Farley shook his head. “Impossible, my dear. That fool York just broke his leg minutes ago.”
Madeleine gasped. “What happened?”
“’Twas a woman.” Farley chuckled. “‘Tis always a woman with York.”
Madeleine frowned. “A woman broke his leg?”
“No, no, child. He broke it showing off for a woman.” Farley nodded sagely. “York thought to impress her and got up on Eamon’s stilts. He lost control of the blasted things and fell. Elspeth is fussing over him now, along with the pretty young thing who caused York to behave like an idiot. Between the two, I’m sure ‘twill be set in no time. But,” he added, “York will be in no mood to play for an audience today.”
Guess she’d have to perform. Mayhap Garrett wouldn’t even attend their show. He probably thought lowly mummers beneath him. She hurried to gather her lute from the tent.
Gwenith awakened when she entered. “Maddie? You look a mess. Whatever happened to your hair?” she asked weakly.
Madeleine reached back to touch her braid. “Oh, ‘twas nothing, Gwenith. I tried to help catch a cutpurse. No success, though, just a bit of rolling about on the ground, with the cutpurse long gone.”
“I can see that. You must change your tunic. ‘Tis muddy on the back.”
Madeleine sighed in exasperation. She slipped quickly out of her clothes and into new ones, but that didn’t leave her time to re—braid her abundant hair. She would have to wear it down. She pulled the sections apart until her hair was free and quickly brushed till it was smooth. With a kiss to Gwenith, she hurried from the tent.
Passing Hannah, she noticed the glow of the younger girl’s face. Usually, Hannah was churlish and fussy, never pleased with how the costumes looked on the mummers. Today, though, she radiated good will.
“Good luck to you, Madeleine,” Hannah called sweetly.
Madeleine laughed softly to herself. If this was what a bit of time with Sir Ashby did for the girl, she wished Farley could hire him for an entire day. Thinking about Hannah’s usual disposition, she thought a week might suffice nicely.
She approached the side of their makeshift stage. Already the crowd was larger as any she’d seen so far. She scanned the mass nonchalantly, searching for sign of Lord Montayne. When she saw none, she exhaled, not even realizing she’d held her breath. Part of her was relieved at his absence, yet part of her longed to see him again.
He’d taken her by surprise earlier. He’d been in her thoughts off and on for the several weeks since her escape. His image appeared before her at the most unexpected moments, so many times, in fact, that it had begun to worry her. Now he’d emerged when she’d least thought to see him.
And what of his words to her?
She recognized the anger that tinged his tone when he first came upon her. He not only missed his favorite cloak, but he was furious about her lies, pretending to be Lady Montayne.
What struck her most, though, was his bold admission. He dreamed of her, as she did him. Madeleine shivered, though not from fear.
Nervously, she scanned the crowd again, hoping she’d missed him and that he really had come to the performance. She felt a tug on her arm. Looking down, she spotted Evan.
“Whenever are you going to start the show, Maddie?” he asked in a stage whisper. “Farley’s fit to be tied.”
Madeleine realized she had been daydreaming. She squeezed Evan’s shoulder. “Run along, young master, and get ready. You have a big role today.”
Evan beamed. “Aye. I get to hand the sword to Rolf at the best moment. Mama says all eyes will be on me.”
Madeleine gave him a slight push and settled herself. She strummed a few chords, calming the restless throng.
Soon, she was lost in the story.
“’Tis time you showed your face,” Garrett growled as Ashby strode toward him.
“And ‘tis wonderful to see you in such a pleasant mood, my friend,” Ashby replied. “I have met the most wonderful girl, Garrett. Except for sounding like a creaky wheel needing to be oiled, she’s picture perfect.”
“I’ve no time for your conquests, Ash. She’s here.”
Ashby frowned. “And which lady would you be referring to, Garrett?”
“Lady Montayne.”
Garrett regretted his choice of words as soon as he saw the look on his friend’s face. Of course Ashby thought he meant Lynnette.
“The imposter who called herself my wife,” he amended. “The damned chit who made off with my cloak.”
Ashby’s features relaxed. He shrugged with an amused shake of his head. “Are you still bothered by that, Garrett?” A knowing smile lit his face.
“You’re smitten, my friend. I cannot believe I didn’t see it before. That would explain why you’ve been so distracted. All because of a woman.”
“Nonsense!” Garrett snarled at him. “I’ve had much on my mind. I simply want what’s mine returned to me.”
“As I think the lady herself would like her lute given over.”
”So will you help me find her again or not?” he demanded.
“’Tis a big faire, Garrett,” Ashby pointed out. “Besides, I only came back to find you for the play.”
“Play?”
“Yes, the mummers’ little drama. My newfound friend, Hannah, is the seamstress for this troupe. She says there’s a remarkable woman who narrates and sings.”
“So?”
“So I promised her we’d watch.” He swung an arm around Garrett’s shoulder and began leading him in the direction of the stage. “We’ll look afterwards for the mysterious Lady Montayne.”
Garrett knew better than to try and dissuade Ashby. The man had an eye for ladies, young and old alike. He fell into step with his friend, their long strides covering the distance in a short time. Perhaps he could scan the crowd for the mystery woman.
“Hannah guaranteed me she’d save us a place,” Ashby said. “She’ll be just off the stage.”
As they pushed through the edge of the mass, music could be heard. A sweet, lilting melody that touched Garrett in an indescribable way.
Then a voice entered into the song. Garrett froze in his tracks, so moved was he by the low, mellow tones.
Ashby waved and tugged on his sleeve. “She’s up there,” he whispered.
Garrett followed as if in a dream. Ashby moved and stood by a pretty brunette, and they both motioned him over. He walked toward them and turned to the far side of the stage, but he instinctively knew who he would see.
His Lady Montayne.
She wore a tunic of rich plum. Her golden hair was hanging freely, past her waist. He longed to rush to her and run his hands through the unbound, silken tresses. No, instead, he’d sit at her feet, a slave to her song, the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. Indeed, sung by the loveliest creature on earth.
Her eyes were closed as she sang, and he studied her greedily. Despite her height, her bone structure was delicate. Her wrists were small, feminine. Her thin, elegant fingers strummed the lute as if they held magic in them. She wore a wistful smile and had the most kissable mouth he’d ever laid eyes upon.
As she sang, Garrett wondered at the sadness that seemed to cloak her. She had to have suffered through great sorrows, such richness she brought to the words. A lump gathered in his throat even as he wanted to wash away her pain.
The last note sounded and reverberated for a moment, and then the crowd showed its enthusiasm for her talent. She smiled graciously and then began to weave new magic with her words. She told of a young king who sought honor and how he’d lost his heart to a beautiful maiden while on his quest.
The audience settled back as the play began. His songstress remained perched at the far edge of the stage, her sad eyes watching the mummers. Garrett studied her profile—the high cheekbones, the pert, straight nose, and, again, that generous mouth that he longed to touch with his own.
At that moment she raised her head. Their eyes locked. Her lush mouth trembled slightly. He smiled c
asually. Her chin went up as before. But he held no fear.
The hunter had his prey within his grasp.
Chapter 8
Madeleine froze as she caught sight of Sir Garrett’s smile. He seemed so assured, so confident, as he beamed at her from across the crowd. Could he hear her heart pounding through her tunic?, so loud it seemed to her as it echoed in her ears.
Madeleine wet her lips nervously, but her eyes never left his. Their gazes remained locked together for some moments. She was distantly aware of the mummers taking their bows and the audience’s cheers of approval, but she continued to focus on Lord Montayne. All else faded from view.
His dark hair was cut close to his head. Although his skin, too, was dark, his eyes stood out in his handsome face. Even from this distance, Madeleine could see the long lashes that framed them. He stood with legs planted firmly in place, his muscular arms now crossed in front of his wide chest. Sir Ashby tugged at his sleeve but was ignored. Garrett’s eyes never left hers, holding her captive in a silent battle of wills.
Slowly the noise from the audience died down, and the mass began dispersing back toward the stalls. Madeleine knew she couldn’t speak to him. Lord Montayne sent her emotions into chaos. She’d never before experienced this uncertainty and exhilaration. How could she possibly endure any more? She stood, holding her lute close to her and maneuvered into the throng, easing between groups of people as swiftly as she could without drawing attention. She had a plan. She would keep fast to it.
And no handsome devil with dark eyes would alter her course.
The minute she broke the spell, Garrett began to follow her. His lips longed to call out to her, but they held no name he could use.
Despite his swiftness, he lost her before a minute passed. Another cutpurse raced by, overturning a cage of white doves. The birds scattered amidst the crowd, causing shrieks and cries. A cart overturned in the ensuing excitement. By the time he leapt over it, she was gone. He cursed softly under his breath. How could she slip away again?
Ashby caught up to him. “So you misplaced the maiden again, Garrett?” His mouth twisted as he tried to prevent a smile and failed.
Garrett cursed again, this time much louder. “I haven’t misplaced her,” he snapped, causing Ashby to chuckle softly.
“She couldn’t be that hard to find, my friend. She’s bound to be the tallest woman here. With her height and that gorgeous mane of hair flowing behind her, I’d think every man at the faire would follow her.”
Garrett stared hard at Ashby, his eyes narrowing into small slits. “We’ll not leave till she’s found, Ash. Mark my words.”
“Then let’s start with the mummers. Since she’s part of their troupe, she’s bound to turn up there sooner than later.”
The two men headed back toward the makeshift stage.
Hannah stood waiting for Ashby and ran to them as they approached.
“Where did you go, my lord?” she chastised Ashby with a flirting glance. “I was afraid I’d displeased you. You hurried away so quickly.” Her full lips turned from a pout into a more inviting smile.
Ashby burst out laughing. “You are a treasure, little Hannah,” he exclaimed. “But come, Lord Montayne and I shall enjoy your company while we find some refreshment. Let us try some of that mulled wine you spoke of.”
Ashby took Hannah’s arm and began leading her away. He glanced back over his shoulder and motioned Garrett to follow. Meeting his companion’s glare with a lecherous grin, he gave Hannah’s bottom a fond pinch. She swatted his hand away playfully, and he threw an arm around her waist.
They purchased their wine and some hot sticky buns and made their way across the crowd. Ashby picked out a soft patch of ground and they sat.
“So, my dear, you were telling me about life with the mummers.” Ashby glanced back to Garrett. “We would love to hear all about your troupe.”
Garrett thought he’d go mad. The chit was comely, but her voice grated on his nerves worse than rusted armor. Still, Ashby was good with the girl, both in listening and complimenting her at the right times. He had always admired his friend’s easy charm when it came to women. Gradually, Ashby led Hannah around to the information they sought.
“You were right about the lute player, Hannah. Rarely have I heard so talented a minstrel, and never one that was a woman,” Ashby proclaimed.
“You could’ve knocked me over with a feather the first time I heard her sing,” said Hannah. “Just like a songbird, she is, and right nice, too.”
“Even one so beautiful?” interjected Garrett. “I find beautiful women to often be tiresome, so enchanted are they with their own looks.”
Ashby groaned. “Sweet Hannah, listen not to my friend. He’s had bad luck with beautiful women.” He paused and then added, “And even worse luck with ugly ones.”
Hannah cackled at his wit while Garrett waved a fist at Ashby. “See, dear Hannah, even now he mocks me, wishing he found you first,” and he gave her a sweet smile. “But tell us more about the lady troubadour,” Ashby continued. “Has she been with your group for long?”
“Nay, my lord. ‘Tis been but a few weeks now. She came back with Gwenith.”
“Gwenith?”
“Oh, poor Gwenith didn’t perform today. She’s been much too sick. Madeleine has been caring for her and little Evan, Gwenith’s naughty son.”
Garrett interrupted. “The woman who sings, her name is Madeleine?”
“Aye, my lord,” Hannah replied. “She’s as kind as she is pretty, and she tells the most amusing stories. Half the men in the troupe swear they’re in love with her, even fat, old Edgar.”
Hannah frowned. “But she cannot even take a needle to thread properly. She’s all thumbs, though she has tried to help me once or twice.”
“Is she sweet on someone?” Garrett asked softly.
Hannah’s eyes grew large. “Nay, my lord, she keeps to herself. Oh, she’s close to Gwenith and Evan, and treats everyone right nice, she does, but she goes all quiet when someone asks about her past. She’s mighty mysterious about things, if you ask me.” She sighed. “But I think Royce is sweet on her.”
“Royce?” Garrett asked. Even as he spoke the name, he remembered the muscular, blond man who possessively had taken his mystery woman in hand and led her away. No, he didn’t like this Royce at all.
But he’d found out what he needed to know.
Her name was Madeleine.
Madeleine wove her way through couples who were arm-in-arm, racing children, and happy families enjoying both the calm weather and goods to be had. She didn’t stop until she reached the copse of trees, and even then she continued till she had gone a distance she deemed safe.
Breathless, she finally collapsed upon the soft, mossy grass, cool against her overheated skin. She tried to breathe slowly and deeply and regain control of her racing pulse.
Why had she run? What did she have to fear from him? She’d done nothing wrong. Well, perhaps just a wee bit wrong. She remembered the cloak still in her possession, the rich, plush fabric as it felt when wrapped around her. She had tried it on twice since that April night, inhaling the subtle masculine scent and feeling oddly safe in its folds. She wondered what it would be like to be in Sir Garrett’s arms.
What was it about him that caused her to act this way? Oh, he was a handsome devil, with those dark, soulful eyes and brawny build, but could it be more than that? Surely not. His manners and his attitude were boorish. He might be her ideal man in looks, but his personality wasn’t attractive in the slightest.
And why should she think of him in any way at all? Despite his romantic appearance, she was a married woman! Although Henri had broken every marriage vow made, she was still his faithful, lawful wife. Madeleine loved God far more than any mortal man. She would not be tempted, even if her husband was a cold and cruel man who gave no love to her. She uttered a swift “Hail, Mary” for good measure, nevertheless.
She eased back against a broad oak, its trunk firm beh
ind her, and rested her lute upon the ground. She slipped Henri-the-pebble out from her pocket, fingering the surface absently as she considered the path her life had taken.
She closed her eyes to rest a bit and her mind began to drift.
The clock ticked much too loudly. Madeleine found herself wanting to cover her ears. She crossed the crowded room, hearing bits of muffled conversation as she passed. She had the oddest sensation that people were talking about her.
She glanced over her shoulder. No one in the room would meet her eyes. She hurried from the crowd and entered the room that housed the buffet supper.
It was wrong, terribly wrong. The air was filled with the putrid scent. She gagged and swallowed hard. She walked over to the tables laden with rotting food. Maggots and flies covered the many dishes. All at once, the quail and dove sat up from their dressings and sauce, squawking and screeching. The birds tried to fly away, only to fall to the floor, flapping helplessly.
Feral dogs appeared from the open doorway and proceeded to trap the birds, inhaling them with grunts of pleasure. Madeleine watched in horror as they rapidly devoured the decaying meal. Within moments the dogs had finished off the feast, looking for something more to whet their appetite. They seemed to catch Madeleine’s scent, and she began backing away from them, her mouth dry, her pulse pounding.
The pack rushed her and she screamed and ran to the doors. She passed through them and slammed them shut, wincing as the dogs threw their massive bodies against the heavy panels.
She raced back to where the guests were, her limp much more pronounced now. She arrived disheveled, her hair streaming down her back. She must warn her guests of the rabid animals.
Suddenly, the strains of music within the hall ceased. The lights dimmed. Everyone turned attention to the top of the staircase. Madeleine followed their stares.
A lone figure stood poised there, dressed in black from head to foot, his face in shadow. Madeleine sensed an innate evil emanating from the man. Slowly, he began descending the stairs.
Music For My Soul Page 7
