Song of the Heart (Medieval Runaway Wives Book 1)

by Alexa Aston

  She nodded. He did not take her arm, much as he desired, but remained by her side. He slowed his gait to compensate for her slight limp but they still reached the tent much too quickly.

  “Will you be all right?”

  She nodded. Before he could let her go, he took her hand and raised it to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her fingers. An electricity seemed to crackle through the calm, June night.

  She stared at him, her mouth half-open as if to speak, but no sound came out.

  “I will see you on the morrow,” he said.

  “Au revoir,” she answered softly and stepped inside.

  *

  Madeleine did not see Lord Montayne until late the next day, though she did spend time with Lyssa. The girl and Evan had turned out to be inseparable companions, one not daring to make a move or take a step unless the other was nearby.

  She spent a hopeless morning trying to help Hannah with some of the costumes. Several of them needed to be mended and all needed to be pressed in time for tomorrow’s opening performances.

  “Madeleine, you are all thumbs!” Hannah chastised. “Just leave. You are causing me more work than I had before you arrived.”

  She gave Hannah an apologetic look and took her leave. She passed Farley, who wore his usual fretful look and bellowed loudly at his wife. “What’s to be done, Elspeth? You can’t replace talent like Benton.”

  Elspeth snorted. “Benton’s talent is only marginal, Farley. ’Tis likely someone else in the company could do what that foolish boy did.”

  Madeleine interrupted. “What’s this about Benton?”

  Farley grunted. “The young fool off and ran away with some chit he’d just met. Where does that leave me?”

  Benton designed and painted the backdrops the mummers used in their productions. She smiled at the big man. “I used to paint some, Farley. I did mostly portraits but I’m sure I could help out however you need me.”

  Farley captured her in a bear hug, practically cutting off her air supply. He danced around with her. “Did you hear, Elspeth? Madeleine has saved the day.”

  “Who’ll save yer ample ass if ye don’t let go of such a sweet morsel?” his wife demanded.

  Farley’s eyes widened and he dropped his arms from Madeleine. “Now, my dear, don’t go there again.” He grinned wolfishly at Madeleine. “She’ll be jealous even when I’m fat, old, and gray.”

  Elspeth snorted. “Ye are fat, old, and gray, ye simpleton.” Yet she affectionately patted his rump. “Now, me wee girl, ’tis a good thing ye know a thing or two about paints, because Benton left things half-done. Come, I’ll show ye everything to do.” She linked arms with Madeleine and led her off, Farley cackling behind them.

  Madeleine pressed into service any spare body she could find. The troupe, used to pitching in and lending a hand to whomever needed help, was more than willing to aid her. Before nightfall, every backdrop had been completed and every prop was ready to go.

  At twilight, she realized Lyssa was still with her. The girl had been her shadow all afternoon. Madeleine had reassured a nervous Annie that the child would be safe with her. She promised the servant she would return Lyssa to the castle before the evening meal, though she made no promises how clean she’d be.

  Despite her young age, Lyssa had proven quite adept with a brush. Madeleine found a few scraps of canvas and urged Lyssa to draw something for her.

  “Anything you’d like, Lyssa. You’re free to put whatever you want upon the cloth.”

  The child concentrated so her brow wrinkled. Within a few minutes, she had a good likeness of Evan before her.

  “That’s excellent, Lyssa. You have quite a talent,” Madeleine praised.

  “I can sing and I draw, Madeleine.”

  Suddenly a shadow appeared on the page. Madeleine raised her head to find Garrett there, his head cocked to one side as he studied his daughter’s work.

  “You did this, Lyssa?”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said meekly.

  He crouched down and studied the sketch. “This is very good, Lyssa. Very good, indeed.” He patted her head affectionately. “I think you draw and sing equally well. Why have you not shared this with me before?”

  Lyssa frowned. “You’re always busy, Papa. You go to London a lot. I don’t ever see you.”

  Garrett ruffled her hair. “Then mayhap I will change that, my girl.”

  She hugged his neck, a sweet smile on her face. “Madeleine draws, too, Papa. She’s even better than me.”

  Garrett eyed Madeleine. “Madeleine seems to have many talents.”

  “Oh, I haven’t drawn in a long time, my lord,” she replied, conscious of her paint-splattered tunic and the strands of hair that had escaped her braid. “I only did so as a girl. My own papa indulged me.”

  “Show me something.”

  “Why not?” Madeleine picked up a flat, sand-colored rock. She concentrated for a few minutes and then presented it to Garrett.

  He recognized Lyssa at once. In but a few simple lines, Madeleine had captured his daughter’s essence, the brightness of her soul. “This is remarkable. I insist you give Lyssa not only singing lessons but drawing lessons, as well.”

  “Once the faire begins, I would be happy to do so, my lord. We should be here for another two weeks or so, I’d imagine. I think Lyssa and I could meet several times.”

  “I insist upon being present when you work with her.”

  “Why, my lord?”

  “I have my reasons,” he said cryptically.

  “She might be stifled by your presence. It may make her uncomfortable.”

  “No, that won’t be a problem.” He looked around for Lyssa, who’d quickly tired of the adult conversation and run off with Evan again. “Come, child. Annie grows impatient. She wishes to put you in a bath and fill your belly with meat and bread.”

  Garrett swept Lyssa upon his shoulders and she squealed her delight. He raised a brow at Madeleine. “The faire opens tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “I hope you will bring Lyssa to see the mummers perform.”

  Garrett took in the high color on Madeleine’s cheeks, the sweet curves hidden beneath her flowing clothing, the intense heat in her gaze as she met his eyes. “We wouldn’t miss it.”

  *

  As he’d promised, Garrett didn’t miss one performance that first day. Every time Madeleine took her place, he was there.

  He’d sat spellbound, watching her, listening to her. It mattered not if she told of Beowulf and Grendel or sang of unrequited love. Her music made him lightheaded and lighthearted.

  During the other acts, he often found his mind wandering, fantasizing about making love to Madeleine. He knew his lust was wrong, knew he was still wed to Lynnette, but the thoughts continued nonetheless. He wanted Madeleine next to him in his bed, night after night. With each kiss and every stroke, he would break down and solve the mysteries surrounding Madeleine, until she was thoroughly his.

  “Papa,” Lyssa whispered loudly in his ear, bringing him back to the present.

  Lyssa sat in his lap, transfixed by the proceedings on stage. The play had all the classic elements an audience required, including this final, crucial sword fight between the hero and villain. Lyssa wrapped her arms around his neck tightly as the swords clanged loudly against each other. The audience gasped with each blow.

  Finally, the villain stabbed the hero, who collapsed as the crowd groaned. Yet, while preening, the evildoer accidentally tripped and fell, striking his head. He was out cold, helpless, and the audience cheered the hero on, urging him to rise—despite his fatal wound—and finish off the rogue. Cries of anguish rippled through the crowd when the hero failed to move.

  But, no, wait, the doctor appeared, and magically brought the hero back to life. The hero roused the villain for one more round and thrust his sword into him until he landed the fatal blow. The villain died, the hero lived, and the crowd went wild with applause.

  Lyssa bounced excitedly up and down. Garrett
had no cause to calm her high spirits. She’d been still for too long. She jumped from his lap when Madeleine made her way over to them after all bows had been taken.

  “Did you enjoy the performance, Lyssa?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes.” The little girl’s eyes were shining with excitement. “The best part was when Evan brought the sword out to the hero. Don’t you think it was the best part, Madeleine?”

  She laughed and squeezed Lyssa’s shoulder. “Of course, sweetie. Evan did the very best job today.”

  “You did, too, Madeleine. I want to sing just like you.”

  “Then we must think on when to have your lessons.”

  “Now, Papa. I want them now.” Lyssa clapped her hands excitedly. “But I want to see the faire. Can we?”

  “Let me check quickly on Gwenith,” Madeleine said. “She’s been doing so much better since we arrived at Stanbury. I’ll only be a minute.”

  As she left, Ashby wandered up. “How did you like the little drama, Lyssa?”

  “I want to sing like Madeleine. I want to be a mummer.”

  Ashby chuckled. “What would your papa say about you leaving him and traipsing about the countryside?”

  “Oh, Papa won’t mind. He likes Madeleine and she does it.”

  “He does?” Ashby murmured, raising an eyebrow at Garrett.

  Garrett scowled. “Enough, Ash. Go off and find yourself some company. Yours is not required here.”

  “Seems you’re in a great hurry to get rid of me, Garrett.”

  “No. I only know how impatient you are when you could be looking for a pretty maid.”

  “Fair enough.” He swept into a bow. “Good day, Lyssa.” As Madeleine approached them, he bowed again. “And good day to you, Madeleine.” He winked at her, a roguish smile on his features.

  “Good day to you, Sir Ashby.”

  “Come, Papa.” Lyssa tugged on Garrett’s hand. She took Madeleine’s in the other. “I’m hungry.”

  Madeleine thought a moment. “You might want to sample some of the flatbread, Lyssa. ’Tis made with honey poured on top and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.”

  “Oh, yes, Papa, let’s go have bread.”

  Garrett purchased several pieces. As promised, the treat was sweet and filling. They visited several of the booths, taking in all the various trinkets and wares. Madeleine pointed out some of the cheeses that were especially good, and Garrett promised to have his steward come and buy several rounds.

  A kitten suddenly crossed their path, stopping at Lyssa’s feet and meowing plaintively. Lyssa knelt to pet it, and the tabby scrambled into her lap.

  “Sorry, my lord,” called a heavy woman, waddling in their direction. “He escaped from the bunch.” She bent to take the kitten but Lyssa shook her head and held on to the furry creature tightly. It began purring loudly.

  “He likes me, Papa! Listen.”

  Garrett leaned down and heard the noisy purring. He gingerly stroked the kitten under its neck. Looking at the woman, he asked, “How much?”

  The woman named her price and Garrett removed a coin from his purse, tossing it to her.

  Staring at the coin and then him, she stammered, “’Tis much too generous, my lord.”

  Garrett gave her a rare smile. “This kitten has found a good home. Go find a place for the rest of the litter.”

  The woman thanked him profusely and went on her way.

  “Thank you, Papa. I shall love him forever and ever.” She nestled the kitten under her neck and he playfully licked her ear, causing her to giggle.

  “What shall you name him, Lyssa?” asked Madeleine.

  “I shall call him Luke,” she informed them.

  Garrett sucked in a breath. “Why would you choose a person’s name, Lyssa? Why not Patches or Scratch or—”

  “Papa,” interrupted Lyssa, “his name is Luke, like your brother. Aga told me you loved him very much and I shall love my Luke even more.” She kissed the kitten on the top of his head and skipped away.

  “Madeleine!” Edgar came hurrying toward them. “There’s a bit of a problem that requires your attention.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Madeleine pushed through the small crowd that had gathered near a stall selling fritters and fruit tarts. She saw what had to be Evan sitting on the ground. At least she assumed it was Evan.

  “How did he get his head stuck in a bucket?” she asked, trying to bite back a grin.

  Edgar shrugged. “I don’t rightly know, Madeleine. You know our Evan, though. Where there’s Evan, trouble’s bound to catch up.”

  “Mmmppmmpphh!” The muffled sound came from beneath the bucket.

  Edgar tapped on the surface. “I brung Madeleine!” he bellowed. “She’ll be getting you out in no time.”

  He turned back to her. “Won’t let no one near him. Keeps pulling up on it and falling down. I knew you’d know what to do.”

  At that moment, Evan fell back upon the ground, feet kicking wildly as he tried to extract his head from the bucket.

  “It’s Madeleine, Evan,” she said in the calmest, most authoritative voice she could muster. “Quit squirming about and sit quietly. I want to see how tightly you’re wedged in.”

  He obeyed her immediately, his small chest heaving as she reached her hand inside. The wooden pail sat firmly wedged around his head, mashing his nose to one side. His hair was warm and damp.

  “You’re a brave lad, Evan,” she said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll get you out, but it requires patience on your part. Can you be still?”

  The bucket nodded. The group assembled lost their battle to hide their smiles.

  Madeleine turned to Edgar. “I need pig’s grease—and plenty of it.”

  The mummer practically flew from his spot to do her bidding, almost bowling Lord Montayne over in the process.

  “’Scuse me, my lord.” Edgar bobbed his head several times and raced off.

  Lyssa ran forward and dropped down beside Evan. She patted his hand as she tried to look under the bucket.

  “Can you hear me, Evan?” she hollered.

  A muffled “Yes,” came from within.

  “Feel my kitten, Evan.” She took his hand, guiding it until he touched fur. “This is Luke, my new kitten. He likes being petted.”

  Evan sat, bucket atop his head, stroking the small furball until Edgar arrived.

  “Back with the grease, Madeleine. Don’t ask how I got it.”

  She laughed and took the pail he held. Kneeling, she told Evan, “You’ll smell awfully bad in a moment, Evan. Breathe from your mouth when it gets foul.”

  Taking a handful from the container, she rubbed the grease around Evan’s neck and the edges of the bucket that imprisoned him.

  “May I help?” the earl asked.

  Madeleine shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord. You’ll get yourself dirty.”

  He laughed. “Madeleine, I was once a little boy. I know what it’s like to be dirty.”

  She studied him thoughtfully. She could just imagine him as a young boy, dirt smudged on his cheeks and matted hair. Then she pictured a bucket atop his head now. Her robust laugh filled the air.

  “If you wish,” she said, a smile lighting up her face. “I could use an extra pair of hands.” Madeleine thought it unusual that a nobleman would even care about a peasant child’s predicament but Lord Montayne was proving to be different from any man she’d met.

  She plunged her hands back into the pail and he did likewise. As their hands touched in the grease, his eyes met hers. A shiver rushed through her. His hands clasped hers for a brief moment before he released them. He scooped a goodly amount of grease from the pail and she followed his lead.

  Together, they lubricated Evan’s neck, working the oily filth into his hair and along the sides of the bucket. Each time their fingers met, her belly fluttered as if butterflies had been loosened inside it. She bit her lip, trying to concentrate on the task at hand.

  As Lyssa distracted Evan with her chatter and
the kitten, Madeleine nodded to Lord Montayne. He grabbed the top while she slipped a hand on each side of Evan’s head, gently pushing on the bucket as the nobleman tried to wiggle it off.

  “Yow!” Evan hollered as his wooden helmet came free. A rough, red stripe creased his forehead, surrounded by globs of grease coating his thick, unruly hair. Lyssa giggled. The infectious sound spread and the entire group gathered began bubbling with laughter. Evan looked sheepish but even he joined in the fun.

  “You’re a mess, Evan,” Madeleine told him. “We’d better clean you up.”

  “I’ll take care of him, Madeleine,” Edgar said, yanking the boy to his feet. “Come with me, young man. We’ll have you fit and fine in no time.”

  After one more stroke for the kitten, Evan trotted off.

  Madeleine sighed and turned to Lord Montayne, nervous to meet his eyes.

  He gave her a brilliant smile. “We make quite the team, Madeleine.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” She swallowed hard. “I fear you’ll need a change of clothes, as well.”

  He wiped some of the excess fat still on his hands upon the grass. “That’s no problem, Madeleine. We’ll just plan on starting Lyssa’s lessons tomorrow.” He grinned at her. “Go freshen yourself up. You can’t play your lute with slippery fingers.”

  She observed the greasy smears covering her tunic and her sticky hands. “Good advice, my lord.”

  *

  The next few days sped by quickly. Madeleine took part in the dramas several times a day, checking in on Gwenith between performances. During her longer break, when York acted as narrator, she spent time inside the castle with Lyssa. She was amazed at the talent the young girl possessed.

  In one short week, Lyssa had caught on quickly to different chords on the lute and could already play a few simple songs. They also practiced painting and, for her young age, Lyssa showed promise.

  The earl attended every lesson in the small, sunny room provided for their instruction. He never interfered during the lessons but his dark eyes constantly burned as he watched her working with his daughter. Madeleine wished she could forget his presence and, instead, lose herself in conversation with Lyssa.