Chapter 2
Garrett Montayne paced restlessly as Lissa opened her presents. His daughter was five years of age today. It was the fourth birthday his wife had missed.
The thought of Lynnette brought a quick sting to his eyes. Aggravated, he turned away from the assembled group and took a long pull of the mulled wine, draining the cup in one swallow.
Lynnette. His insides ached at the thought of her name. He still could not guess, even after so long a time, why she left with another man. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, like most of his class and rank, but a genuine affection existed between them.
Or so he’d thought. They laughed at the good times and had cried together when their son, Richard, succumbed to a fever shortly before his second birthday.
Still, they had little Lissa, barely six weeks old at the time of her brother’s death. Garrett had always assumed they would have many more children together, but he’d been proven wrong. Lynnette disappeared a little more than a year later. He’d been concerned when she did not appear at the evening meal and frantic by the end of that night when she could not be found.
Finally, his reeve had reluctantly stepped forward. Stephen admitted he’d seen Lynnette recently ride out alone on two separate occasions. Worried about his lady’s safety since she had no guard with her, Stephen had followed her. Both times she’d met a tall knight with dark hair. Stephen had kept his distance, but he acknowledged that Lady Montayne had been on very familiar terms with the man.
Garrett sent search parties for his wife, as well as riding for weeks on his own, seeking some sign of where Lynnette might be. She seemed to have vanished without a trace. Finally, he could hide from the truth no longer. His wife had deserted him and their daughter for her lover.
Garrett spat upon the floor in disgust, angry at himself for still caring about her. At times, his marriage didn’t seem real. He could barely remember what she looked like, and then he would catch a glimpse of Lissa and memories of Lynnette came flooding back.
Ashby rose from the party of merrymakers, a thoughtful look upon his face. Garrett knew his childhood friend worried about him. It was true Garrett had lost his sense of humor these past few years and was in a black mood more often than not. His fits of depression could last for days, even weeks, and it was becoming harder and harder to rouse himself from his gloom.
Garrett poured another glass of wine and drank the contents in a single swallow, his eyes daring Ashby to say anything. Before, his drinking had been of little consequence. In fact, he usually became quite light—hearted when he partook of a few cups of wine. Now, the more he drank, the more his mood ranged from ugly to hateful.
Lissa squealed in delight, drawing her father’s attention. “Oh, Papa, Papa! Come here, Papa!”
Garrett set his cup down and went to her, a smile upon his face. Despite everything, he always tried to be a good father to his only child. He was a family man at heart and relished the times when he pulled Lissa into his lap and listened to her prattle on in the engaging way she had about her.
“What is it, Lissa?”
“Look at what Aga made me,” she said excitedly.
Garrett took the doll Lissa handed him and glanced toward his mother. Edith gave him a tentative smile, and he returned it. He’d been curt to her—to all women—since Lynnette vanished. Part of it was not knowing where his wife was. Part was knowing he could not marry again and beget an heir for Stanbury. He had soured on all women, not understanding how a wife could abandon her husband and babe. The bitterness threatened to swallow him up at times.
Yet he knew his mother could not be blamed for Lynnette’s transgressions. He studied the doll his mother had thoughtfully made for his daughter. .He decided he must show his mother more kindness in the future. She had suffered far too much in the past for him to add to her misery.
Garrett asked Lissa, “Did you thank your grandmother properly?”
His daughter shrugged, her characteristic shyness taking over. Garrett swept her up into his arms and swung her around, then tossed her in the air several times. Lissa laughed until she had trouble catching her breath.
He set her back down on the ground and whispered into her ear, “Go on, Lissa, thank Aga.”
Lissa skipped to her grandmother, pecked her on the cheek, then threw her arms around the old woman, bringing tears to Edith’s eyes.
“Now off to bed with you, my child,” Garrett told her. He motioned for Annie, her nurse.
Protesting, Lissa informed him, “I’m five now, Papa. I don’t want to go to bed so early.”
He kissed her brow. “When you are a score and five, I’ll still tell you when ‘tis time for bed. Now be off!” He gently pushed her in Annie’s direction.
Lissa left reluctantly, dragging her feet, but Garrett had already turned to Ashby. “I have some papers to look over. ‘Twill take me no more than an hour or so to do them justice. Will you ride with me to London after?”
Ashby nodded. “You are to meet with Henri de Picassaret tomorrow?”
“Nay, not till the day after, but I’ve business to see to before that. I don’t look forward to the meeting with de Picassaret, though.”
“Why?” Ashby asked.
“I’ve dealt with the man before. He’s very astute and drives a hard bargain. He’s offered for some of my properties in Bordeaux in exchange for some of his land near Reims.”
Ashby was perplexed. “You are interested in champagne vineyards?”
“Not really, but we’ve done some business in the past. ‘Tis more a courtesy to see him and hear him out.”
“Then see to your papers, Garrett. I’ll make sure our horses are ready.”
It was closer to two hours before the two men got on the road. Garrett inhaled the April night air, chilly and fresh, his head bothering him again. The headaches had started shortly after Lynnette’s disappearance and came upon him with no warning. Sometimes lasting a few hours, sometimes a few days, they were becoming more frequent in their arrival and duration. The pain so great at times that he wondered if he was going mad.
He and Ashby rode in companionable silence. Garrett often marveled at what Ashby put up with, such as leaving for London in the middle of the night, but he would not trade his friend for all the silk in Italy.
They passed several manors and castles along their ride, even stopping at Frothmore briefly to leave a letter for Lady Ancil with the gatekeeper. She and Edith had been friends in childhood, and any time Garrett made one of his frequent trips to London, he dropped off correspondence from his mother for Lady Ancil.
Back on the road again, they rode for an hour until Ashby pulled up. Garrett slowed his mount and turned to his friend.
“What ails you, Ash?”
Ashby frowned, a puzzled expression crossing his features. “I could have sworn I saw a woman in the road ahead.”
Garrett peered into the distance and saw nothing. He slapped Ashby on the back. “You’re going blind, my friend, or mayhap you need more sleep. Or,” he said in a sly tone, “you simply have need of a woman and wished her here.”
For a moment Garrett knew he sounded like the Garrett of old, and Ashby grinned at him.
“A soft bed and an even softer woman sound good to me.” Ashby spurred his horse, and they continued on their way.
Ahead of them a woman suddenly ran out into the road. She bent swiftly and picked up a large object and went scurrying back to the nearby trees. They reined in their horses and stared at each other in surprise.
“I told you, Garrett. I knew I saw someone.”
“You were right. Shall we investigate?”
They guided their horses slowly toward the spot where the woman had disappeared then dismounted. Both men stared into the trees, searching. Neither spoke.
The cloud cover broke at that moment. Strong rays of moonlight poured over the area.
Heart pounding, Garrett spotted someone crouched behind a tree. He called out, “We mean you no harm. Are you hu
rt?”
Madeleine groaned inwardly. She instantly blamed Henri-the-pebble for her current situation. To remove Henri, she’d placed her lute down beside her. The sound of horses as she slipped the shoe back on had caused her to head for a hiding place. Only when the riders came closer did she remember her beloved lute. She couldn’t chance the oncoming horses crushing her beloved possession, and so she’d ventured from safety to rescue the instrument.
“Merde,” she swore softly. She looked down at the smooth stone in her hand. “You bloody pebble.”
The two gentlemen must have heard her voice and now approached. Madeleine knew she must take control of the situation in a direct fashion. She bravely stood, her lute in hand, and swung the instrument high over her head. Storming toward the pair, she scowled.
“If you dare come closer, I’ll bring my lute crashing down upon your heads,” she warned. “’Tis the only valuable I have. If I destroy it, you’ll have nothing.” She tried to appear as menacing as possible as she studied the men before her.
The one on her left was tall and fair, his hair a bit unruly, his body lanky. He had a nice smile, and he was no more a highwayman than her Uncle Raymond. He dressed as a gentleman and carried himself thus.
The other one was quite different.
He had a dangerous air about him. He, too, was tall, with short, dark hair and brooding eyes. He moved with a natural grace and ease and dressed as a nobleman. But there was an air about him, a purpose, that made her blood run cold. His dark eyes seem to pierce her soul with a ruthlessness unlike she’d ever known. He frightened her, and yet at the same time she felt drawn to him in some inexplicable way. Mayhap it was the sadness he wore, draped about him like a cloak, that drew her to him.
The dark one held his hands out, palms up. “We wish you no harm, my lady. We would but render you aid. What brings you to the middle of nowhere in the night with only a lute for protection?”
Madeleine detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Mayhap these weren’t noblemen after all, but highway swine who’d stolen the very clothes they wore. No, she was sure they must be nobility, simply by the arrogant air of the dark—haired man. No ruffian could mimic that.
She thought quickly. Henri was to meet a Lord Montayne while they were in London. He’d carried on about what a ruthless reputation the man had in business and how he planned to get the upper hand with the English noblemen in a bargain he hoped to strike with the man. Madeleine prayed that these men before her might know of Lord Montayne’s unforgiving nature and launched into her lie.
“I am lady to Lord Montayne, good sirs. Mayhap you have heard of him.”
The two men seemed visibly shaken by her words as they exchanged a glance and continued to stare at her without speaking.
“Oh, yes, I know my husband’s very name can bring even the bravest of men to utter silence.” She sighed. “That’s how I frightened our attackers.”
“Your attackers?”
“Yes, the men who waylaid us on our way to London.” She sighed audibly and then teared up, getting more into her performance now.
“Poor Simon. Lord Montayne’s valet, you know. He was escorting me to our London residence when we were attacked. Oh, ‘tis all my fault,” she told them, as a single tear cascaded down her cheek. She wiped it away briskly. “I took far too long to finish my tasks at hand. We should never have started out so late.”
“And when was this, my lady?”
Always the dark—haired devil, she thought, never a word from his companion. She shot a look at the fair-haired gentleman, her eyebrows raised. She finally prompted him, ignoring the dominant one. “Would you like to know how we fared, my lord?” she asked the silent man.
He flushed slightly, but managed to reply, “And then what happened, my lady?”
Madeleine placed a palm over her heart as if to still it. “’Twas horrible. Three men rushed into the road, daggers raised. Simon’s horse reared, and he fell from it. He struck his head and did not move.”
At this, her eyes widened. “I think it frightened the robbers badly. They ordered me to remove the few jewels I wore, but they were all shaking. Then I told them who my husband was, and that put the fear of Our Lord in them.” She smiled at that and leaned forward as if giving a confidence. “It does help sometimes to be married to such a man known for his terrible temper and black moods.”
“I’m sure,” both men muttered at the same time.
She stamped her foot suddenly, her fury shining through now. “They will pay, I tell you. Lord Montayne will see to it.”
“And you were unharmed, my lady?” Again the darker man spoke, his tone conveying an insolence while his face remained a mask of propriety.
“A bit shaken, ‘tis all,” Madeleine told him. “Of course, the brutes tossed Simon’s body off to the side of the road and took my jewels and our horses. All they left me was my lute.” She had lowered the instrument by this time and stroked the surface fondly.
“Why did you leave the scene, my lady? Surely you must have feared the men who robbed you. Why would you go out and possibly have to confront them again?”
Why indeed? Madeleine had gotten so worked up over poor Simon and her missing jewels that she hadn’t quite decided that part of her story yet.
“Mayhap I was more upset by the event than I imagined, my lord,” she ventured weakly. Let them think her a silly, simple woman without a brain in her head.
“Then,” the menacing stranger said, “’tis up to my friend and I to escort you to safety.”
He held his hand out to the fair-haired man. “May I present Sir Ashby? And I,” said the dark-haired devil, “am Sir Garrett.” He bowed low, as did Ashby.
“We were on our way to London, Lady Montayne, despite the late hour. I know Sir Ashby and I could not leave you stranded here on such a dark and desolate road. ‘Tis also too far a distance to take you all the way back to Stanbury.”
“Oh, then you know of my home?” Madeleine asked breathlessly. Trying to maintain her composure, she added, “Of course, you would, Sir Garrett. If I’m not mistaken, you have been entertained there by Lord Montayne.”
His smile gleamed at her in the moonlight. “As a matter of fact, I have, my lady. Although I don’t recall seeing you there.”
Madeleine cocked her head to one side. “No, I’ve been away often the past few years. My mother has been quite ill, and I’ve spent much time with her.”
“I am sorry to hear of her illness,” he answered. “But, come, let us mount our horses and ride to London.”
Madeleine watched Sir Ashby turn his head and discreetly cough into his hand, hiding his mirth. She wondered what he found so humorous about the situation.
Then Sir Garrett started toward his horse then suddenly stopped, turning to her. “Coming, my lady?”
Madeleine felt her feet moving as if they had a will of their own. “Of course, Sir Garrett. I thank you for your kind offer. I’ll reach London much faster on horse than by foot.”
She was reluctant to ride with them but didn’t want to seem churlish and arouse their suspicions. Surely there must be plenty of time between here and London. She was a resourceful person. She knew she could create an opportunity to slip away. Besides, her feet already hurt enough, thanks to little Henri-the-pebble.
Sir Ashby quickly mounted his horse as Madeleine moved toward them. He reached his hand out to her. “May I help you up, my lady?”
She had almost placed her hand in his when the devil himself spoke. “You must be jesting, Ash. Your nag was tired before we left for London. Lady Montayne is welcomed to ride with me.”
Ashby withdrew his hand, and Madeleine looked at Sir Garrett.
“My lady?” he said, his hand extended to her.
“Thank you, my lord,” she answered as she placed her hand in his.
Chapter 3
Garrett easily helped the woman onto his horse, settling her in front of him. Although she was very tall, she was slim, as light as the rushes
covering the floors of the Great Hall. She shifted, obviously uncomfortable at first, until he shifted her back closer to his chest. He felt her stiffen at the contact, her back ramrod straight, holding her lute out to her side.
“My lady, I fear you think me forward, but I must know that you are secure,” he assured her. Gently, he added, “I would like to hold you in place. The road is bumpy at times, and you have had enough mishaps this night. I would not want you to take a sudden spill.”
She turned and eyed him with suspicion for a moment. Then she seemed to come to a decision about him. Her posture, though still erect, seemed to relax a bit, as did her facial features. For a moment, Garrett thought he caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.
“I’ve no interest in flying off and landing in a ditch, Sir Garrett. How would you have me sit?”
He hesitated, finding her an enigma. One minute she was shy and unsure of herself, the next haughty and arrogant. Just like a Montayne, he thought wryly.
“More like this, my lady,” he answered, and he moved her slightly to one side, bringing his arm about her waist lightly to hold her in place.
She became still as a stone. He could not even detect a breath coming from her.
Concerned, he asked, “Can you ride thus, my lady?”
She remained motionless for a long moment. Finally, he felt her exhale. “Of course, Sir Garrett. Shall we start?”
“We need to secure your lute,” he told her. “Obviously, it means a great deal to you. May I allow Sir Ashby to attach it to his saddle? I don’t think I can manage it and you, Lady Montayne.”
She shook her head and tightened her grip on the instrument. “I’ll vouch for my friend, my lady. He’ll take good care of it.”
With a sigh, she nodded curtly and allowed him to slip the lute from her hands. He handed the instrument over to Ashby. “Attach this to your saddle, Ash. And guard it with your life.”
His friend nodded agreeably, a ghost of a smile still hovering about his mouth. Both men spurred their horses and set off.
Music For My Soul Page 2