Music for My Soul (11 page)

Pascal nodded to Garrett. “You’ve made a fine purchase, my lord. Your lady will be proud to wear such fine stones.”

Garrett kept his remarks to himself and moved away. He wound his way through the intricate stall area, where everything from salt to weapons were being bartered and sold. The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, and many people were trying to conclude their transactions.

He found the last play of the day being performed. The troubadour narrating was talented, but his song had none of the depth that Madeleine’s voice had held. He wandered around behind the stage, where the group was in a frenzy.

He spied a fat monk emerging from one of the many tents pitched in the area.

“Were you here to see Gwenith?” Garrett asked.

The monk looked surprised. He studied Garrett carefully before answering, his eyes disappearing into slits within the folds of his face. “Yes, my lord. You know the woman?”

Garrett nodded curtly. “How is she?”

The monk shook his head, the rolls of fat now jiggling. “Not good, my lord. Her condition seems to be deteriorating rapidly. Her fever runs hot, and there’s blood brought forth with every cough.” He crossed himself. “May God be merciful.”

“What would she need to become well?”

The holy man took a step back, then tapped a fat finger against his jowl. “I’m not sure she can be made whole again, my lord. It could be the sweating sickness. More than likely ‘tis scrofula. She would need total bed rest, of course, and none of this moving about from place to place. Constant care, too.”

The monk narrowed his eyes. “I’ll pray for her, my lord. ‘Twould be right to light a candle for her.” He hesitated, eying Garrett hopefully.

When Garrett did not respond, the monk shrugged. “’Tis only a thought, my lord. A small donation, and mayhap God will relieve her burden.”

Garrett scowled, not believing a coin offered and a lit candle would make even a ghost of a chance. Yet for reasons he could not explain, he tossed the monk a gold coin. Ignoring the thanks lavished upon him, Garrett dismissed him with a wave of his hand and quietly entered the tent he’d seen the man come from.

He hovered in the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the faint light inside. Propped up on a pallet was a woman who, although pretty, was obviously quite ill. Her eyes burned unnaturally bright in her wan face. Her pallor contrasted sharply with the vibrant red hair cascading around her shoulders.

Madeleine sat by her side, murmuring soothing words to her. She held Gwenith’s hand in one of hers, the other pushing the hair from her brow. A young boy, his face stained with tears, huddled next to Madeleine, clutching her skirts tightly.

Garrett stepped back outside the tent, his emotions too close to the surface. He prided himself on his control, but the scene he witnessed brought back too many painful memories. He had spent many hours at his beloved older brother’s bedside before Luke expired from typhoid fever. His mother had begged Garrett to leave, afraid he would catch it. In a strange way, Garrett had secretly hoped he would. He had idolized Luke, following him around like a puppy his entire life. If Luke were gone, then life had not seemed worth living.

Garrett remembered the last time they’d spoken. It was late, the castle bedded down for the night. Most of the servants avoided Luke’s chamber, their fear of the fever keeping both them and Luke’s friends away.

A single candle burned next to the bedside, casting eerie shadows on the wall. Luke had been sleeping, his body restless, flinching and twitching. Suddenly, he’d opened his eyes, which burned with the typhus, making them shine brightly.

Grabbing Garrett’s hand, he whispered, “I still have the scar, you know.”

Confused, Garrett asked, “What scar?”

His brother grinned mischievously. “The one on my shoulder. The one you put there, you cretin.”

Garrett chuckled. “I wanted to hunt, just as you and father did.”

“And I was your quarry?”

Garrett shrugged. “I was only four, Luke.” He grinned at the memory. “I thought Father would flay me when I charged you with that spear.”

Luke shuddered. “How you lifted the damn thing is beyond me.”

“I know,” Garrett said softly.

Luke slipped back into sleep as quickly as he’d awakened. Those were the last words he’d spoken. Garrett held his hand for an hour before he’d felt the warmth give way. He was still holding it when the morning rays cast their first light upon a new day. The first he’d faced without Luke. Unluckily for him, he never caught the fever. No hovering between life and death for Garrett. But he’d never been the same. With Luke’s passing, something of him, too, had died. With Lynnette’s abandoning him for another man, it seemed what little feeling he’d had left had gone, as well. Only at rare times did he feel anything, and that was when Lissa brought a smile to his lips.

Mayhap that was what was different about Madeleine. She had caused him to feel again. How, he did not know, but in some inexplicable way, she made him want to live again. She had a spark of vitality about her, capturing his imagination as Luke had all those years ago. When she spoke, he had an interest in whatever came from her mouth. Most of it had been absolute nonsense, but it was entertaining, all the same. She had a wit about her. For a woman, she thought fast on her feet. He relished the thought of verbally sparring with her again, which brought a rare smile to his face. He was only five and twenty, and he had many more years left to him. It was time he shrugged off his complacency and enjoyed life.

He stopped a barrel—chested man. “Who is in charge of your troupe?”

The man scratched his head. “Farley is, though if the truth be told, his wife Elspeth runs things”.” He chuckled. “Farley included, that she does.”

“And where might I find this Elspeth and Farley?”

He was directed to a tent that was much larger than the others. Not for luxury on the part of the owners, though. As he entered, he found he could barely move, so great was the clutter inside it. The tent must house every costume and prop used in their performances, he thought.

Garrett wove his way around to the voices he heard.

“York did an adequate job, dearest.”

“But ‘tis not Madeleine, Elspeth. The girl has something about her. I can’t explain it. The crowds want to see her, hear her, not silly York crooning away.”

“At one time you were happy to have York, Farley.”

“Well, ‘tis not enough anymore. You must insist Madeleine continue to perform, Elspeth.”

Elspeth started to answer her husband but stopped and turned in his direction. “Who’s skulking about there? Come forward,” she commanded.

Garrett came to stand in front of her.

“’Tis sorry I am to be so abrupt, my lord,” she apologized nervously. “Ye must be Lord Montayne, come for yer cloak. Madeleine said ye’d be by for it.” She fetched the garment and handed it to him.

“Where do you go from here?” Garrett asked.

Farley answered, “Why, we go to Lord Denton’s. Summerville way.”

Garrett nodded. “Yes, I know the estate. I’m from Stanbury myself.”

Farley nodded. “Yes, we’ve been that way before, my lord. ‘Tis not far from Summerville at all.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Garrett exited Farley’s tent several minutes later. He returned to the tent Madeleine was in and slipped inside.

As before, she was next to Gwenith, the boy’s head now in her lap. He was fast asleep. She stroked his hair fondly. As Garrett moved toward her, she raised her head. Surprise registered on her features.

He could tell she’d been crying. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. The front of her tunic was damp and rumpled. He knelt down beside her and lay a hand upon her shoulder.

“What are you doing here, my lord?” she whispered. “Did you not find Farley’s tent? I left your cloak there.” Even as she said it, she glanced at the cloak draped over his arm.

“Yes, Madeleine, I’ve gotten it back.” He cupped her chin with his hand and stroked her trembling bottom lip with his thumb. Then he leaned forward and gently kissed her.

“
Au revoir
, Madeleine.”

Rising, he quickly left her.

Chapter 10

Madeleine watched Lord Montayne disappear from the enclosed space. His presence had filled the small tent. Now the place seemed empty and forlorn.

She reached up, grazing her fingertips against her lips in quiet wonder. She could still feel his warm breath, the press of his mouth softly against hers.

What had possessed him to kiss her?

Madeleine would never regret that he had. Henri had kissed her on rare occasions and only in public when duty called for it, and always on her brow or cheek. The only time he’d kissed her on her mouth was to seal their vows before the priest on their wedding day. When Madeleine questioned why he did not kiss her at other times, Henri informed her kissing had nothing to do with making an heir and so he was uninterested in it.

Yet Madeleine longed for the intimacy of kissing a man she loved. She’d soon discovered that Henri would never be that man. She had relegated kissing far into a corner chamber of her mind. She’d stopped daydreaming about it and such foolish ideas as romantic love.

Until Lord Montayne.

She admitted to herself that she had often thought about kissing Garrett Montayne these past two months. When she wrapped his cloak about her, she longed to be enveloped in his arms, too. He would hold her firmly, yet tenderly, and then he would kiss her, over and over, until she was breathless.

She had not thought this fantasy could ever come true, and in truth, it had not. Garrett had barely touched her, his lips brushing hers softly but for a moment. But Madeleine had a glimpse of the magic that might have been if she hadn’t been married to Henri. Maybe real love did exist after all.

She felt a deep longing inside her, but she knew this ache could never be filled. Even if she imagined herself falling in love with an English lord, nothing could come of it. She was married. So was he, although there seemed to be a different standard among men who had taken their marriage vows and women who kept theirs. Madeleine resolved never to see him again. He had his cloak. That was all he’d come for.

Or was it
?

Garrett found Ashby still in Hannah’s giggling company. The sun had now set and he was anxious to leave. He caught Ashby’s eye and motioned him over.

“Are you ready to ride?”

Ashby raised his brows. “No,” he said frankly. “And I thought you wouldn’t be either. Or was the alluring Madeleine not taken in by your many charms?”

Garrett stared at him coldly. “She’s not like that, Ash.”

His friend laughed. “Oh, so now she’s a lady?”

“That’s not quite what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean, Garrett? I rode off to London with you at the drop of a hat. Not that anyone’s counting, but ‘twas the third time we’ve done so in as many months. You promised me a little fun on our way back, and I aim to have it.” He frowned. “You could use a little of that fun yourself, Garrett.”

“I need to get back to Stanbury. I’ve arrangements to make.”

Ashby tilted his head. “Arrangements? What are you preparing for?”

Garrett shrugged. “It seems we’ll be holding a little faire at Stanbury, Ash.”

Ashby grinned and slapped Garrett on the back. “And when was this decided?”

“’Tis something I worked out with a Mister Farley, who’s head of the mummers. They were to travel next to Summerville and quarter there for a few weeks.”

“Yes, we’ve been to the summer solstice celebration there before, Garrett, don’t you remember?”

“I’ve decided they need to spend their next sojourn at Stanbury instead.” Garrett paused. “Of course, Lord Denton doesn’t know this yet.”

Ashby hooted with pleasure. “Serves the old bastard right. Imagine, him being passed over for Stanbury. What I wouldn’t give to see the look on his face when he’s informed of the change!”

“Stop your gloating, Ash. He’ll be told soon enough, I’m sure. ‘Tis also costing me plenty from my pocket to see that it occurs.” For a moment he felt like the Garrett of old. He quickly sobered and clamped a hand on Ash’s shoulder. “So I ride back to Stanbury tonight. You may come with me now or follow later. ‘Tis up to you.”

Ashby glanced behind him to where Hannah stood a distance away, tapping her foot impatiently. “I might need just one night of rest before I continue on, Garrett. Too much travel at one time has never suited me.”

Garrett shook his head. “You and your women, Ash.”

Ashby shrugged. “What can I say?

Madeleine looked up as Elspeth came into the tent. Madeleine felt a wave of disappointment wash over her, so great was her longing to see Garrett again, despite her determination to keep from that very act.

“How’s the little love?” Elspeth motioned down to Evan, who was curled around Madeleine.

“Good, for once. If we could keep him asleep at all times, some might mistake him for an angel.”

Elspeth chuckled and bent to lift Evan. She placed him on a pallet of straw and then reached a hand down to Madeleine. Madeleine winced as her injured knee reminded her of the viciousness of her husband. Hating that she had to depend on others, she leaned heavily on Elspeth to get to her feet. She bit her lip, trying to ignore her knee’s constant throbbing.

“I’m here ta spell ye,” Elspeth told her. “Ye haven’t had a bite ta eat nor a chance ta rest.” Elspeth waved her hand in front of her. “Don’t push me off, child. Ye know I’m right. Now go and get some food in yer belly. I’ll sit with Gwenith and the tyke.”

Madeleine nodded and exited the tent. A slight breeze greeted her. She brushed her hair back from her face and moved slowly toward the campfire, wobbly on her stiff legs.

This time of day had turned out to be her favorite since she’d joined Farley’s group. The day’s performances were done, and the troupe’s spirits were light-hearted.

There was food to be had, tales to be told, songs to be sung. The after-show celebrations all made Madeleine feel a part of a family, something she’d sorely missed.

Edgar pushed a plate into her hands. “Go fill it up, Madeleine, and then perhaps ye’ll tell us a story?” he asked hopefully, his bushy white eyebrows raised in expectation. Edgar was old enough to be her grandfather, but he was very flirtatious with her.