by Alexa Aston
That made Jessimond hunger for them all the more.
Tonight, they walked in silence to the running water and cleaned the company’s dinnerware quickly, stacking the bowls back into the crate. Instead of starting back, however, Marcus plopped down on the bank.
“Come join me,” he invited.
She sat beside him. Not too close but near enough to feel his warmth and smell the spice of the soap he used as its scent rose from his skin.
“I hear you’ll be singing in Bartholomew’s place tomorrow.” He casually slipped an arm around her waist.
“Aye,” she answered, her mouth growing dry. “He’s bothered by a cough and his throat is sore. I’m boiling herbs for him to ingest and gargle with.”
“I see.” His free hand reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
Jessimond stared into those mesmerizing blue eyes, willing him to kiss her. She began worrying her bottom lip and his fingers tightened against her waist. Then his mouth descended ever so slowly until their lips met.
That was all the encouragement she needed.
Her hands cupped his face, the stubble rough against her palms. She parted her lips and he accepted the invitation, his tongue slipping inside and gliding along the roof of her mouth, sending chills through her. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks as he kissed her as he had in the tent that first time. Both his arms now encircled her, making her feel safe inside the steel bands. Jessimond almost purred as a contented cat might.
Marcus broke the kiss. “I could do this all night,” he murmured against her lips.
She smiled against his mouth. “Do you have the stamina to go all night?” she teased.
He growled and yanked her toward him. Her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest and she linked her hands behind his neck, rubbing against him. His hand slid from her back and cupped one breast, squeezing it. His fingers found her nipple and rolled it, causing shoots of pleasure. Jessimond pressed closer to him as his other hand imitated the first, kneading her breasts and teasing the nipples. The friction drove her mad.
Marcus pulled her into his lap now, his hands gliding along her curves. She kissed his neck and then had the urge to lick it. His skin tasted slightly salty as the growl deepened in his throat. His lips found hers again and showed her just how skilled he was. Soon, Jessimond found herself breathless, coherent thought impossible.
Then he stopped abruptly. Lifted her from him and rested her back on the ground next to him. She heard his rapid breathing and knew he fought to gain control. Quickly, he pushed himself to his feet and then grabbed both her wrists and brought her to hers. Still holding on to her, he dipped his head and gave her one sweet, final kiss.
“Dream of me tonight, Jess,” he implored. “I know I will dream of you.”
Jessimond wished it could be more than dreams and stolen kisses between them. She wanted to become a part of him. Her mother had explained love play to her long ago. More than anything, she needed this man inside her. She wanted to scream his name as he pleasured her and feel his bare skin, slick with sweat, against hers. She needed to touch him. Ride him.
Love him.
That thought brought her to her senses. Marcus had been frank with her. He didn’t believe in love—something every de Montfort lived for. Jessimond didn’t know who held Marcus’ loyalty. Where he lived. What his situation was. He’d continued to hold back from her, which made her believe he wasn’t in a position to commit to her—or anyone else.
“We need to return to the others,” he said softly.
“Aye.”
She watched him retrieve the dishes and joined him as they returned to the camp. The fire had burned down to embers. Only a few mummers sat around it. The others had already gone to their tents for the night. Marcus set the crate down and walked with her to her tent.
“Are you married?” Jessimond asked him. “Or do you have a sweetheart? You tease me and then stop as if you are guilty of something and then try to put distance between us.”
He startled, his eyes widening. “Nay.” Frowning, he lifted her braid, toying with the end. “Do you think so little of me, Jess? Or do you know so little of my character that you think I would kiss you like that if I were committed to another?”
Frustrated, she said, “Sometimes, I believe I know all I need to about you, Marcus. Other times, I realize there’s still so much I haven’t learned about you. Where you live. The name of your liege lord. The mission you and Rand are on. Why two knights joined the Vawdrys’ troupe.”
Marcus swished the tail of her braid against the tip of her nose. “All in good time, sweetheart. I promise you—those answers will come—in time.”
He dropped her braid and took her hand. Turning it palm up, he pressed a fervent kiss into the center. The heat from his lips caused her blood to stir.
“Goodnight, Jess.” Marcus kissed her palm once more and released her hand.
As he walked away, Jessimond wondered if she could ever have a future with this man.
Chapter 12
Jessimond went to Bartholomew’s tent and found the troubadour sitting up on his pallet and in good spirits.
“I brought you fresh bread and more to gargle and drink. Gargle first,” she instructed, handing over the bowl containing the fragrant combination of sage and thyme.
He took it and stepped outside the tent. She heard him gurgling the liquid several times before he returned. Handing over the bowl of steeped lungwort, he sipped the warm brew and ate the bread she’d brought.
“Do you feel well enough to return to the stage today?” she asked.
He swallowed and said, “I tested my voice this morning. It’s too weak to carry across the crowd. I think another day of rest will be best.”
Jessimond nodded, glad that the troubadour had come to this decision on his own. She had not wanted to dictate to him what he should do, especially if he thought she might be trying to replace him. Bartholomew was the troupe’s only troubadour.
“The crowds have missed you. No one sings quite like you do.”
She saw her comment pleased him.
“When I do return, I’ll have several shows to do each day. I was thinking that, mayhap, you would continue to join me. At least until we leave Whitmore,” he suggested. “We could sing several songs together and then do one apiece on our own. That way, the Vawdrys and their paying customers would still be happy and I wouldn’t overtax my voice.”
“I think it’s a good idea. I will tell Elias and Moss what is planned.”
Bartholomew gave her a warm smile. “Thank you for caring for me, Jess.”
“Continue to rest your voice today but go ahead and move about the camp. You want to build your strength back up after lying abed these past two days.”
Jessimond left the tent and decided it was time to head to the stage area. She fetched her lute and saw Peter emerge from the tent he shared with several mummers.
He waved and came toward her. “Are you going to the stage? If so, I will walk with you.” He took her lute in hand.
“I barely see you,” she said. “The Vawdrys keep you busy.”
“Aye, and Rand has also been teaching me swordplay. I’ve gotten quite good at it. He said I should be ready soon to spar with him in front of the crowds.”
“Be careful,” Jessimond cautioned. “While you may be here to protect me at my father’s request, I feel equally responsible for your welfare.”
“Are you enjoying this summer with the mummers?”
“I am,” she replied. “Sewing new costumes for the two additional plays has kept me busy. In fact, I’m working on one for you now.”
Peter’s face lit up. “I don’t have a large role. Ralph drafted me more for my size than my speaking ability. Still, learning a few lines has been different from swinging my hammer. We practice again this afternoon and will perform the new play tomorrow for the first time.”
“Then I will make sure you will be appropriately attired.”
“How do you like performing, Jess? I know you sang for us in the great hall at Kinwick some, but this has to be different.”
“It is. At home, I could sing and be in the background why others conversed or ate or danced. Here, I am the center of attention. At first, I was quite nervous but I’ve become more comfortable with it. I figured out the crowds are not present to see me but hear me. So I don’t worry about how I look. I concentrate on the words and the melody and hope I take the audience on a journey through the music.”
“It seems as if you’ve made friends,” Peter said.
“I think we both have. I like going around to the different booths and seeing some familiar faces and then newer ones at each stop we make. I’ve always enjoyed sewing, so stitching new costumes and repairing old ones has been a pleasant way to pass the time. It’s been nice to share my music around the campfire and hear stories from the mummers about tours from the past. I’ve also made a good friend in Agatha.”
“What about Marcus?”
Jessimond took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Marcus has also become a good friend.”
They walked on silently for a few minutes and then Peter asked, ““How will you feel when we part ways with the mummers? I hear Marcus and Rand are supposed to return to the estate where they serve.”
Her belly flipped over once. “Do you know where it is?”
“Nay. Just that they will not be continuing with the mummers next year. The same as us.”
“Have you told others we will not be back?” she asked.
Peter shook his head. “It hasn’t come up. If it did, I would not commit one way or the other.”
“I promise you this is the only time I’ll ever do something so frivolous and carefree, Peter. This time next year, you and I will be home.” She paused. “Do you miss Kinwick?”
He shrugged. “A little. But like you, I’m making the most of this time away. We’re traveling to places I would never have seen otherwise. In the end, though, I will be glad to be home.”
“With Agatha?” she teased.
Peter blushed. “She told me that you’ve invited her to come back with us to Kinwick. That you said the countess would have a place for her inside the keep. Agatha is weary of the road and wishes to find a permanent home. She’s hoping that Kinwick may be the answer. She is very excited about that possibility.”
“I hope you are, as well, Peter.”
He stopped. “I will be ready to tell her the truth soon, Jess. That I am a blacksmith and you are a lady. I hate being dishonest with Agatha. A lie of omission is still a lie.”
Jessimond didn’t trust if Agatha knew the truth that she would be able to keep it to herself. “Then wait and tell her the truth once we arrive at Ancel and Margery’s estate. I’m to send word to Mother and Father once we complete the mummers’ tour and they will join us there and then escort us home. It will give Agatha time to become used to who the two of us really are.”
“Good. The sooner, the better.” Peter hesitated. “I have strong feelings for Agatha, Jess.”
“Do you love her?”
“Aye, I do. I won’t tell her now. Not with these secrets between us. Once we get to Bexley, though, she will know all. I hope she won’t be angry that I—that we—deceived her.”
“Agatha will be fine,” Jessimond promised.
They began walking again and arrived at the stage.
“I’m off to work with Rand,” Peter said, handing the lute to her.
“I will see you later.”
Jessimond weaved through the crowds. Reaching the stage, she rested her lute on it and then climbed up. Elias nodded at her, letting her know that she could begin when she wished since so many people had already arrived. Once the music started, the rest would stream in. She plucked a few of the strings, making sure the instrument was still in tune. It was hard to believe that some of her happiest moments this summer had come while performing in front of others, both here and at night after the mummers’ evening meal. Jessimond had always been the quiet de Montfort. All her siblings, save for Edward, were outgoing and carefree, easily drawing and basking in attention from others. Even now, ever since Edward wed Rosalyne, her once serious brother now laughed more often and seemed more open than before.
She, on the other hand, had been the one who nurtured others. One who made sure everyone else remained comfortable and happy. If attention rested upon her, she deflected it onto others, wishing to stay in the background. Jessimond had always been content to do for others over herself.
Although this still remained the essence of her character, this summer had seen her begin to change, as if she emerged from a cocoon. Jessimond didn’t know who she would finally be once the process ended—or how she would fit into Kinwick when she returned.
Moss brought a stool out for her to sit upon. At first, she had wanted to perch on the end of the stage but Elias said the majority of the paying customers in attendance wouldn’t be able to see her that way. It had taken all the courage she could summon to sit atop the stool in the center of the stage. Jessimond was proud that she had done so because now that stool seemed like a second home to her.
A familiar tingling made its appearance after she seated herself. It let her know that Marcus was somewhere in the audience. He didn’t attend her every performance but her body seemed to always know when he did. She glanced around and spotted him on the edge of the crowd, to her left, and acknowledged his presence with a nod.
Strumming the instrument’s strings, Jessimond began with two songs which she had learned years ago from Beatrice, and then sang another two that Bartholomew was fond of playing. She glanced to the side and saw Elias hold up two fingers. That meant two more songs until the mummers would be ready.
She decided to sing one of her own compositions, a lively ditty that had a simple chorus. Jessimond waved her hand, encouraging the crowd, and soon they joined in each time the chorus came up. When the song ended, the ensuing laughter and clapping had her beaming.
Then she did as Moss had advised before she began performing solo. She allowed the audience to settle down before she began to pluck the strings again, once more choosing a song she had written herself. Unlike the ditty, the first she’d composed, this song had been created during her time with the mummers.
It was a love song.
Jessimond made a deliberate choice and sang it to Marcus, looking only at him while she played. When it ended, she dropped her eyes to the ground.
As the last note faded, no one stirred. Her throat tightened, not only from the emotion she had poured into the song, but from the lack of acknowledgement by the crowd. She realized that they wouldn’t like every song the same and she had gotten them involved in the one before, with its lively, spirited pace. She supposed this last tune simply missed the mark and vowed never to perform it again.
Suddenly, shouts of approval sounded. Those gathered cheered loudly, stomping their feet and applauding with zeal. Jessimond’s face lit on fire. She jumped to her feet and gave a quick nod before fleeing the stage.
“Well done,” Elias said as she rushed by him.
Several other mummers smiled and patted her on the back as she retreated. Agatha slowed her down, grabbing and hugging her tightly, the lute mashed between them.
“That was lovely,” her friend proclaimed. “I’ve never heard anyone with your talent, Jess.”
“Thank you,” she managed to say. “I’m off to work on the new costumes. I will see you later.”
Jessimond escaped the area. Needing to be by herself, she deliberately skirted the faire and its buyers and sellers, giving the area a wide berth. She reached the tents, breathing hard after her quick jaunt. She moved to the shade of a tree and stood a moment, catching her breath.
“Jess!”
Turning, she saw Marcus hurrying toward her. She couldn’t read what was in his face.
“You disappeared.” His tone was neutral, neither accusing nor questioning her.
“I
have many garments to stitch. Peter told me that Ralph intends to put on the first of the new plays tomorrow afternoon. If that’s so, I will be busy the remainder of today in order to complete all the costumes.”
Jessimond was glad the lute served as a buffer between them. She clasped it tightly to her chest.
Still, he placed his hands on her shoulders. As always, his touch singed her like fire. “Your voice is remarkable. So are your songs.”
“Thank you. The first ones I learned from Beatrice, my cousin’s wife. Beatrice sings like a lark.” Jessimond smiled. “I hadn’t thought about it before but she would have made the best troubadour England has ever seen.”
“I meant your songs, Jess,” Marcus said, his voice rough and low. “You did write them. I know you did.”
“The last two?” she asked, her nerves fraying. “Aye. The ditty was the first song I ever came up with. I’ve added to it over the years. My family loves to sing along with it. That’s why I encouraged the crowd to do the same. I thought they would enjoy being a part of it.”
His fingers tightened against her skin, not painfully, just holding her firmly in place.
“And the last one. What of it? When was it written?”
She swallowed. “It’s been coming to me over the last few weeks,” she admitted. “All the pieces finally slipped into place last night. I thought I would give it a try.”
“It was a love song,” Marcus said.
“Aye, though it was more about unrequited love.”
“At the end, you left the door open. Did the woman fling herself from the cliff—or did she turn away and move on with her life?”
“’Tis for whoever hears the song to decide that for himself,” she stated. “Was her heart shattered so much by her secret lover that she feared she couldn’t go on without him? Or did she resolve to show that she was strong enough to survive on her own?” Jessimond shrugged. “I think it makes the song more intriguing by allowing the audience members to decide for themselves.”
His gaze held hers. “Was it about you and me, Jess?”