Song of the Heart (Medieval Runaway Wives Book 1)

by Alexa Aston

  “God wants His children to love one another and be happy, Madeleine. You are happy with me?” he asked, hesitation in his voice. “I have a reputation for coldness, though I’ve found that in your company I’m all heat and fire.” His eyes blazed with desire for her.

  Madeleine thrilled at his words and couldn’t help but tease him a bit. “You are never cold with me, my lord.” She cocked her head to one side. “Arrogant. Argumentative. Hardheaded perhaps, but never cold.”

  He laughed at her words. “You bring out the best in me.” He studied her a moment. “I know you are devoted to God and that it makes you uncomfortable kissing a married man. I promise I won’t kiss you again until I am freed by the Church.”

  Madeleine saw the determination in his eyes. He’d seemed so sad and yet so angry when she’d first met him. She realized how unhappy and lonely he’d been and felt grateful that she’d brought a little bit of sunshine into his life. As long as he promised not to touch her, what harm was there in giving him something to live for, something that renewed his energy and his outlook on life?

  Besides, she truly loved this man, loved for the first time ever. The depth of her emotions surprised her. Love for Garrett swept in and filled her heart before she’d known what was happening. She couldn’t imagine being parted from him and wished she could commit to him in body and soul for the rest of their lives.

  Yet Henri lurked in the shadows. Where only minutes ago she’d struggled to move about this room, now her struggle must be to stop this. Now. Before it was too late.

  Though this was the only happiness either of them had known in years, she must make Garrett see how impossible a love between them was. She could not let her selfish heart rule her head and give him hope for their love. Would she not do the same thing Lynnette had done by leaving him in the end? It was a cruel ploy.

  She must beg God to give her the strength to withstand this temptation. Her love for Garrett was too strong. She must put a chance at momentary happiness with him aside, for what if she gave him hope of a future together and then disappeared? She could imagine only too well how he would withdraw from life. If she vanished after pretending they would have a life together, her rejection might break him for good.

  She found voice for her brave words, though they rang hollow in her ears. “I am damaged goods, Garrett, a poor troubadour with a limp. I have a regretful past and no future, nothing to offer you. I cannot accept your love.”

  The heat in his eyes frightened her. Madeleine saw her words only challenged him. Garrett would be resolute in his quest for her. She prayed for strength and hoped God wouldn’t let her down.

  He moved toward her but she placed her hand upon his chest.

  “You said no more kisses,” she reminded him.

  “No more—after this one,” he said and lowered his head to hers one more time.

  *

  For the next two months while her leg slowly healed, Garrett held to his promise. He did not kiss Madeleine. He longed to every waking moment and dreamed of her at night, but he refused to break his pledge. Though she did accuse him on more than one occasion of looking at her like a hungry wolf before devouring a sheep.

  “I said nothing about looks, Madeleine. I may gaze upon you any way I like. And you may look at me with a certain fondness tomorrow, for I have a surprise to share with you.

  “I find I don’t care much for surprises, my lord.”

  He smiled at her. “Oh, I think you’ll be happy with this one.”

  The next morning, he entered her chamber, careful to mask any emotion, his cloak gathered about him.

  She cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “I suppose you’ve come bearing some gift to take my mind from my worries, my lord. Mayhap you have a sweetmeat or one of Cook’s tarts hidden within the folds of your garment? Go ahead, hand it over and be done with it.”

  He moved more closely to where she lay in her bed, propped up with pillows, and opened his cloak.

  She drew a sharp breath in, her eyes widening in shock. “My lute!” she cried.

  He handed her the instrument and watched the joy spread across her face. She clutched it closely to her breast, her whole body trembling as her eyes glistened with tears.

  “What think you of surprises now?”

  She took his hand and kissed it fervently. The heat from her lips scorched his skin. “Oh, my lord, my lord. You don’t know how happy this has made me. This, my most treasured possession, restored to me at last!”

  Then the smile died on her lips. He saw anger spark in her eyes as she pushed his hand aside. “You’ve had my lute all this time! Why did you not return it to me? I gave back your cloak, the very one you wear now. What wickedness possessed you to keep my lute from me? Oh, you are as black-hearted as Satan Himself!”

  “If you’ll remember, Madeleine, I stumbled upon you at a faire far from Stanbury, never expecting to lay eyes upon you again. Yes, you graciously returned my cloak to me that day but your beloved instrument was in my solar at Stanbury. I’d actually put it away for safekeeping, fearing Lyssa might discover it and cause some harm.”

  He sat beside her and took back her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. She tugged but he refused to give it up.

  “I’m afraid to say I didn’t give your lute a second thought, especially since you played one at each performance of the mummers. It was only when I stumbled across it that I knew I must return it to you.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Tell me you’re pleased at having it once again.”

  She stroked the lute’s smooth wood with her free hand. “Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I will forgive you.” She hugged the instrument. “I shall never let it from my sight again.”

  He excused himself, overcome by witnessing her strong emotions. He felt a tightening in his chest, ready to burst as he exited the room.

  Knowing that time spent in Madeleine’s company would never be enough, Garrett decided he must press the bishop harder for his petition to be granted. For what increased in his heart every day he spent in Madeleine’s company would not cease until he could freely hold the key to her heart without guilt.

  *

  Every day, Madeleine worked with Lyssa on her art and music and had begun teaching her letters, as well. The child caught on quickly and the hours flew by.

  They were working so intently that neither of them heard Annie until she appeared before them. “Time for a bath and a bite to eat.”

  Lyssa frowned but knew better than to protest. She followed Annie through the door, calling back to Madeleine, “I’ll see you on the morrow.”

  Madeleine awaited the tray that was brought to her room every night. She often ate alone, savoring the quiet time, sometimes composing new songs in her head. She usually entertained in the great hall after the evening meal, so she enjoyed this time spent in solitude.

  After finishing a light meal of cold chicken and bread, she heard a rap on the door.

  “Come in,” she called, knowing it was Coster. Each night he carried her down the steep stairs, which were much too difficult for her to navigate alone.

  The big serf entered the room wearing his usual sheepish grin. “How are you tonight, Madeleine?”

  Madeleine welcomed him. “I’m doing well, Coster. How is your daughter feeling?”

  Coster gently scooped her up. “’Tis almost time, me wife says. Agnes can’t catch her breath and waddles about like a duck. That’s a sign, that it is, Madeleine. The babe’ll be here before we know it.”

  He walked carefully along the shadowy hallway, his touch as gentle as his ways. Cook teased her unmercifully, saying how Coster was smitten with her and Madeleine noticed he did blush when she looked him directly in the eyes.

  The fragrant smell of warm bread mingled with the sweat of the men who’d worked a long day greeted them as they proceeded down the staircase to the great hall. Coster brought her across the room to the cushioned stool she sat upon every night as she worked her m
agic on the crowd.

  Madeleine caught Garrett’s eyes upon her, reading the jealousy in them as she rode in the huge arms of his servant. He had offered to bring her down himself each night but she had told him no, thinking it unseemly for the lord of the manor to wait on her in front of his people. She reminded him how, despite his simple ways, Coster had served the earl’s family faithfully going on two score now.

  While she’d tried her best to put distance between her and Garrett, it gave her a small thrill to see the longing in his eyes as Coster placed her on her feet and then helped seat her.

  “I’m off to check on news of the babe,” Coster whispered to Madeleine.

  “God be with Agnes,” she replied.

  October had just arrived and Madeleine was grateful she was near the roaring fire. Her fingers were cold and she warmed them before reaching for her lute. She sang a few songs first, all written since her accident, and they were warmly received, the loud applause causing her cheeks to flame. She hoped those gathered would think it was her nearness to the fire that caused the rosy glow.

  “I’d like to tell you tonight of the mighty Roland,” she said as she lay her lute aside.

  “’Tis another song, Madeleine?” called out Cook.

  “No, though I do know a few songs about him. I’d rather tell you this story instead.”

  Those in the great hall gathered closer, anticipation on their faces.

  “Once there was a famous king named Charlemagne, King of the Franks. He was a wise and just ruler who loved his people very much. That is why, while he was fighting the Saracens in Spain, he decided to leave, because he received word of some trouble at home.

  “He asked his nephew, Roland, along with a small band of knights, to guard the rear of his army while he returned home. They were charged to hold the pass at Roncesvalle. In spite of his reputation for bravery, Roland and his men were quickly attacked by the Saracens. It was a mighty force, four hundred thousand strong.”

  Gasps echoed throughout the hall. “Four hundred thousand?” asked Cook.

  Madeleine nodded and continued. “Roland fought bravely at the front of his small group, swinging a sword named Durendal. The battle was long and hard but, in the end, the numbers against the Franks were too great.”

  “Poor lads,” someone whispered.

  Many nodded their heads in agreement.

  “Roland was urged by his friend, Oliver, to sound the oliphant, a powerful horn Charlemagne had given his nephew. Only Roland could do so. It was said that the uproar would be so great that the ground would shake and chimneys would fall at its noise. Men would cry out, plunging fingers in their ears to keep the sound away. Yet Roland refused, saying that it should only be used in the most deadly of peril.”

  “What did he think four hundred thousand men were?” came a question from the rear.

  “Let her finish,” Cook begged and gestured at Madeleine to continue. “And then?”

  “The fighting continued and Roland’s group of knights fell, one by one, until he was the only remaining soul. He blew the oliphant, which Charlemagne heard. But by the time the king arrived, Roland lay at death’s doorstep. Charlemagne held his nephew in his arms as he breathed his last breath.”

  The crowd remained spellbound for a moment but Madeleine did not continue. Finally, someone called out, “Did Charlemagne kill the Saracens and avenge Roland’s death?”

  Everyone leaned forward expectantly, waiting for her answer. Madeleine smiled mysteriously and said, “That is a different tale for another time.”

  There were good-natured grumblings and, slowly, people drew themselves to their feet, ready for bed after the night’s entertainment. Madeleine watched them leave, remembering how Yves had often said, “You must always make them want more, ma cheri. Always give, but not too much, and they’ll want to hear you again and again. C’est bon, non?”

  Suddenly, Garrett appeared before her. “May I help you to your chamber?”

  Coster had not yet returned from checking on his daughter. She hesitated. Walking was becoming easier for her. She practiced each day for longer periods in her room but stairs were still beyond her.

  Garrett held a hand out to her. She took it tentatively. She liked the idea of being in his arms more than she should.

  “Perhaps you can assist me as I try the stairs,” she suggested. Her next words tumbled out in a nervous rush. “I removed the wrap from my leg yesterday. I probably need to stop babying it.”

  Garrett swept her up in his arms. “Quit your babbling, Madeleine. You can try the stairs on your own another time. This time”—he grinned crookedly at her—“I am here, and I wouldn’t pass on this opportunity for the world.”

  He mounted the stairs easily, his masculine scent and very nearness overwhelming her senses.

  “Truly, Garrett, I can walk,” she croaked. “I must.” Her voice cracked.

  He frowned at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I simply forgot to drink during my tale. I’m parched. I’m fine.”

  He proceeded down the hall, passing her chamber. “You missed the door,” she told him, her voice deep and raspy.

  “You need wine. I have some in the solar. I’ll give you a cup and then take you to bed.”

  *

  Madeleine eyed him speculatively, her brows arching. “Your solar?”

  Garrett smiled enigmatically at her and then squeezed her playfully, a squeak spurting from her lips. As he walked down the stone corridor, he wanted to jest with her some more but found his own mouth now dry. The thought of bedding her caused him to stir. He was so aware of her nearness, each breath she took, each blink of her eyelids.

  Now he finally had her in his arms after weeks without a single touch and he wanted nothing more than to make love to her.

  He regretted his rash promise of two months before. He had been full of hope that the bishop would send his petition immediately to Rome but that had not been the case. Despite Garrett’s insistence and liberal contributions, the cagey holy man had not acted swiftly, putting him off with one excuse after another. Garrett despaired of his suit reaching the Pope before the spring.

  He wondered how much more he could take, seeing Madeleine every day, longing to touch her. Now she was gathered in his arms, here in his chamber, something he’d only dreamed of each night. He took a deep breath and eased her onto the bed. Wanting to hide his arousal, he quickly moved to the other side of the room and busied himself with pouring two cups of wine.

  But then he lost all the willpower he’d gathered the minute he turned and saw her sitting straight and still on the bed. It reminded him how stiff she’d been against him that night they’d ridden Ebony together, the night they’d first met. She hadn’t truly relaxed until she’d fallen asleep in his arms. The memory of her body pressed to his was enough to shatter any control he had left.

  He slowly moved toward her, extending one of the cups. She drank a few sips nervously, her eyes never leaving his.

  He drained the contents and set the cup onto a table. “Drink up, Madeleine,” he urged.

  She did as he requested, her amethyst eyes wide as they peeked over the rim. Finishing, she handed him the cup, which he put next to his.

  “Thank you for the wine, my lord,” she said haltingly. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

  He sat next to her on the bed. “Do you not know that my every thought is of you?” He lifted her braid and brought it to his lips.

  She shivered. “My lord?”

  He stroked her hair along his jaw and across his cheek, savoring its silky texture. He traced the braid across her lips, then rubbed it lightly across her face. As he did, his knuckles grazed her cheek and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes met his as he began winding the braid around his hand, drawing her nearer to him.

  She tentatively caressed his cheek and he groaned. He placed his free hand behind her neck and brought her lips to his.

  The moment they touched, shock waves ripped thr
ough him and he moaned. She pushed her palms against his chest but he did not budge.

  “Garrett, we—”

  “No,” he shushed her, kissing her again. “We can’t go on as we have any longer. I must have you, Madeleine.”

  “It’s wrong,” she murmured into his mouth.

  He edged away from her for a moment and gazed into her eyes. “Then morality be damned.” Instead, he shifted her into his lap and continued the kiss, deepening it.

  *

  Madeleine’s stomach flipped as if she’d turned somersaults. Dizziness made her head spin as if she’d drunk too much champagne. As he kissed her, his hand left her neck and moved to her breast, slowly kneading it.

  She gasped.

  Garrett continued caressing her as his lips trailed along her jaw to her neck. He rained a shower of kisses there, causing her to tremble. He lifted her from his lap to place her across the bed. Even as he settled her, his mouth was on hers again, urgent in its demands. He stretched out next to her, throwing a leg over hers, trapping her.

  He reached for the hem of her tunics and lifted them slightly, touching her calf, stroking her skin up and down, massaging the flesh. He moved to the back of her knee, touching it lightly. Her breathing now came in uneven spurts. Still kissing her, his fingers moved higher, grazing her thigh as he moved to hover over her.

  He deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking hers, sucking on it gently, nipping it playfully. She reveled in sensations never experienced before. He continued brushing her thigh, then moved even higher, cupping her womanly parts, rubbing against the seam of her sex gently. Slowly, he pushed a finger inside her.

  Madeleine tensed, not understanding what he was doing, even as she began to quiver with need. He slid his finger out gradually and then pushed it back in quickly. She gasped, gripping his shoulders tightly. He continued the movement and she rose to meet his hand each time, whimpering quietly. He stroked her more deeply and more quickly until she cried out, her body shuddering violently as waves of pleasure exploded through her, leaving her limp and spent, wondering what had just occurred.