Song of the Heart (Medieval Runaway Wives Book 1)

by Alexa Aston

  The two men were closeted the rest of the day discussing wines. Henri’s manner was almost fawning as he tried to convince Garrett to return with him when he left for France.

  “It’s in your best interest, Lord Montayne, to travel with me and inspect the vineyards that will soon be in your possession. It is a beautiful time of year in my country,” he explained. “Of course, when is France not beautiful?”

  “I must agree with you,” Garrett said. “I visited there only last year for the first time. Our family vineyards are in Bordeaux. Although I have traded in wines for many years, I had never seen the properties we owned in the south.”

  “How unusual. Exactly where are the Montayne vineyards? I have visited the region on occasion.”

  “They are located close to the Garonne, surrounding a property called Chateau Branais.”

  Henri blanched considerably. “What did you say?”

  “The vineyard is at a place called Chateau Branais. Why, are you familiar with it? A family named Bouchard manages the estates. The son, Pierre, is most knowledgeable about the grape.”

  Henri took a sip of the wine before him. He recovered some of his color. “Yes, I have been in the area before. I may have called upon these Bouchards.”

  Garrett smiled. “They are lovely people. The father and son worked well together and the wife was quite charming. I’m fortunate to have such good hands supervising my lands.”

  “I seem to recall they had a daughter when I visited them some years ago.”

  Garrett looked at him blankly. “A daughter? Odd. They never made mention of her. Possibly she died? That might explain why nothing was said. If she’d married, surely her name would have come up in conversation for I was with them some weeks.”

  Henri nodded slowly. “Perhaps I was mistaken. I’m sure you are right, my lord.”

  Garrett stood. “My legs are tired from all this sitting. Would you like to see a bit of my property, Comte? Then we can adjourn to dine in the great hall. You’ll not be disappointed with Cook’s choices.”

  Henri gave him a thin smile. “That would be most delightful, my lord.”

  It took them close to an hour to conclude their brief tour. Garrett took pride in the farmland surrounding Stanbury and his stock of horses. De Picassaret was complimentary throughout their time together.

  Eventually, they made their way to the evening meal. A jester capered as they ate, the bells from his cap tinkling merrily as he wove his way through the crowd. He was followed by a juggler and a man with a pet monkey.

  Garrett was pleased with his guest’s response to the planned amusements. He looked about for Madeleine, sure she would have made an appearance by now. She had told him before he left that she would prepare a special song for his guest. She must’ve simply lost track of the time.

  He motioned Coster over. “Please fetch Madeleine, Coster. I would like our guest to hear her sing and play,” he said quietly.

  Coster nodded and shuffled off, an odd expression upon his face. Garrett had no time to think on this, though, returning his attention to de Picassaret.

  Almost a quarter-hour passed before Coster returned. Madeleine was not with him. Garrett frowned as the giant-sized serf ambled over to his table.

  “Coster, why have you not brought Madeleine back with you?” he demanded.

  “Madeleine?” Henri interrupted. “What did you say?”

  Garrett turned to address Henri. “It’s my troubadour, Comte. A woman, actually. I discovered her with a group of mummers and persuaded her to stay on for a while. She has tutored my daughter in art and music and performs for us here at Stanbury most every night.” He smiled. “She’s quite talented. A beautiful voice and lovely to look at. She also knows thousands of stories. I’m sure you’ll enjoy hearing her play. We just seem to have a bit of a problem locating her.”

  He turned back to Coster, who was fidgeting from one foot to the other. Before Garrett could say a word, Coster removed something shiny from his pocket and handed it to Garrett.

  “I’m sorry, me lord. It’s all me fault.”

  Garrett recognized the brooch in his palm as one that Lady Sanvale wore frequently. He looked at Coster in confusion. “Come again, Coster. You’re not making yourself clear. Why would you give me Lady Sanvale’s brooch?”

  “You’re to keep it for now. Madeleine said so.”

  “Why would Madeleine give me a brooch? Where the devil did this come from?” Garrett frowned at his servant. “Coster, you have much to explain. Start at the beginning.”

  “I know I did wrong.” Coster sighed. “Punish me, me lord, for I deserve it. I never should have helped her.”

  His words had an immediate impact upon Garrett. The hall grew quiet as everyone gathered there waiting for Madeleine watched intently.

  Garrett’s tone was even and controlled. “What did you help Madeleine do, Coster?”

  Coster fumbled for the words before they rushed out in a torrent. He explained how Madeleine was worried about her mum and how he’d helped her borrow a horse to reach home for a short visit.

  “She promised to return the horse, me lord. The brooch was only if something unforeseen happened to her. You were to have it.”

  “Where did she go, Coster?”

  “Why, down Sussex way, me lord. That’s where her mum is.”

  A cacophony of whispers filled the room. “She’s got a mother, he said?”

  “I bet her mum is as pretty as she is.”

  “Why’d she go now, ye think?”

  Garrett felt as if he’d been torn in two. As soon as he had declared his love for her, Madeleine had disappeared without a word to him.

  Just as Lynnette had.

  Why would she do such a thing?

  She’d admitted doing things she would reveal to no man. Was she a thief, as he’d once suspected? He squeezed the brooch in his fist, knowing it belonged to Lady Sanvale. Had Madeleine helped herself to such a pretty piece?

  That could not be the case. The dowager countess had a kind heart and had greatly admired Madeleine. It would not surprise him if the old woman had gifted Madeleine with the brooch.

  Then why had Madeleine gone? He swallowed hard, thinking of her scarred legs and back. Did her sudden disappearance have something to do with those old injuries?

  His love for Madeleine was strong enough to outweigh anything he’d learned about her. To learn the truth about her was taking a chance. But as he lived and breathed, Garrett knew it was a chance he must take.

  He forced as pleasant as an expression as he could muster onto his face as he turned to de Picassaret. “I’m afraid I have some unexpected business to attend to. I trust my servants to meet your needs for the short time that I must be gone.”

  De Picassaret’s face turned a deep red. “Lord Montayne, we have business to conduct.”

  Garrett waved a hand. “I’m aware of that.” He paused, aware of the countless eyes upon him. “Have your man draw up the necessary papers. I’ll sign them immediately upon my return, then send them posthaste to your estate. We’ll be in business together by the next harvest.”

  When de Picassaret didn’t say anything, he added, “Does that suit you, sir?

  “Of course.” He hesitated. “This woman, Madeleine, must be important for someone like you to drop everything in such a manner.”

  “No one you need concern yourself about.” He turned to Coster. “I will deal with you upon my return,” he told the gentle giant. “For now, saddle my horse. I ride to London.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Garrett cursed, loud and long, the entire ride to London, disregarding those he passed. He knew they thought him mad but he didn’t care. Madeleine had driven him to the point of insanity.

  Why had she left?

  Had her guilt over the consummation of their love driven her from his arms and into God’s? She had told him she planned to enter a convent. Was there one within the walls of London in which she could hide from him? And what of her f
amily? Did Peter and her parents really exist or were they more of her fanciful tales? How could he have fallen in love with someone who lied as easily as birds flew or ducks swam? Why could he not let her go and simply get on with his life?

  Because he had no life before they’d met. A pleasant existence had been destroyed by his runaway wife. That part of his life was still unresolved. Now he chased after yet another woman who had deserted him.

  As surely as the sun would rise, Madeleine was his ray of hope. Garrett ached inside with the knowledge that he had no future if she did not share it with him. He needed Madeleine as much as he needed the air he breathed. He craved her, all of her—her humor and intelligence, her warmth and kindness, her willowy body and its hidden curves of pleasure. He would seek her out to the ends of the earth, kiss her into submission, and then drag her home to Stanbury.

  He pictured the scars on her legs and back and wondered if her flight had some connection with the abuse she had suffered. He’d not said a word to her about them after they’d made love. He doubted she had any idea he knew just how terribly she’d been scarred. No, when he found her he’d smother her with love before he demanded answers. The truth, this time.

  London’s massive gates were sealed when he reached them. He rode up, a solitary figure in the still morn. He cursed his luck, knowing he would be denied entrance until sunrise. He dismounted Ebony and paced back and forth, his breath visible in the damp night air.

  He’d taken a huge risk by coming to London but his gut told him Madeleine mislead Coster as to her final destination, knowing the serf would eventually pass along the information to Garrett. It was a flimsy excuse. He doubted Madeleine even had a mother, much less one as close as Sussex.

  He looked to the great city rising before him and his heart told him the woman he loved was somewhere within those walls. He would find her, his French beauty. As he’d ridden, it became clear to him. Her gestures were typical of the French. Even her very name was French. She could even be related to the same Bouchards at Chateau Branais. He would begin at the waterfront and see which ships were headed to France.

  As he waited, he continued to pace, searching his memory for any clues within his grasp. All had seemed well until the arrival of Henri de Picassaret.

  Garrett halted in his tracks. Was that the connection? De Picassaret was French. Did the nobleman know Madeleine? Or her abuser? Garrett tried to recall if Madeleine had reacted oddly in any way once he’d told her de Picassaret was to visit Stanbury. He had been so enamored with her and the time they’d spent in his bed that he remembered little else.

  She had fled when the Frenchman arrived, making Garrett believe there was some connection. If only he’d thought to quiz de Picassaret more thoroughly before he stormed away from Stanbury. The vineyard owner must think him mad.

  He remembered the nobleman had indicated he would make his way to London upon leaving Stanbury, as he was ready to return to his home. It could be worth his while to locate the comte. The Frenchman might shed some light on the mystery called Madeleine Bouchard.

  The sun broke across the horizon, slowly casting its rays against the gates. A nightingale called for its mate, the sound mocking him. The tired watchman peered down upon him.

  “Must warn you, my lord, about the typhus. It raged out of control for a while, though it’s been much better these last few weeks. I’m supposed to let all travelers know this before they enter.”

  The thought of falling to typhus gave Garret a chill but his choice was made. “Hell and be damned, man! Open up!”

  The clang of the gate behind him sent a shiver up his spine but it also renewed his commitment. The city was quiet in the bleak dawn with little activity. As Garrett headed for the waterfront, he spotted a few bodies wrapped in sheets, left outside for the early morning death wagon. The greenish stains on the linen reminded him of his vigil at Luke’s bedside as he lay dying of the dreaded disease. Besides the fever and vomiting, Luke had been racked with abdominal pains and reddish spots that appeared all over his torso. He had been confused, too, which hurt Garrett most of all, watching his beloved brother slip away, not knowing anyone around him.

  Many vessels of all shapes and sizes filled the harbor. Trade was at a standstill. It looked as if few ships, if any, had been let out during the epidemic. If that were the case, it might be easier to find Madeleine than he originally thought.

  He first sought out the harbormaster, eventually finding him asleep in a nearby tavern. The place was littered with drunken sailors, sleeping off their night of carousing. He shook the man awake and pulled him out into the empty streets, as much for a private word as to escape the stench of stale, unwashed bodies.

  The man recognized him through bloodshot eyes. “Why, Lord Montayne,” he slurred. “What brings you to London? ’Tis not our usual time to do business.”

  “I know, Raleigh, but I have need of information.” Garrett produced a gold coin, which Raleigh quickly pocketed. The man wiped his chin on a sleeve.

  “How bad is this typhus?”

  Raleigh rubbed the sleep from his eyes and pushed back the strands of hair falling in his eyes. “Just about run its course, my lord. The death count has fallen off considerably with the cooler weather. I’ve been told we’ll open up for trade in a week’s time. His majesty’s counselor was certain of it.”

  His speech was interrupted by a loud grumbling. Raleigh looked sheepishly at Garrett. “Sorry. My belly rules me, I fear.”

  “I require your help, Raleigh.”

  The harbormaster squinted. “What do you need, my lord?”

  Garrett quickly explained. “More than likely she’ll wish to sail for France. Can you find her?”

  Raleigh nodded wearily. “All of the manifests will come my way.”

  “Not good enough, Raleigh. She would think to travel under a different name.”

  “If you’re willing to spend the gold, I can arrange for the port to be watched carefully. Give me the name and a description of this woman, and I assure you she will be found.”

  Garrett paused before he spoke as his loss of Madeleine washed over him anew. “She’s very tall. Thin as a reed. Her hair is the color of wheat in the summer that’s ready to be threshed. Her eyes are a deep amethyst and she has a small scar running across—”

  “I know her. It’s the same woman as before.”

  Garrett’s insides raced. “What do mean you?”

  “Back in the spring, a Frenchman came to me. He described the exact woman you now do. He was also very anxious to find her.”

  “Who was this man?” Garrett demanded, ready to slam this man’s face into the nearest post. “I’ll have his name.”

  Raleigh shook his head. “Don’t recall it. He was a servant but he had plenty of coin to spread around. She had booked passage on a cargo ship bound for Calais but she never showed up to sail.”

  So he was right. Madeleine was French. He was certain she’d been running from her abuser the night they’d met.

  “Was her name Madeleine Bouchard?”

  Raleigh grinned, his yellowed teeth prominently displayed. “That was it, my lord.”

  Garrett completed his arrangements with Raleigh and left for his London home. It would be dark since his servants weren’t expecting him but he was weary from his long ride. With no ships sailing for at least a week, he knew Madeleine was stuck in London. Garrett wanted nothing more than his bed for now. The sleep would rejuvenate him as he matched wits with his beloved Madeleine. When rested, he would begin his search for her in earnest.

  Although Garrett thought he’d confiscated all of Madeleine’s jewels when he removed them from her tunics, she must have had more hidden, counting on selling them to aid her escape. He’d visit as many jewelers as he could. Surely, she would turn up that way.

  *

  It took two days before Garrett found a man who remembered her. He was a wizened bag of bones but his eyes sparkled as he spoke of her.

  “Oh, yes, my lord, s
he was a vision of loveliness. I really didn’t want what she was trying to pawn, but the poor woman seemed desperate for money. I gave her the best price I could.” He sighed. “Would you like to see the piece?”

  Garrett had no desire to but his need of further information from the shriveled little man drove him to respond. “Yes. Show it to me.”

  The jeweler reached under his counter and lifted a necklace, placing it on black velvet for better display.

  Garrett glanced at it perfunctorily and then whipped his eyes back, startled that the necklace was indeed very familiar to him.

  It had belonged to Lynnette.

  How had it come into Madeleine’s possession?

  He felt a queasiness in his stomach as a moment of doubt flooded him. Did Madeleine know what happened to Lynnette? Was this the unspeakable act she referred to? Was the woman who filled his every waking moment in league with someone who knew where Lynnette was?

  He turned to the shriveled jeweler. “You said the woman I described sold this to you?”

  “Oh, yes, my lord. ’Tis a nice piece, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” Garrett agreed. “Very nice. How much?”

  *

  It was early afternoon when Garrett climbed the stairs of the dark, dank building. A child wailed loudly in the distance. The smell of urine and stale vomit overwhelmed him. A tattered woman and her young son passed him on the stairs, their eyes downcast, their faces covered with filth. Garrett shuddered at the place Madeleine had chosen to hide, guessing her funds must have dwindled considerably if this was the best she could afford.

  It had been easy to find her. She’d given the jeweler a good idea where she could be found in case he had further interest in her stones.

  Garrett heard her voice as he neared the top of the rickety stairs.

  “Zut, zut! When will this end?”

  Yes, that was his darling, cursing in French. Quietly, Garrett opened the door.

  The alcove was small, with barely enough room for a narrow bed and chair. Stale air hung like a curtain, blanketing the entire space. A fat rat scurried by his foot, as if glad to make its escape from the enclosed place. The only window was cracked down the middle and he felt the sharp wind pouring into the nook, chilling him.