s reins. He picked up his cloak, slinging it across the saddle.
Ashby dismounted, too, and the party walked slowly, stiff from their many hours in the saddle. Light was beginning to ease upward, erasing the stars that had been scattered across the sky. A few birds began calling to one another, singing in the new day at hand.
A brisk wind rose as they continued onward. Madeleine watched Garrett reach for the cloak. He draped the heavy fabric around her shoulders and then tightened the laces to secure the welcome warmth around her neck.
She’d become unaccustomed to kindnesses and lowered her eyes to avoid his gaze. “’Tis thoughtful of you, Sir Garrett,” she managed to say quietly and turned her head away to wipe a tear before it fell. She knew he studied her intently and refused to meet his eye, focusing instead on the road ahead.
They walked in companionable silence for a short while, soon reaching a small gathering of cottages. As Ashby had said, a blacksmith shed sat directly next to a shabby cottage.
“I’ll awaken the smith,” Ashby told them and sauntered off to knock at the door.
Within minutes, they roused the smith from his sleep. He appeared quite agreeable to be able service well—dressed gentlemen at such early notice. As they led their horses toward the shed, Madeleine touched Sir Garrett’s arm lightly.
“I fear at any moment my stomach will grumble fiercel
y, my lord,” she whispered. “Mayhap we could break our fast? This smith’s wife might be persuaded to prepare us something.”
“A fine idea, Lady Montayne.” Garrett fished out two coins and handed them to her. “Offer these to the good woman, and I’ll wager she can accommodate us in no time.”
“Yes, my lord. I shall take care of personal matters and then speak to her straight away.” Madeleine scanned the area, plotting for a way to get out of this impossible situation.
She could not accompany these men into London. With no idea where the Montaynes lived, she could not direct them. And even if she pointed out a residence and tried to shake them off, good manners would insist that these gentlemen see her safely inside the abode.
Madeleine hobbled toward the cottage as Garrett made his way to the shed. She didn’t take time to rap on the wooden door. Instead, she opened it and quickly slipped inside. She needed as much time as possible to put her scheme into action.
The smith’s wife was bent over, stirring the fire on the opposite side of the compact room. She started when she caught sight of Madeleine.
Before the older woman could address her, Madeleine crossed the distance between them and took the woman’s gnarled hand in her own. Her eyes met those of the peasant and she blurted out, “You must help me. Please,” she begged. “I have been taken from my father’s house.” Madeleine burst into tears as she began to spin a new set of lies.
Uneasily, the woman gave her a cautious pat.
Madeleine did her best to look distraught. “My father refused to give me in marriage to one of the men outside,” she told the wife. “He is desperate to marry a fortune, having gambled his own away. He is mean and cruel, and he has taken me from my home.”
Madeleine glanced over her shoulder and turned back to the woman. “The dark-haired one is a devil! He wouldn’t take no for an answer and stole me from my very bed. We ride to London as soon as his horse has been shod. Will you help me? I beg you.”
The woman studied Madeleine carefully. Her eyes lit up as Madeleine slid the coins from her pocket and offered them to her.
“Help me hide, and these are yours. After they leave, I can find my way to my brother. He lives just inside the southern gates of London. He will protect me.”
Madeleine’s lips trembled, and, surprised, she realized she actually felt the desperation she tried to portray.
After a while, the older woman finally spoke. “I will help you,” she agreed, taking both coins. They spoke briefly and, together, hatched a quick plan.
Opening the door, Madeleine saw the blacksmith hard at work, Ebony’s hoof in his hand as he attached the repaired shoe. Garrett and Ashby appeared deep in conversation, both men facing the smith, watching him. Madeleine nodded, and the smith’s wife approached her rescuers, two cups in her hand.
“Welcome, my fine gentlemen! Welcome! I have brought you some refreshment. You are parched, I am sure, from a long ride. Come, have a bit of ale.” She circled around them so that both men turned away from the smith to face her.
“Many thanks,” Garrett said.
“We are most obliged,” Ashby told her.
As they held the cups up and tilted the cool contents to their dry mouths, Madeleine sneaked quietly from the doorway and went to the back of the shed. As promised, she found the loose board. She lifted it and slipped through the tight space, hearing the woman’s noisy conversation in the distance.
Mother of God. She is loud enough to awaken the king in London. Gratefully, though, Madeleine found herself at the far end of the shed, where the hay was plentiful. She remained low to the ground, covering herself with the dry stalks till she was hidden from view.
Garrett could feel the slight tinge of a headache. On the woman prattled. “’Tis a great day when two such fine lords visit our humble establishment. Many ride on to London, but my husband does a better job than any smith around. May I get such important gentlemen some bread? More ale, perhaps?”
Garrett replied, “Bread and more ale would be nice. And I know our traveling companion would like some, too.”
The woman stared blankly at him. “Milord?” she asked, her brown face wrinkled in puzzlement.
“The lady with us,” Garrett insisted. “She went to ask if you would provide us a small meal.”
“I spoke to no one.”
Garrett instantly knew that the unknown woman had fled their company. He might never discover her identity. Despite her lies, something about her spoke to him. Touched him. He needed to find her now. Learn her name. Learn why she pretended to be his wife.
He broke out into a full run toward the cottage then slowed to an awkward trot as his sore body protested the sudden movement. He rounded the back of the cottage, searching in both directions.
She wasn’t there.
Quickly, he raced back to the front, slamming straight into Ashby as he came around the corner.
“What’s the matter, Garrett? Lose something? Or someone?”
Garrett brushed him aside and burst into the thatched bungalow. He growled low in his throat, storming about the tiny space, lifting a stool and tossing it aside, pushing the straw mattress around with his foot, then picking up a dish and catching himself before he sent it slamming to the ground.
Ashby entered and watched his antics.
Garrett shook his head. “Not a trace of her, Ash. She’s gone.”
By now both the smith and his wife had followed them inside. The couple exchanged frightened looks.
Garrett could only imagine how he must appear as he tried to control his anger. He felt the familiar pounding at his temples and could feel the heat rise to his face. “There was a lady with us,” he said evenly, through gritted teeth.
“I spoke to no lady, milord,” the wife insisted, shaking her head slowly.
“Then where in hell has she disappeared to?” he mused aloud. He paused and then suddenly chuckled, in spite of the situation. “And with my favorite cloak!”
Chapter 4
Ashby watched Garrett leave the small confines of the cottage to restlessly pace the yard in front of the barn, his hands behind his back. Ashby knew well enough to leave his friend alone for the time being. Garrett always needed solitude when he mulled over issues that troubled him.
Besides, the entire adventure had brought Ashby a powerful thirst. “About that ale, madam?” he asked the smith’s wife, his usual smile doing the trick.
“Coming right up, milord,” she responded quickly.
Soon he’d inhaled several pieces of bread and cheese and drunk more than a good share of ale. Ashby peered out the doorway of the cottage. Garrett still wore a deep frown, but his pacing had slowed. It was safe to approach him once again.
Taking a fresh mug and a plate of bread toward the barn, he approached his friend. “Need a respite from your pacing, my lord?” he lightly inquired. “You have quite worn a trench into the ground.”
Garrett turned to him. Seeing the mug, he reached for it and quaffed its contents. Ashby took it from him and had it refilled. When he returned again, Garrett had moved near the horses, seating himself on a bale of hay just inside the barn. Ashby went to him and handed him the second cup of ale and the plate.
Seating himself beside Garrett, he asked, “Do you really think she was a lady?”
Garrett exhaled loudly and sipped on the ale before replying. “Yes, Ash, I’m certain of that. ‘Twas her demeanor, for one. She held herself like a lady. No common thief or whore could ever match her bearing. ‘Tis in the blood and can’t be imitated.”
Garrett drank again from the cup. “Her speech, too, was refined. She spoke the King’s English very precisely, even better than you or I, as if she’d spent time at court. Her dress was well-cut, her hands soft, except for calluses on the tips. I noticed that when she grabbed at my hand a time or two when the road became rough.”
Ashby nodded. “Possibly because she plays her lute often.”
His friend roared with sudden laughter. A we
ll-satisfied snort rang through the air.
“Yes, her lute,” Garrett said, a smug smile upon his face.
Ashby looked over at the horses. Still tied to his mount was the lady-in-question’s lute. He smiled, too. “So you both have something the other desires?”
Garrett nodded. “I would have that cloak back. ‘Tis the warmest one I own. I almost didn’t bring it since spring is upon us, but I changed my mind at the last moment. A lute for a cloak? If I catch the chit, I’ll return her lute, smack her bottom with it, and take pleasure in doing so.”
Ashby grinned at the image Garrett painted. “Would you dare hurt your own wife?” he asked, not masking his amusement.
“Egads! Could you believe the audacity of that creature, Ash? Claiming to be married to me?”
Ashby chuckled. “’Twas a smart ploy on her part, Garrett. Since Ryker’s death, you do own the blackest reputation in these parts, even if I know ‘tis all show. She was clever enough to throw out a name that would stop most men in their tracks. Do you think she is from this area?”
“I doubt it. ‘Tis just a feeling I have, but if she were, I’m sure we would have heard of her beauty. Why, if I’d met her, I might never . . .” His voice trailed off.
“. . . have married Lynnette,” Ashby finished.
A scowl darkened Garrett’s face. Ashby wished he could take his words back as Garrett threw his cup to the ground, banging his toe in the process. An oath escaped his lips.
“Let us be off, Ash. I tire of this place.” Garrett stalked to the cottage, likely to pay the smith for his work and their meal.
“And look what damage your marriage to Lynnette did you, my friend,” Ashby said sadly to himself. “You are no longer the carefree Garrett of old.”
He sighed and mounted his horse. Garrett strode from the cottage and threw himself into the saddle. Spurring their horses on, they quickly shot out of the yard and toward London.
Madeleine finally released her sneeze, blowing hay upward with great force. Her nose had burned and itched since she had shoveled the mounds of hay on top of her. Several times she feared she would sneeze and reveal her position to her rescuers. Fortunately, they left without guessing she hid under their very noses as they discussed her. The thought made her groan aloud.
Music For My Soul Page 3
