by Alexa Aston
Oh, then he would whisper all the wicked things he planned to do to her in her ear—and act upon them. By the time Marcus finished, he would have explored every inch of Jess Gilpin. Multiple times.
Her face lit up as Ralph’s lines ended and she began clapping enthusiastically. To see her joy almost caused him physical pain. Marcus pushed through the crowd and departed the stage area. He made his way over to the faire’s stalls and lost himself among the crowds, swelling to a greater size now that the play’s audience mingled in. He wandered restlessly up and down the various rows, glancing at the displayed wares but not really seeing them. Several people called out to him but he dismissed them with a wave and kept moving.
Finally, he decided to return to his tent. No one should be nearby since another play would be enacted in another hour or so. After that performance concluded, he and Rand would put on their own demonstration of swordplay. Marcus looked forward to some quiet time to reflect on what he needed to do about Jess. How he should behave when he next saw her.
Would he commit to bringing her to Hartefield once the season ended? If so, he should make it clear that he had no interest in pursuing her—or rather pretend to claim no interest in her. His gut told him if he didn’t stay away from Jess, he wouldn’t be able to control his desire. She was a true innocent. The least he could do was respect that innocence and keep from sullying her until after they made their vows. Yet, if he did pull away, how could he subtly woo her? When it came time for the troupe to disperse, he needed Jess to care enough about him to trust him so he could bring her to Hartefield.
Marcus’ head ached from confusion. As he moved further from the crowds, the noise lessened until it was barely audible by the time he arrived at the circle of tents. Then he stopped.
What was that?
He thought it might be the clang of steel but knew that couldn’t be the case. Then it sounded again. Had Rand decided to practice with one of the mummers? That would only lead to trouble. Unlike the mummers, who used swords with blunted tips and dulled sides, he and Rand fought with their own weapons. Though Rand was very skilled with a sword, he might go too far and hurt one of the actors.
Marcus raced across the open area and crested a hill. Immediately, he saw two men engaged, their swords clashing against one another, the sound echoing in the still air. They stopped abruptly and one stepped next to the other, demonstrating a move. He realized the one on the left was Gylbart from his stance. The mummer imitated the other man and nodded, then tried the move again, this time with more confidence.
Then Marcus sucked in a quick breath. The slender fellow wasn’t a man at all.
It was Jess.
She turned quickly and he saw her braid fly in the air, swinging behind her. Lifting her sword, the two commenced again for a few moments before Jess stopped the action.
He sank to the ground, fascinated at what he saw.
Jess knew exactly what she was doing, better than some soldiers he had trained. Her movements were both fluid and fearless. She was also patient, showing Gylbart over and over certain moves, from footwork to how to arc the sword gracefully and with power. Marcus admired her skill—and then some.
What now caught his attention was what she wore. At first, he’d thought her a man. The more he studied her, though, he realized how foolish that notion was. Though dressed as a man, Jess filled out the clothing in wicked ways. The dark pants fit her snuggly, emphasizing her rounded bottom and slender legs. The tunic’s sleeves fit tightly around her arms, allowing her better movement. But it was the front of the tunic that drew his eye. Jess had an ample bosom and the simple, tan tunic emphasized every curve.
Marcus’ mouth watered simply gazing upon her. The desire he’d wanted to rid himself of magnified a thousandfold, seeing her garbed in such a manner and witnessing how accomplished she proved with a sword. This woman caught his imagination. Hunger for her increased the longer he observed her.
But who was Jess Gilpin? No servant would have access to weapons, much less grow so talented in the use of one. The skill Jess showed had been achieved over time. It would take years of practice to develop that level of adroitness.
Marcus determined to find out exactly who this woman was.
*
Jessimond called a halt, her breathing rapid and her mouth dry. She was glad she’d taken time to change her clothing. Movement using swords was much easier when she wore a man’s garb.
“You showed tremendous improvement, Gylbart,” she praised.
His eyes lit with enthusiasm. “I cannot wait to practice again with Ralph with what I know now. The audience will cheer like madmen when they see us attack one another.” He frowned. “I did not do nearly as well as when Marcus worked with me.”
“He did?”
“Aye. When he and Rand joined the troupe, Marcus told me my sword skills were lacking. He tutored me.” A sheepish smile crossed his face. “He didn’t show nearly the patience you did, Jess. He’s so tall and commanding. I’m a little afraid of him. I just hope I can remember everything you’ve shown me.”
“If you don’t, we can always go again. It would help if I could witness you and Ralph at practice and make a few suggestions.”
Gylbart shook his head. “Nay. Ralph would never listen to advice given by a woman.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said, determined that King Ralph would work with Gylbart and allow her to watch—especially if he wanted those new costumes made up.
“I need to return to the stage,” Gylbart said, panic in his voice. “I’ve lost track of the time. Thank you, Jess.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried away.
She watched him running up the rise and noticed Marcus sitting at the top of the small hill. Jessimond wondered how long he’d been there. Gylbart greeted Marcus and disappeared. Marcus rose and came down the hill. Jessimond’s heart began beating rapidly.
“I see you took Gylbart under your wing.”
“I heard you did the same,” she countered.
He chuckled. “You seemed to have had better success tutoring him than I did.”
“Gylbart’s a bit afraid of you,” Jessimond said. “I think both your size and skill with a sword intimidated him. And mayhap, you were a bit gruff during your lessons. I am much calmer and more suited to teaching someone.”
He eyed her a long moment. “I’m surprised Gylbart listened to a thing you said.”
“Why?” she asked. “Because I am a woman—and only a man can teach sword skills?”
A slow smile lit his face. “Because if you’d been showing me how to swing a sword, I wouldn’t have heard a word you uttered. I would be mesmerized with how beautiful you are.”
Jessimond felt her face go hot, both at his compliment and how he stared at her. She looked at the sensual lips that had been next to hers only a short while ago and a yearning for them, as wide as an ocean, enveloped her.
Marcus took a step toward her. Jessimond hoped he would kiss her again. They were alone and that was not a frequent occurrence when part of a large troupe.
He reached out and captured her braid, which had fallen over her shoulder. Lifting it to his face, he brushed the tail against his cheek. He lowered it—but didn’t release it. Instead, he wound it around his fist, ensuring she wouldn’t go anywhere. They stood so close that her breasts almost touched his chest.
Jessimond knew what was coming and prepared herself. She only hoped she would be as believable as one of the mummers speaking his lines.
“Where did you learn how to fight like that?” Marcus asked, his gaze unwavering.
“At Kinwick.”
She didn’t know him well enough to trust him with the entire truth. Even if she did, he might accidentally let it slip and then the others would learn of her true identity. Already, she had enjoyed being a part of the company and living a different kind of life. She wasn’t anywhere near ready to give that up.
Not even for a man who kissed like Marcus de Harte.
&nb
sp; “Kinwick. Where you were a servant.” Doubt lingered in the air.
“Aye. I helped care for some of Lord Geoffrey and Lady Merryn’s grandchildren. Their son, Sir Hal, is Kinwick’s captain of the guard. He and Lady Elinor have three children. As a knight, Sir Hal believes it important for his children to learn sword skills from a young age. In fact, ’tis a family tradition that Lord Geoffrey’s cousin, Lord Raynor Le Roux, carve and gift a wooden sword to each de Montfort child. He has continued this practice with every grandchild who has arrived.”
Jessimond took a breath and laughed. “Poor Lord Raynor is kept quite busy since there are six de Montfort children. It seems one of the wives is always birthing another babe.”
Marcus took in what she said and then asked, “But what does that have to do with you?”
She was now ready to make the connection for him.
“Since I watch over the children, I do more than feed and bathe them. I sing to them. Tell them stories. Play with them. I also take them all around the estate. After they were given their swords, sometimes they needed someone to spar with them. The soldiers in the training yard didn’t have time to do that. The children grew to learn one another’s strengths and weaknesses and tired of fighting each other.”
“That’s where you came in?”
“Aye. I had been present at all of their lessons and assimilated the knowledge. It took several tries once I put a sword in my hand to physically understand what my mind already knew. Once I did, I truly enjoyed sparring with all of the children. I’ve done it for several years now.”
He tugged on her braid. “You are exceptionally good at it. Better than some men I’ve known.”
Jessimond smiled. “I will take that as a compliment, coming from a knight.” She paused. “You are a knight, Marcus, aren’t you?”
She asked not only to draw attention away from her, but to learn something more about him.
When he remained silent, she said, “I figured you and Rand to be knights-errant, not associated with any liege lord, and that is why you were able to join the Vawdrys’ troupe.”
“I do give allegiance to a lord,” he finally said. “Rand, as well. We are on an interesting mission. Taking the long way home.”
His words puzzled her. “Your lord does not mind you doing so?”
Marcus shrugged.
Jessimond wasn’t satisfied with his silence. Before she could call him out, though, Jopp interrupted them.
“Jess!” the boy cried.
She looked up and saw him running down the hill.
“What’s wrong, Jopp?”
“Hamlyn stumbled and fell against the stage. His forehead is split open and he’s not making much sense. Moss said you are a healer. Can you come help?”
“Of course,” she assured the boy. “Let me get my case of herbs. Run back and let Moss know I’m coming.”
Jopp took off again like a bolt of lightning and disappeared over the rise.
Marcus released his hold on her braid and took her elbow, helping her up the hill. Jessimond retrieved her case and exited the tent.
“You’re going . . . like that?” he asked, waving his hand up and down her. “’Tis not decent for you to be seen in such a way, Jess.”
“I’m not going to take the time to change my attire when a man needs my help,” Jessimond said curtly and strode off.
Chapter 10
Jessimond ignored Marcus when he caught up to her. She’d done her best to explain how she came to have such unusual skills for a servant, much less a woman. Either he would believe her or not. She didn’t want to waste any more time trying to convince him.
As they arrived at the booths, she asked, “Do you still have coin?”
“What do you require?”
“A cup of strong wine to bathe Hamlyn’s wound.”
“Wait here.”
Marcus ventured to a nearby stall and soon returned with a cup he’d promised to bring back. They continued on their way until they reached the stage. Several mummers either stood or knelt in a circle. Hamlyn lay in the center of them, a large gash across his forehead. Blood streamed down his face and covered the front of his tunic.
Jessimond sat next to him, opening her case. “I heard you took a nasty fall.”
“Bloody knee gave out on me,” the mummer complained. “Made me stumble. Fell head first into the corner of the stage.”
“Jopp said you were a little confused.”
“Nay. Not anymore, Jess,” Hamlyn assured her. “You’re Jess. I’m Hamlyn.” He pointed to and named several of the mummers hovering nearby. “We’re at Lord Guy’s estate. ’Tis a Tuesday. Truly, I’m right in the head. Saw a few stars when it first happened but I’ve been awake the entire time. Hurting,” he added, looking as if he wanted her sympathy.
“Well, I’m here to fix you up,” she promised.
Jessimond had been around others who’d suffered head injuries, a few who remained confused for several days. Hamlyn had his wits about him, which was very good news.
“First, I’m going to cleanse your wound,” she explained. “I’ll sew it up after that and you already know I’m an excellent seamstress. It will only take a few stitches to close.”
She opened her case and took out a bit of ginger. “Chew on this.”
Hamlyn eyed it with suspicion. “What for?”
“’Tis ginger. In case your head is aching or you feel a bit of nausea, it will help calm your stomach.”
He thought it over a moment and then slipped it between his lips. “That’s strong,” he declared.
When he didn’t spit it out, she thought that was a good sign. Jessimond took small bits of linen from her case and motioned for Marcus to hand her the cup of wine. She dipped a square into the liquid and smoothed it over the gash, repeating the action several times until the area was free of blood. She would use water to wash his face once she got him back to the camp.
“I’m going to sew the slice together now. It will sting some,” she warned.
Hamlyn eyed the cup on the ground. “Are you through with the wine? I could drink what’s left to help with the pain,” he offered.
“An excellent idea,” she said, handing him the cup.
He drained it quickly and set it aside.
“Lie still.” Jessimond thought a moment. “In fact, it would be good for someone to hold your head.”
“I will,” Marcus volunteered.
He sank to his knees and placed Hamlyn’s head between them, then gripped the mummer’s head with both hands. Jessimond knew Hamlyn wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Quickly, she threaded a needle from her case and pinched the skin together. Using a combination of a fell and running stitch, she mended the skin in a few minutes and then coated the wound with honey to promote healing. Winding a long strip of linen around Hamlyn’s head in order to keep dirt from the wound, she secured the end.
“You’ll be good as new but will probably have a small scar as a reminder of your misadventure,” she told him. “What you need to do now is rest.”
“But we have a play to perform in just a few minutes,” Hamlyn complained.
“Not today,” Jessimond declared. “You need to sleep. I’ll even watch you to see that no fever develops.”
“You’re treating me as a child, Jess. And who will take my place? Next to Ralph, I have the most lines,” he lamented.
Jessimond knew that was the true reason he wanted to remain. These mummers fought for time in the spotlight. She believed Hamlyn would go out, bloody tunic and all, merely for the chance to perform and receive adoration from the audience.
“I can,” Gylbart quickly volunteered. “I’ve always thought the role better suited to me than you.”
“You’re the narrator this time, Gylbart,” Elias interjected. “You can’t narrate and act at the same time. ’Twould confuse the crowd.”
Marcus rose to his feet. “I’ll step in,” he offered. “I’ve done that before.”
“True,”
Elias agreed, “but only for a small role. Both Hamlyn and Gylbart have many lines in this play.”
“I can do it,” Marcus assured the troupe’s owner. He turned to Gylbart. “Which part would you rather take on?”
“Definitely Hamlyn’s,” Gylbart said, his eyes glowing in satisfaction.
“Then it’s settled.” Marcus looked down at Hamlyn. “Let me help you back to the tents.”
“I can do that,” Jessimond said. “I’d like to give Hamlyn some chamomile boiled in water. It will help soothe any headache that occurs and possibly prevent fever.”
“We’ll do it together,” Marcus insisted.
He helped Hamlyn to his feet and they got on either side of the mummer. Jess retrieved the wine cup to return to the merchant and told Jopp to close up her case. The boy handed it to Marcus to carry and they set off.
“Are you sure you have time to do this?” she asked.
“Aye,” Marcus said. “Bartholomew will play several songs before the play begins.”
“Do you really know all the lines?”
“Most of them,” he revealed. “If ’twere Hamlyn’s part I took, I do know all of them. I’d need to in order to give Ralph the right cues so he could deliver his next line. But the narrator? That’s different. I know most of what Gylbart says. As long as I set each scene up properly, the crowd won’t know if I’ve tweaked a line or two.”
They gave the merchant his wine cup back and then took Hamlyn to the tent he shared with several mummers. Placing him on the pallet, Jessimond had Marcus remove Hamlyn’s blood-soaked tunic. She would try to get the stains out later. Quickly, she bathed his neck and face with water and he lay back, looking exhausted. He thanked them and promptly fell asleep, his snores filling the tent within seconds.
“I was going to boil the water and chamomile for him but I hate to wake him to drink it. Sleep restores good health. I suppose he can sip it later.”