Song of the Heart (Medieval Runaway Wives Book 1)

by Alexa Aston

  She quickened her pace, her braid bouncing against her back. Garrett sped up and caught her elbow.

  “Did my declaration make you uncomfortable?”

  Madeleine stopped and studied him. His dark hair fell across his brow, the slight breeze giving it a tousled look. His brown eyes glittered, framed by long lashes. Chiseled cheekbones and a firm mouth completed the picture. She found her own mouth had gone dry, so handsome was he to look upon.

  She recovered quickly, however, and said, “Of course it did, my lord. I am nothing to you and I intend to remain nothing to you. I am not a woman of easy virtue, despite my mummer’s status. The loose reputation that actors hold is undeserved. I would ask that you keep that in mind.”

  She moved to go but he still held her elbow clasped firmly in his hand. She tugged. He refused to let go. “Kindly let go of me, good sir, or you will regret it.”

  A knowing look came into his eyes. “What would you do, Madeleine?” he asked tauntingly.

  Before she could think of something totally outrageous that would embarrass or defy him, a young girl appeared before them.

  “Papa?”

  The girl was younger than Evan and had dark, wavy hair that fell just below her shoulders and dark, inquisitive eyes. Her complexion was milky white, with rosy blooms on each cheek, her mouth a pink rosebud. She reached out her arms.

  Immediately, he released Madeleine and lifted the child up, kissing her soundly upon each cheek. The girl giggled and squirmed and he placed her back upon the ground.

  Madeleine was amazed at the change that came over him. She had found him arrogant and caustic. Now he smiled and looked as any proud father might.

  “Lyssa, I’d like to present Madeleine to you. She will be singing with the troupe that has come to the faire.”

  Lyssa locked her arms around her father’s leg and buried her face in his knee. Pulling away slightly, she glanced up at Madeleine after a moment’s time. Seeing Madeleine looked at her, the girl mashed her face once again into his leg.

  He patted her head gently. “Lyssa’s quite shy,” he said quietly. “She wasn’t always.” A hard look came across his face, clouding the pleasant expression that had been there momentarily. “At any rate, she doesn’t take to strangers well and doesn’t often speak around them.”

  Madeleine nodded. Though she had none of her own, she was good with children. Kneeling beside Lyssa, she asked, “Have you ever been to a faire, Lyssa?”

  The child lifted one eye away from her father’s leg and peeked at Madeleine. “No,” she whispered and planted her face firmly back into his knee.

  “Well, it’s time you went to one. I know for a fact that your papa had this faire come to Stanbury especially for you.”

  Once more Lyssa peeped out. “He did?” She continued watching with wide eyes.

  “Of course he did. Your papa loves you very much, Lyssa. Why, of all the little girls in England, your papa has the reputation of loving you the very most.”

  “Really?” The girl’s head was now totally lifted from Garrett’s knee.

  “Yes, everyone knows that, you silly goose.” Madeleine smiled at her.

  “I’m not a goose,” Lyssa said stubbornly, her bottom lip sticking out.

  “You could pretend to be one,” Madeleine told her. “All you have to do is think like a goose—and quack!”

  She folded her hands under her and bent her arms, making a motion up and down as if she had wings. She hobbled along and began quacking, softly at first, and then louder as Lyssa began playing along.

  “Come, now, you can’t just quack like one, Lyssa, you’ve got to act like one, too.”

  Soon, she and the young girl were moving along the ground, honking and squawking, their arms flapping up and down.

  “Papa, Papa, you have to quack, too.”

  Lord Montayne shook his head. “No, sweet girl, an earl does not go about quacking in public.”

  Lyssa’s bottom lip poked out again. “Then don’t be an earl.”

  He looked around. The closest people were on the far side of the meadow, well out of earshot. Still, he hesitated.

  Madeleine looked at him pleadingly. “Please?” she mouthed.

  He squatted down. “I’ll stop being an earl. Just for a few minutes,” he told his daughter.

  The earl made the best bird of all, his squawks and honks loud and very obnoxious.

  “You sound very much like the real thing, my lord,” Madeleine told him.

  “He’s not a lord,” Lyssa said. “He’s a goose.”

  He groaned and quacked one last time. “This goose must stand, Lyssa,” he said and rose to his feet. He then held out his hands to them and they both stood, too.

  “I’m afraid I sound so real that someone will want to cook me.”

  Lyssa smiled at him and took his hand in hers. She placed her free one in Madeleine’s. “Can we see the faire now, Papa?”

  Lord Montayne looked at Madeleine and she answered for him. “Things are not quite ready yet, Lyssa. It takes a few days to assemble everything.” The girl frowned. “We could go and see what’s being done. That way you would know what you want to do once things are ready.”

  Lyssa’s answer was to tug on their arms and propel them along with her. They walked slowly, Madeleine pointing out the different wares to be sold.

  “Over here will be things every woman needs—spices, salt, honey, soaps. Down this alley you’ll find coal, iron, tools, and knives will be sold.”

  They moved further along and Madeleine stopped them again. “Here are where shoes and various cloths can be purchased. My favorite is the velvet because it’s so soft and the colors are rich.”

  “I have a velvet tunic, Madeleine. I got it for Christmas. Aga made it for me. She says I’m beautiful when I wear it.”

  “Aga? Who’s that?”

  Lyssa ducked her head, her shyness returning after such a long outburst of familiarity.

  “It’s Lyssa’s nickname for my mother,” he replied. “We’re not sure how she stumbled upon it but Mother has remained Aga, nevertheless.”

  Madeleine led them to a more open space, away from the stalls. Hammering echoed throughout, as many had been pressed into service. “Here will be the horses, Lyssa. Men will come from all around to size up the horseflesh. A lord might buy a mare for breeding new stock, while a reeve might be sent to purchase several horses to help in the farming. You’ll want to bring your papa around to see the ponies.”

  “Ponies!” Lyssa exclaimed, the shyness nowhere to be found once ponies were mentioned. “Can we come see them, Papa, can we, can we, please?”

  “I’m sure that’s something I can arrange,” he assured her. “There’ll also be dancing and singing, Lyssa, and the mummers will put on several shows. Madeleine helps out there.”

  Lyssa’s eyes grew round. “What do you do, Madeleine?”

  “First, I play a few songs to help quiet the crowd. Some have pretty melodies, while others tell stories.”

  “You’re a troubadour?” Lyssa asked in amazement. “Troubadours have to be men.”

  “Not this one,” Madeleine said. “I also help narrate some of the plays. If we’re short-handed, I even play a part now and then, all in costume.”

  “I want to hear you sing,” Lyssa told her. “I like to sing.”

  “You do?” Madeleine looked at the girl’s father. He shrugged. “Can you sing a song for me now?”

  Lyssa shook her head and wrapped her arms around Garrett’s leg again.

  “Not again, little one,” he said and pried her away. He lifted her high above his head and then lowered her until she rested atop his shoulders. He began strolling back the way they’d come until they reached the shade of an old oak.

  He lifted Lyssa again, placed her on the ground, then wiped his brow and sat with his back against the trunk.

  “You’ve worn me out, child.” He motioned for Madeleine to sit.

  It took her a moment to kneel and she took spe
cial care to arrange her leg.

  He then winked at Madeleine. “Oh, I’m so tired. Maybe you could sing us a song, Madeleine?”

  As Lyssa watched her eagerly, Madeleine saw him shake his head slightly. “No, my lord, I’m sorry. I cannot sing unless I have my lute with me.” She paused, meeting his eyes. “I wish I could sing without it but I can’t.”

  “I can sing without a lute,” Lyssa said quietly. “I sing to my dolls every night before I go to sleep.”

  “Then would you please sing for us, Lyssa?” Madeleine asked.

  The child began. She started slowly, a bit hesitant, but she grew in confidence as she continued.

  It was obviously a song the girl had made up but she had perfect pitch. They both clapped loudly when she finished.

  Her father hugged her. “I did not know I had such a talented daughter. You are very good, Lyssa.”

  She beamed at his words of praise.

  Evan suddenly appeared and jumped into Madeleine’s lap. Jealously, Lyssa climbed beside him. Evan pushed her aside but Lyssa was determined. She returned to her spot and held on to Madeleine tightly, despite Evan’s nudges.

  “Quit shoving,” Madeleine ordered Evan. “I’ll not share a story otherwise.” Both settled down and listened quietly as she told a tale from the Arabian Nights.

  When she finished, Evan jumped up, tired of being still for so long. “Can you play with me?” he asked Lyssa.

  She turned to her father, who nodded. The children ran off, holding hands.

  “It seems Evan’s found a playmate,” Madeleine said. “I’m glad. He’s been lonely with no children his age in the troupe.”

  “I’m amazed Lyssa went. She’s said more in the last hour than she has in the last year, Madeleine. You’ve woven a magic spell about her.”

  Madeleine laughed. “No, it’s nothing I did, my lord.”

  “It was,” he insisted earnestly. “I had no idea she sang so well. I’ve never heard her sing before.”

  “You should encourage her. If she’s shy, it’s a good way for her to learn to open up.”

  “Would you give her lessons?”

  “Why me?”

  “She’s relaxed around you. Maybe she could learn something of the lute, too. I’m encouraged by what I’ve seen today.” He took her hand in his and pressed it gently. “She likes you, Madeleine, and she’s been through . . . a difficult time.”

  “But do you trust me, Lord Montayne? I lied about who I was. You believe I stole your cloak. Don’t forget, you also think me a jewel thief.” She smirked a bit as she said the last remark.

  “I do trust you, Madeleine.” There was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Will you help Lyssa?” He looked at her eagerly. “I’d pay you, of course.”

  Madeleine hesitated briefly but the thought of making the enchanting girl—and her father—happy helped her decide. It also wouldn’t hurt to have some additional coins for her trip to France.

  “Yes, I’d be delighted to work with your daughter, my lord.”

  Lord Montayne helped her to her feet and they both brushed off the bits of grass that clung to them.

  Neither saw Royce as they passed by the group of men working to create the fences that would hold in the horses.

  “Married, Madeleine?” he said under his breath. “And yet you dally with his lordship. We shall see about that.” He drove the nail through the wood in one angry blow.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ashby noticed how unusually quiet Garrett was throughout dinner. He had grown to be a taciturn man in the time since Lynnette had left but the silence tonight was overbearing. He wondered what Garrett was contemplating, for beneath the silence his friend was pensive.

  Garrett’s mother caught Ashby’s eye. He could see the questions written on Edith’s face. He smiled at her reassuringly. He’d fostered with her and her husband, Ryker, from the time he was eight years of age and he loved her very much. Stanbury had become like his own home since he’d lived here for close to a score. He was closer to Garrett than his own brothers and had tried to be a good friend throughout the years, especially during times of trouble. Luke’s death. Lynnette’s leaving. Each time he’d helped Garrett pick up the pieces.

  Now, Edith continued to look puzzled. He smiled again at her and turned to Garrett. He’d do his best to draw his friend from the cocoon that surrounded him.

  “Have you seen the faire being created right before our eyes, Garrett?”

  Garrett grunted.

  “I take that as a yes?” he pressed on.

  Garrett’s face cleared and he focused on his friend. “Yes, Ash, I walked about some today. Lyssa was with me.”

  “Papa! You’re talking about me.”

  A blur dashed by the table and vaulted into Garrett’s lap. He gripped the table to prevent being thrust backward in his chair.

  “Careful, my sweet,” he gently chided Lyssa. “We almost went crashing to the floor.”

  “Sorry, Papa,” she said softly then perked up. “Would you like to hear my song again?” She wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear.

  Ashby and Edith exchanged astonished looks. The child seemed like a different person. He’d seen Lyssa range from sullen to sweet over the last two years, from silent to barely speaking—but never jubilant, never as a child her age was meant to act. Something significant happened today. A smile tugged at his mouth. He had an idea who might be involved.

  Lyssa climbed down from Garrett’s lap. She seemed unsure what to do now with all attention focused upon her. Her hand went to her hair, where she methodically began twisting a strand around her finger.

  Ashby spoke up. “You said you had a song, Lyssa? Could we hear it, please?”

  Lyssa nodded but remained silent, her finger still twirling in her hair. She looked from Ashby to Edith and back again. He tried to encourage her once more.

  “Come, Lyssa, we are the perfect audience to hear your song for the first time. I know you must sing better than your papa, and surely you’ll sound better than I can. The ladies fairly knock themselves down to escape hearing me when I try to serenade them.”

  Lyssa giggled. “I sing to my dolls every night. And I sang for Madeleine and Papa today.”

  He shot a look at Garrett, whose eyes remained hooded. His elbows were propped upon the table, hands locked under his chin.

  “Who’s Madeleine?” asked Edith.

  “She’s Papa’s friend, Aga,” said Lyssa impatiently. “Can I sing my song now?”

  “Of course,” Edith told her but she kept her eyes upon her son for the moment.

  Ashby noticed Garrett ignored all glances that came his way, choosing to concentrate on Lyssa instead.

  Lyssa sang with joy. The words she’d made up were simple but the tune was sweet. Her tiny voice soared throughout the great hall. She seemed to grow taller as she sang and never once faltered.

  When she finished, thunderous applause echoed in the cavernous room. Everyone present, from her family to the servants, seemed amazed how she’d opened up. She ran to Garrett and hugged him fiercely.

  “You did well, Lyssa. It’s time to tuck you into bed.”

  Garrett picked his daughter up and they left the great hall. Edith’s gaze followed them.

  “He hasn’t put her into bed in such a long time, Ashby. What is going on? Who is this Madeleine?”

  He sighed. “I wish I could say more, Edith. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask your son.” He rose and left the room, curiosity urging him on.

  He ascended the stairs and went to Lyssa’s chamber. Garrett was inside, kneeling next to his daughter at the foot of her bed.

  “And God bless Papa and Aga and Ashby and Annie and Cook and my dolls. And God bless Madeleine. Amen.”

  Garrett helped Lyssa into bed, arranging the bedclothes and settling her dolls around her. He leaned over and kissed her goodnight.

  Ashby leaned against the wall outside the door. As Garrett exited, he fell into step with him. Casual
ly, he asked, “Madeleine is now your friend—and Lyssa’s?”

  Garrett stopped in his tracks and faced him. “All I know is that she worked a miracle today, Ash. She had Lyssa playing and talking. Madeleine showed her where everything will be set up for the faire. Lyssa climbed into her lap and listened to a story. Lyssa sang for us and, by God’s teeth, she’s good! Then she went off to play with a boy Madeleine’s been caring for. She was . . . happy.”

  Garrett ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I still don’t know who Madeleine is, Ash. But after today, I don’t care.”

  He wanted to point out to Garrett that more than one miracle had been wrought today. Little Lyssa might be talking and smiling but her papa was showing his own spark, as well. Ashby hadn’t seen Garrett care about anything for a long time. It was nice to see his friend come so alive. Ashby missed the kinder, gentler Garrett of past days.

  “Mayhap the mysterious Madeleine has even more tricks up her sleeve,” he said cryptically.

  *

  Garrett returned to the great hall, a feeling of satisfaction filling him. He longed to be a better father to his daughter. The simple task of tucking her into bed for the night had left him surprisingly content. He vowed to spend more time with Lyssa in the future. Act with more patience toward her. Get to know her better, especially since Madeleine was helping Lyssa to come out of her shell.

  His mother caught his eye and waved him over. He stopped to fetch two mugs of ale from a passing servant and offered her one. She took it and he drew up a chair beside her, the warmth of the nearby fire seeping into him.

  “Who is Madeleine, my son?” she asked pointedly.

  Her question startled him. He took a long draw of the ale, stalling for time because he also sought the answer to that same question.

  “Why do you ask, Mother?” he asked glibly.

  She looked at him shrewdly. “Do not answer a question with another question, Garrett. I am no fool and would not have you treat me as one.”

  Though usually placid in nature, he knew the steel that ran through him was all Edith.

  “I know better than that, Mother. You are a capable woman who could run Stanbury or any of my businesses without any help from me or others.” He paused. “Truly, I don’t mean to put you off.”