by Alexa Aston
He planned to return to Harte Castle with Rand—and Jess.
All it would take now would be convincing her. Marcus sensed she understood the simmering attraction between them. He had felt it from the moment they met. He would court her carefully over these next weeks so that by the time they arrived at Glenmore and the troupe dissolved, she would be more than willing to become his bride. Marcus didn’t care what his father thought of Jess’ low birth. She offered much more than any noblewoman he’d met. He looked forward to their spirited discussions, both in and out of bed.
And teaching her everything she needed to know about love play.
His cock began to respond at that thought and, immediately, Marcus began to conjugate Latin verbs in his head. Nothing dulled him more quickly than repeating the Latin that his tutor had ground into him before he left to foster. The exercise had helped put him to sleep many a night when the sounds and smells of battle refused to leave him in peace.
As he heaved a trunk from the ground and rested it atop his shoulder, Gylbart joined him, carrying a smaller one. The actor was lean and lithe, and Marcus had taught him a few moves with a sword since he and Rand had joined the troupe. Oftentimes, the plays included sword fighting. All the actors tried their hand at it, but Gylbart wanted to be known as the best in their little group. Marcus suspected ’twas because Gylbart had plans to knock King Ralph off his throne. All the actors referred to the lead actor in that manner since Ralph tried to control every aspect of each play and, without fail, always won the lead role in the plays performed. If the Vawdrys didn’t start sharing the wealth more and passing around the choice roles so that others might have a chance, they might have open rebellion on their hands.
Or find themselves short a mummer or two.
“King Ralph is interested in performing some new plays,” Gylbart confided. “He’s already met with Jess and told her what kinds of costumes he’ll need her to produce.”
“Has he mentioned this to Elias or Moss?” Marcus countered, thinking Ralph bold to have already cornered Jess, demanding more costumes be made.
“I suppose so,” the mummer said sullenly. “I still don’t see why he wins the lead in all the plays we do. He’s not nearly as talented as he thinks he is.”
They reached a wagon and both men hefted their loads in its bed. “But Ralph is a quick study,” Marcus pointed out. “He knows his lines and everyone else’s.”
“True. But I’m starting to be better with a sword now, thanks to you, Marcus. I hope you’ll give me more lessons soon.”
“I can do that,” he promised, knowing it would take quite a bit of work to make Gylbart more believable in a staged sword fight.
The two men went back to the tents and joined the others, pulling up stakes now that the last of the trunks had been loaded.
“The stew last night was most delicious,” Gylbart said. “I’m glad Jess will take over the cooking from Agatha. Reba did it the last few years.”
“Who is Reba?” Marcus inquired.
“Agatha’s older sister. Their mother used to sew all our costumes and cook for us. She died several years ago and the two girls remained with the troupe. Reba took over the cooking and sewing until last season. She found a man she couldn’t live without and left the mummers to wed him.”
“So she left Agatha behind?”
“Aye. The poor girl had nowhere else to go. Reba was so wrapped up in her new lover that I doubt she gave her a sister a thought.”
“How old is Agatha?”
Gylbart pondered a moment. “I think ten and five now.”
“And where does she go when the mummers retire from the road each year?”
The actor shrugged. “I haven’t a clue.”
As the tents slowly came down, Marcus decided when he returned to Harte Castle that he would offer Agatha the choice to come with him and work in the keep. He thought he might have to do the same with Peter Gilpin. Jess and her brother were especially close. Marcus didn’t think they would care to be split up. The castle was large and had plenty of room and in a week, Peter had proven to be an excellent worker, both bright and industrious. Marcus would be able to find something for the young man to do at Harte Castle.
He finally caught sight of Jess coming toward him. She had several cups in her hand, giving them to the actors as she passed by.
Reaching him with the final one, she said, “May I offer you something to drink? You look parched with all the loading you are doing.”
Marcus rose and grasped the cup, allowing his fingers to graze hers as he took it. Her cheeks pinkened slightly. He longed for the day when he did things to her body that would cause not only a blush to rise, but a fever to take hold of her.
The fever of desire.
His desire for her had grown over this past week. Marcus knew it would continue to rise as they remained in close quarters. He would need to keep it in check and not frighten her away.
But, as he’d promised her last night, he would find a time and place to kiss her. To thoroughly explore those berry-colored lips. Nip and lick them as he listened to her moan. It would be difficult. Not only would he need to be free of any mummers stumbling across them but far enough away from any crowds that also attended the faire.
As much as he wanted this, Marcus was determined to find that occasion. Multiple times. Already, he fantasized about Jess as he lay awake at night. He’d done the same today as they prepared to leave Kinwick. For his own sake, he needed to kiss her.
Soon.
Downing the liquid in one swallow, he returned the cup to her. “Thank you, Jess. I certainly needed some refreshment.”
She glanced around. “Will we leave before long?”
“Aye. When this last tent comes down.”
He paused. Though he’d ridden Storm each time they’d left for a new place, Marcus decided Jess would never accompany him that way. At least, not yet. Mayhap in time, she would agree to ride nestled against him. For now, he had a different idea.
“If you haven’t a place set to ride yet, I would enjoy your company as I drive one of the wagons.”
Those amethyst eyes seemed to see right through him as she studied him a moment. “All right,” she agreed, twirling the cup. “I will see you shortly.”
*
Jessimond tucked her possessions into the wagon, carefully sliding in her lute and cushioning the instrument with her spare clothes on either side. Her case of medicinal herbs went after it. She looked in the distance and could see Kinwick rising majestically. A lump formed in her throat. She hadn’t seen her parents in the week she’d lived among the mummers, nor Hal or Elinor and their children. Now, she would ride off without saying goodbye.
Blinking back tears, she avoided the large horse tied to the back of the vehicle and came around to the front of the cart. Marcus already sat on the bench. He gave her a ready smile and leaned down, his fingers capturing her waist and lifting her to him. Jessimond sat and found Marcus took up most of the bench, his thighs as large as tree trunks. She had nowhere else to go and wiggled her behind, trying to lodge into place. Still, her leg rested snuggly against his, as did her shoulder. She barely had space to claim as her own.
She rather liked it.
“Are you sad?” he asked.
“A little,” she admitted. “Kinwick has always been home.” Though she had spent large amounts of time away from the estate, it had always been to visit her siblings and other relatives. This time, Jessimond would be on her own.
“You’ll enjoy the road,” Marcus predicted. “If you are adventurous enough to leave the employ of a kind noblewoman, you are ready for anything.”
With a flick of his wrists, the horses surged forward.
They didn’t talk for the longest while but Jessimond didn’t mind. She enjoyed sitting next to Marcus and watching the passing countryside. England in spring was always beautiful as nature came to life again, but she’d found she enjoyed the full bloom of summer even more and then the wild colors
of autumn that followed.
After they’d left Kinwick lands far behind, Marcus began humming one of the songs Bartholomew sang when he entertained the crowds before a play began. Jessimond joined in, humming softly, and finally began to sing. Gradually, he ceased and allowed her to finish the song.
“You should be the one singing, not Bartholomew,” he told her. “Have you always sung? I noticed you brought a lute with you.”
“I received it as a gift many years ago. ’Tis my most treasured possession.” Actually, her amethyst brooch was what she cherished most, a link with who she had been before she became a de Montfort, but she couldn’t reveal that. “When I strum its strings,” she continued, “it seems to become a part of me. I enjoy singing and do so whenever I can.”
“Mayhap you can entertain us as you cook each night. I can’t thank you enough for easing into that task.”
“Several people complimented me after last night’s meal. I enjoyed preparing it. And Agatha was most helpful. Did you know her parents used to be a part of the troupe until they passed away?”
“I’d heard her mother once cooked and sewed for the group, and that she had a sister who also worked for the Vawdrys until last season when she left to wed.”
Jessimond frowned. “She didn’t take Agatha with her?” She didn’t anger often but the thought of Agatha being abandoned by her only relative caused Jessimond pain. She determined when the season ended and the troupe disbanded for winter that she would bring Agatha with her to Bexley and on to Kinwick. Merryn would mother the orphan and find work for Agatha. She might even enjoy helping Elinor manage her growing brood.
They drove for many hours and finally stopped as the sun began to descend upon the horizon. No tents would be raised tonight. Instead, the mummers and vendors who traveled along with them would either sleep in their wagons or place their pallets on the ground under the night sky. Jessimond saw that they ate a hearty, flavorful soup and served some of the bread Moss had purchased today as they traveled. The remainder of it would be for breaking their fast in the morning.
As they sat in a circle, Jopp spoke up. “I heard you singing today, Jess. It was pretty.”
“You sing?” A sleepy Bartholomew sat up, now interested in the conversation.
“Some.”
“Jess is being modest,” Marcus interjected. “Her voice is quite good.”
“We should sing together.” The troubadour retrieved his lute. “Come, Jess. Sit next to me.”
She set aside her tin plate and moved to the log Bartholomew rested his back against.
“What songs do you know?”
Jess chuckled. “Every one you sing and many more.”
“Join in when I tell you.”
Bartholomew began strumming the strings and started to sing a ballad. When he reached the chorus, he gave Jess a nod. She joined in, harmonizing beautifully, and then sang the next verse by herself.
Marcus enjoyed not only her rich voice but her celestial looks. He almost believed God had placed an earthly angel among them.
One that he was determined to make his.
The song ended and enthusiastic applause for the duo broke out. They acknowledged the compliments tossed their way.
Elias said, “We’ve wasted you on sewing, Jess. You need to be singing in front of the crowds.”
“Nay, that is Bartholomew’s task. Not mine. Besides, I have plenty to keep me busy.”
The troubadour draped an arm around her. “I insist you sing with me, Jess.” He gave her a charming smile.
Marcus noticed the man’s fingers squeeze her playfully. A sudden rage filled him. He wanted to smash his fist into the musician’s handsome face.
Rand leaned close and whispered, “Don’t do it.”
He whipped his head around and glared at his friend.
“You’ll frighten your little songbird if you resort to violence. She might fly away for good,” Rand told him, a knowing look on his face. “Besides, she’s not yours. Yet.” He chuckled quietly.
Marcus glanced back at Jess’ flushed, happy face as she and Bartholomew began another tune. It struck him like a lightning bolt flashing in the sky.
He was jealous.
Chapter 7
Marcus finished securing Storm to the back of the wagon, eager to be on the road to Fullminster, their next stop.
Or eager for Jess to ride with him again. He’d enjoyed the time they’d spent together alone on the road as they traveled to Lord Guy’s estate and hoped the blond beauty would agree to accompany him today. They wouldn’t reach Fullminster until afternoon, giving him several hours to spend in conversation with her.
He turned and saw Jess approaching and gave her a smile. “Ready for another day of travel?” he asked pleasantly. “I’ve room in my wagon if you wish to travel with me. As the first wagon in our caravan, it will be easier to view the passing sights.”
“I am excited to be moving to a new estate,” she began, “but I’ll be riding with Elias. We have business to discuss about costumes for the new plays Ralph wishes to perform.”
The soldier in Marcus contained his disappointment, not wanting to reveal his frustration with her decision.
“Then I will see you when we arrive at Fullminster.” He climbed into the vehicle. Lifting the reins, he clicked his tongue and started off as the lead wagon.
Something so small as where Jess Gilpin rode during their journey shouldn’t have bothered him so much—but it did. A growing need for her had come to the forefront and wouldn’t be banished easily. It wasn’t just a physical need, though his desire for her deepened each day. Marcus found her joyful to be around. Her happiness was contagious, making everyone wish for more time with Jess, not just him.
She also seemed somewhat of a mystery to him since the first day he’d laid eyes on her. Jess had claimed she and her brother were servants at Kinwick Castle. That it was the only place she’d ever known. Though her clothes were definitely ones that reflected her station, her speech and manner were of one much higher born. As a knight of the noble class, he had been around enough noblewomen both at Hartefield and while fostering to know how they conducted themselves. How they gave orders. How they comfortably managed people. Jess had a deft hand in directing others and handled situations with ease. He suspected there had to be more to her story than what she’d revealed thus far.
Marcus supposed part of it had to do with her keen intelligence. Her opinions had substance, as if she listened carefully to what others said and then used the evidence to support her own conclusions. She articulated well. That could also be due to her cleverness. If Jess had grown up serving the earl and countess, she would have been exposed to them and their guests for years. She might very well be imitating what she had seen and heard her entire life and not even realize it.
A thought occurred to him. Jess might be a bastard child of the Earl of Kinwick. Though it wouldn’t have pleased the countess, Geoffrey de Montfort might have installed Jess within the castle as an upper servant in order to keep his eye on her and watch her grow up, especially if the earl had a fondness for Jess’ mother. De Montfort could even have encouraged Jess to mimic the ways of him and his family. If that were the case, then Jess was only part peasant and noble blood flowed through her. That argument made the most sense to him, watching how gracefully she moved and spoke.
Marcus would continue to observe her and see if he could solve the riddle of Jess Gilpin.
*
Jessimond watched as other carts began falling in behind Marcus. She’d had trouble speaking to him because she couldn’t help but admire his height and strong build. She’d never paid any attention to how a man was put together.
Until now.
She hurried to the rear, where Elias was already seated behind the horses, waiting for her. He gave her his hand and hoisted her up.
Once their turn arrived, he started the horses.
“Marcus said we would arrive sometime this afternoon at Fullminster.”
“How long will we stay there?”
“Two weeks.”
Jessimond looked ahead, counting the number of wagons as the procession began to round a curve in the road.
“It looks as if we are missing some people.”
“Not everyone travels with us to each site,” Elias shared. “Of course, my mummers are along for the entire journey. Many of the vendors who have wares continue with us, especially those with cooking utensils, cloth, or leather belts and shoes. Others who sell rounds of cheese or soap often are local people. I allow them to join the faire for a price. They either return to their village when the faire moves on or follow us on the road a day and then veer off to make for home.”
“How long have you owned the troupe, Elias?”
His brow wrinkled in thought. “Mayhap ten and eight years. Or nine? Ask Moss. He’s better at remembering things than I am, especially where numbers are concerned.”
“Have you always done this together?”
Elias laughed. “Moss and I are inseparable. We do everything together.” He gave her a furtive look and said, “We aren’t truly brothers, you know.”
Jessimond nodded. “Though you claim to be, you look so very different. Your great height and flaming red hair and beard are such a contrast to Moss.”
“Aye, Moss is short and round and brown,” Elias agreed. “But we met on the streets of London when we were boys. Both orphans. Scrounging to survive a day at a time. It’s hard to be alone, on your own, in a city so great. Together, Moss and I had each other’s backs. There’s safety in numbers and we two formed a bond greater than blood brothers. Moss will always be family to me. I’m sure we’ll be buried in adjoining graves when the time comes.”
