Music For My Soul

by Lauren Linwood

  Madeleine stopped. “Now I know you jest. There’s been no breeze all day.” He looked at her imploringly. “But I seem to have caught a whiff of those meat pies all the same. Lead the way, Master Royce,” she commanded in her most noble tones.

  They strolled along a row of booths and purchased two steaming chewets, their meat savory and hot. They passed stalls filled with salt, soap, honey, and cheese, the pungent smells intermingling with the sweat of crowded human flesh.

  Royce had them settled against an ancient oak at the far end of the meadow, where they ate in amiable silence.

  Madeleine counted her blessings, starting first with sweet Gwenith, already as close as a sister could possibly be. They’d spent practically every waking moment together since joining up on the London docks with never a cross word between them. Madeleine loved her friend’s head of wild, red curls and her impish smile, but her outer beauty only scratched the surface. Gwenith’s sunny nature had a way of keeping Madeleine’s spirits up, no matter how much work needed to be done. These past two months had flown by in the presence of Gwenith’s optimism and good cheer.

  Her second blessing was time spent with Gwenith’s boy, even if Young Master Evan was a scamp of the first degree. Madeleine often wondered how Gwenith managed to keep up with Evan’s antics. Her friend had far more energy than most to be able to stay abreast of Evan’s roguish ways. Still, she counted the boy as a treasure close to her heart.

  Maybe she could turn Evan loose on Henri. With that thought, she stroked the smooth pebble in her pocket. A girlish giggle popped out at the thought of Henri running in fright from the small boy.

  “And what might you be thinking on, Madeleine?” Royce asked. His voice was gentle and his eyes had lost their usual playfulness. Royce reached out and took her hand.

  Madeleine was startled by the depth of emotion she found in Royce’s gaze. These past few weeks traveling with the troupe had been an escape for her before she could make her way to France. Though she enjoyed everyone’s company, she did not want any lasting attachments—especially not those of a romantic nature. She was a married woman, despite having left Henri. She would keep those vows, even after she entered the convent.

  She frowned, puzzling on how to let him down gently. He’d been a good friend to her, never asking about her past. When others had done so, he’d always stepped in and helped change the subject or asked a favor from her, leading her away from prying questions.

  Theirs had been an easy friendship. That was why his look of tenderness and soft words caught her by surprise. His hand held hers easily yet firmly. Madeleine slowly withdrew from his grasp. She crossed her arms and sighed.

  “Oh, Royce, so ‘tis come to this,” she whispered softly.

  The gleam of interest in his eye was unmistakable. Royce looked at her as a man looked at a woman for whom he had tender feelings. He moved in to kiss her.

  Madeleine’s heart lurched. Fear set in, but she shrugged it off. This was just Royce. Not all men beat a woman for the slightest infraction, she told herself. Not all men forced relations. Not all men—

  “Madeleine!”

  She bolted to her feet as Osbert came toward them. The jovial mummer fairly galloped across the green meadow, his round face red from the exertion.

  Osbert laid his hand upon her shoulder. “’Tis Gwenith, I’m afraid. She calls for you.”

  Fear beating rapidly in her chest, Madeleine picked up her skirts, and without a backward glance at Royce, ran across the field to where their tents were pitched away from the stalls filled with goods. Gwenith had been sick for awhile. She couldn’t have taken a turn for the worse. She couldn’t have.

  Stomach knotted, Madeleine hurried into their tent. Gwenith, her face ashen and haggard, managed a weak smile upon seeing her.

  Madeleine dropped to her knees next to Gwenith’s pallet. Taking her friend’s hand, she gave it a gentle squeeze while pushing aside the curls that had fallen across her face.

  “’Tis a real mess I’m in, Maddie, that’s fer sure,” Gwenith managed to get out before being seized by a fit of coughing. The coughs wracked through her thin body.

  Madeleine held tightly onto Gwenith’s hand until the spasm passed and then poured her a cup of cool water from the pitcher nearby.

  “Sip on this, Gwenith,” she said in soothing tones, helping her friend to sit up. A trickle dribbled down Gwenith’s chin, and Madeleine wiped it away with her sleeve.

  “I’m fine now, Maddie. I promise.” Gwenith’s eyes were huge in her pale face, even more wan than usual. “I just wanted to visit with ye a minute, that’s all.” Another fit of coughing erupted.

  Madeleine ached with every cough.

  Finally, Gwenith calmed down. “Ye’ve been with Royce?” her friend asked, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.

  “Yes, I have,” Madeleine begin. “I’m afraid ‘tis more than friendship on Royce’s mind this day. If Osbert hadn’t come to fetch me, I fear Royce might have said something he later regretted. Or kissed me.”

  Gwenith searched Madeleine’s face. “Ye just now discovered his interest in you, Maddie?” she asked in disbelief.

  She stared at her in surprise. “You knew his intentions were romantic?”

  Gwenith chuckled. “Only me and a dozen other mummers, my sweet.” She bit her lip to hold back her laughter. “’Twas obvious from the time I brought you back with us, Maddie. He’s smitten hard. The only wonder is it took him so long to speak his mind.”

  Madeleine eased from her knees and sat on the floor. “I never saw this coming, Gwenith. And to keep the gossip straight, Royce has made no such declaration.”

  Gwenith pursed her lips. “As if I’d gossip about ye, Maddie.” She stroked her friend’s hand. “But I’m sure Royce spoke with his eyes and his heart if not his lips.”

  Madeleine sighed. “Yes, you are right.” She felt uncomfortable discussing it further, so she busied herself fussing with Gwenith’s pillows and adjusting the blanket.

  “Ye’re so good to me,” Gwenith whispered and fell into a deep sleep.

  Madeleine remained by her side for several minutes. Gwenith had become the sister she’d never had in a short amount of time. When she’d run into Gwenith and Evan after glimpsing Bertrand on the waterfront, it had been an answered prayer. Somehow Gwenith must have realized Madeleine was in trouble without having to be told.

  And that day, Gwenith had returned to the mummers with her in tow. Madeleine had become an integral part of the group in a short time. When she’d first played the lute and sang for them, her fate became sealed. Now she played for audiences before the mummers performed and provided entertainment between acts, as well. Sometimes she was pressed into service by narrating the short dramas. She had even composed a few original songs. It had been a happy few weeks.

  Once a month had passed and Madeleine was sure Henri was safely on his way back to Chateau Maraine, she began preparations to leave the troupe. They had been on the circuit since early April, and a few other talented people had joined in their progress. Madeleine was sure she could be replaced without much fuss.

  She had gone to Farley, the head of the mummers and told him of her intentions to leave.

  The hefty, bearded man boomed at her, “No, my girl, I can’t let ye go. Ye have the most wonderful voice I’ve heard in my two score of years. Our audiences will not be half what they are if ye desert us. Would ye see all of my people starve? I think not.”

  He crossed his arms over his rotund belly and thrust his chin in the air as if that had settled the matter.

  Madeleine turned to Elspeth, his wife. “Surely you understand that I am ready to return to my home?”

  Elspeth nodded solemnly. “Sure ‘n I do, me sweet. Pay ye no mind to that barrel—chested oaf. He’ll dance ta what’er tune I decide. Now be gone, child!” and she swatted Madeleine’s rump.

  Madeleine glanced over her shoulder as she left to witness Elspeth light into Farley, and him defend himself. �
�But, dearest, I was merely jesting with the girl. I would never . . .”

  Farley’s voice faded as Madeleine hurried back to pack her meager belongings. Besides the clothes she wore, she had few personal items. She had purchased a new lute. It had done well by her and helped her to earn her way until she was ready to see her parents again.

  But Gwenith’s sudden illness had put a stop to her plans. Not deliberately, of course, but Madeleine had remained all the same. Her friend looked so tired, and as Madeleine heard the hacking cough that Gwenith couldn’t seem to rid herself of, she decided that she owed it to Gwenith to stay until she was completely well. She would help her care for Evan, who would certainly keep anyone healthy running ragged, and she could now take part in the summer solstice.

  All the members of their entourage looked forward to this Midsummer’s Eve festival. They would spend three days at Summerville, home of a Lord Denton. Maybe by then Gwenith would be in better health, and Madeleine could cross the channel with peace of mind.

  But the solstice was less than a week away. Instead of improving as Madeleine had hoped, Gwenith continued wasting away. Her clothing hung on her, and she’d stopped performing entirely in the last few days. What was she going to do?

  Royce, too, had upset her, more than she would admit to Gwenith. She hated to lose his friendship, but she could not tolerate any type of flirtation. There was still a half—hour or so before the first show of the afternoon. Since Gwenith now slept, Madeleine decided to take a turn in the fresh air. It always seemed to clear her head.

  Madeleine pushed aside the flap of the tent and stepped out into the bright June sunshine. The colors and sounds of the faire assaulted her senses at once. She moved among the crowds, familiar now with these sights and sounds. Maman would be appalled by this type of life, but Madeleine rather enjoyed the freedom it gave her after so long being a prisoner within her own home.

  Suddenly, she froze in her tracks. Hannah, a pert—nosed brunette with a squeaky voice who sewed most of the costumes for the troupe, moved in her direction. Escorting her was none other than Sir Ashby, one of the two noblemen who had aided her escape from Frothmore that night almost two months past.

  Madeleine knew with certainty that the nobleman would recognize her. They’d spent too much time together in one another’s company for him not to know her upon first sight.

  Madeleine groaned aloud. Where Sir Ashby was, she was positive his friend, the brooding Lord Montayne, would soon appear. She did not care to see him face-to-face, especially since he had been so angry at her when they parted.

  She decided to skirt around the crowd and make her way back to the performance area. She would plead a sore throat and have Farley allow her to take York’s place in the play. York was a decent lute player, though not much of a singer. Still, he could perform before and between their scenes while she could be in plain sight of all, disguised by the heavy costume and mask York wore.

  She moved stealthily through the throng, hoping she would avoid attention. Just as she thought she’d made her way unseen, she heard shouts headed her way.

  “Stop, thief! Stop!”

  The cutpurse ran by her swiftly, throwing a cursory glance over his shoulder. She despised people who preyed upon others’ misfortune, and she was ready to see this shabby scoundrel caught. Madeleine stepped out, ready to give chase after the fellow when she felt something slam into her, throwing her to the ground. Pain erupted in her chest and she couldn’t draw a breath, as the wind had been knocked from her.

  She rolled into a ball, her arms instinctively wrapping around her in a protective cocoon. She had spent many a time lying on the floor after one of Henri’s swift punches to her stomach and she knew she must guard her ribs at all costs. Oh, God, it hurt so much when one broke. Please, not again. Not again.

  A hand, firm but reassuring, touched her shoulder. A voice came through the fog rolling through her brain. It wasn’t Henri! She half-laughed, half-gasped, as she opened her limbs and came to lie on her back. She even reached into her pocket and stroked Henri-the-pebble, validating that she was alive and unharmed.

  Yet who had attacked her? She peered up into the blinding summer sun but could not see who stood above her. Then the shadow moved, covering her face from the harsh light.

  “Why, if ‘tis not Lady Montayne,” said the dreaded familiar voice. “Tell me, my lady, where the hell is my favorite cloak?”

  Chapter 7

  “I could ask the same thing about my lute, my lord.”

  Garrett peered down into the angry face of the woman who had haunted his dreams by night and left him absent-minded by day. Their encounter had been brief, but he had never met a more remarkable woman. Not even his petite Lynnette had brought such a sweet longing to his loins as did the bewitching creature before him.

  Her honeyed hair, loosened from its intricate braid, curled around her shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat graced her upper lip. Without thinking, he wiped it away with his thumb. She flinched slightly, her dark, amethyst eyes glowering up at him.

  Garrett smiled in spite of himself, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He had forgotten how very tall she was as she stared at him, her cheeks flushed with anger.

  “Perhaps we could arrange a trade?” he suggested.

  She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m not sure if I trust you, my lord,” she countered.

  “Trust me?” he sputtered. “This from the woman who traipsed about the countryside claiming to be my wife?” Garrett paused to let his words sink in. He wanted this woman to know exactly who he was and that her pretense had been discovered.

  She shrugged nonchalantly, an almost Gallic air about her. She didn’t sound French, but there was an unmistakable manner to her movement. Garrett had spent enough time in France to recognize the gesture.

  “I chose a bloody awful name to scare away anyone who accosted me on the road. How was I to know I’d run into you?” She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “I’ve heard tales of the wicked Lord Montayne, how he frightens old and young alike and gobbles up babes for his dinner. Why, the very mention of his name causes grown men to plead for their lives and their loved ones. Oh, no, my lord, I was an honest liar. You were the one who resorted to trickery and hid your true identity from me.”

  Her accusation so startled Garrett his jaw flew open. She lifted her chin high and turned on her heel before he could make a retort. He grabbed her elbow and spun her around to face him. “Not so fast, my lady.”

  He studied her a second. Finally faced with her visage squarely in front of him, Garrett was at a loss of what to do. His emotions swirled out of control as he studied her narrowed eyes.

  “’Tis a curiosity,” he finally sputtered.

  She looked puzzled. “Curiosity?” she echoed.

  He nodded, his words spilling forth rapidly. “I know not who you are, nor where you come from. I’ve dreamed of you since that night, only to awaken to an emptiness.” His voice became low and tinged with sadness. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “What’s this?” an angry voice exclaimed.

  A man of about three and twenty strode toward them. He looked as Garrett imagined God’s angels to look—tall, fair—haired, blue—eyed. But this angel was muscular and had fisted hands. He appeared ready to deliver God’s wrath upon Garrett.

  Garrett released the elbow of the still nameless woman and turned to face the man, who marched straight past him and put an arm about the mystery lady.

  “Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you?” The stranger turned and glared at Garrett.

  The woman finally spoke. “No, Royce, things are fine,” she said evenly. “Lord Montayne helped me when I was in a precarious position a few months ago. I am grateful for the aid he rendered to me.” She flashed Garrett a look that he read to mean ‘stay quiet,’ and he did.

  “You’ve got those dark eyes, my sweet. I fear you are angry with this lord, even if he did help you.”

  Those amethyst eyes now focused
their fury on the one she had called Royce. “I’ll thank you kindly not to interpret my glances,” she said curtly.

  Garrett noticed the man seemed hurt by her words, but kept his arm steady about her nonetheless.

  She turned back to Garrett. “My thanks to you once more, my lord. ‘Tis a pleasure to see you again.” She smiled brilliantly at him. “And give my best to Sir Ashby.” With that, the couple turned, melting into the noisy crowd.

  Garrett swore softly under his breath. He still had no clue who this mystery woman was. Why had he let her go so easily?

  Madeleine waited until they were well out of Garrett’s earshot then turned to Royce. “Kindly remove your arm from me, Royce,” she said icily.

  He drew it away quickly. “I only meant to protect you, Madeleine. That gentleman looked quite put out with you and had hold of you. ‘Twas only for fear of your safety that I intervened.”

  She studied his contrite expression and softened. “I thank you then, Royce, but I could have done without your calling me ‘my sweet.’”

  “’Tis how I feel, Madeleine. I tried telling you earlier, but we were interrupted by Osbert.” His eyes reflected the hope she heard in his voice.

  She placed her hand on his shoulder. “I—”

  “There you are, Madeleine. About time you arrived. I sent Royce looking for you,” Farley interrupted them. “Didn’t want to start the performance late.”

  She dropped her hand. “Farley, may I have a quick word with you?” He nodded and she continued. “I would ask that York take my place today. I’m far too upset about Gwenith now to perform. I could easily play York’s role.”

  Although this had been her original idea to avoid Lord Montayne and Sir Ashby, she still thought it a good one. The mighty lord had no idea she was a part of this troupe.

  For all he could guess, she’d simply been enjoying the pleasures to be found at a country faire. She preferred to keep him in the dark, both to her identity and her traveling companions. When Gwenith became stronger, she still intended to leave and return home to France. The nobleman need never know who she was, since by now he surely had finished his business with Henri.