Music for My Soul (2 page)

Madeleine crept away from the wall, watching for the sentries. She doubted they would be prepared for people slipping away from the castle. Their job was to keep enemies from approaching. They might not even see her leaving until it was too late.

She moved with caution. With each step, fear enveloped every fiber of her being as she moved further away from the castle’s wall and into open space. She feared her pounding heart might burst from her chest, its loud drumming ringing in her ears.

Madeleine sensed a guard moving along the wall walk and froze. Panic poured through her at being out in the open. Every muscle screamed for her to flee.

Yet she closed her eyes, pushing her fear aside. Movement would attract his attention. She remained stock still, holding her breath. Her mind raced, and she forced it to calm.

The brisk wind helped. The clouds blew constantly across the light from the moon, causing many shadows to dance upon the earth. Madeleine cautiously opened her eyes and glanced over her shoulder.

A sentry did move along the walkway, but his back was to her.

Without hesitation, Madeleine made for the nearest trees at a steady gait. Though she longed to pick up her skirts and run, she kept her head. She reached the copse and entered without hearing a sentry’s shout to halt.

Safe. She was safe
.

She sank to her knees. A thrill rushed through her. She touched the ground almost reverently, brushing her fingers along the cool grass.

Freedom!

She could not remember the last time she’d been outside alone. Henri had a guard follow her wherever she went. He rarely allowed her outside the walls of his isolated chateau in the north.

Madeleine breathed in the crisp air, reveling in the sounds of the night. She was practical, though, and knew her sojourn would be a long one. She must put enough distance between her and Frothmore by morning.

Skirting through the edge of the woods, she finally reached the road north and began walking as swiftly as her knee would allow. After a mile or so, she began humming, softly at first, but with each step the volume grew.

Madeline relished her newfound freedom on the dark road to London. She thought it best to travel at night since highway robbers tended to be out during the day when travelers were plentiful.

She also might have to steal food along the way, and this would be better accomplished under cover of darkness. She didn’t know how far London lay ahead, but surely she could manage for a few days in this manner.

As Madeleine, she began to sing. Music had always been a large part of her life. She had been thankful that Henri allowed her to play. It was the one thing she did in which he’d found no fault.

As she sang, Madeleine thought of Yves, the troubadour that had showed up at the vineyard long ago to entertain guests. He sang for his supper that night and had never left Chateau Branais. Through the years, Yves become part of their family. He taught Madeleine all she knew about music.

“Madeleine, you are my star pupil! No one

sings as well as you,
ma cherie
, certainly

no man. I would wager in all of France that

you are the most gifted of songbirds.”

Madeleine smiled, remembering Yves’s praise. She was lucky that she could hear a song but once, and the melody became engraved on her heart forevermore. She had perfect recall and thousands of songs locked into her memory. Yves regretted that she could not go out and be a troubadour, but everyone knew that the troubadours of France were always men.

Still, Madeleine used to entertain her parents and visitors that had come to the Bordeaux vineyard they managed for a wealthy English family. Henri had been one of the many visitors who came to discuss the grape. The obsession with the grape was a national pastime in France. Her father, Robert, thought Henri had good business sense and admired the wines the older man produced. When Henri asked for Madeleine’s hand in marriage, her father had acquiesced.

Her mother was not as certain. It had been a love match for Cadena from the first time she’d seen Robert. She had wanted that for her only daughter, as well. She’d tried to persuade her husband to let Madeleine marry someone closer to her own age, even an Englishman. Cadena herself had been an English bride come to France, and she raised Madeleine so that was fluent in both languages of her parents.

Robert refused, knowing Madeleine would never have the opportunity to marry as wealthy a man as Henri de Picassaret. Yes, the man had bad luck with wives—one had died of a fever and the other was rumored to have taken her own life—but his daughter was young and strong and could give Henri many sons.

As her trek grew long, Madeline began to experience some discomfort. She shifted her shoe and forced herself onward. After a few steps, the problem returned. Madeleine halted and held her foot out in front of her, rotating her ankle.

Feeling better, she started down the road again. Whatever it was began bothering her immediately.

Frustrated, she placed her lute next to her and sat down in the middle of the road to remove her shoe. She pulled off the leather boot and stuck a finger inside, feeling around for what made her foot ache so.

She finally grasped a tiny rock. She clucked her tongue at the culprit of her distress, holding the pebble up in the moonlight for further inspection.

“I think I shall call you Henri, little pebble, for being the source of all my discomfort.” She tucked the smooth stone into her pocket, determined to let it be a reminder to her in the future.

Madeleine started to sing a tender ballad that reminded her of her parents as she slipped her shoe back on. When she’d married Henri, she assumed love would grow quickly between her and her wedded husband, just as it had for her parents.

The song died on her lips at the thought.

Oh, how she had been proven wrong.

Chapter 2

Garrett Montayne paced restlessly as Lissa opened her presents. His daughter was five years of age today. It was the fourth birthday his wife had missed.

The thought of Lynnette brought a quick sting to his eyes. Aggravated, he turned away from the assembled group and took a long pull of the mulled wine, draining the cup in one swallow.

Lynnette. His insides ached at the thought of her name. He still could not guess, even after so long a time, why she left with another man. Theirs had been an arranged marriage, like most of his class and rank, but a genuine affection existed between them.

Or so he’d thought. They laughed at the good times and had cried together when their son, Richard, succumbed to a fever shortly before his second birthday.

Still, they had little Lissa, barely six weeks old at the time of her brother’s death. Garrett had always assumed they would have many more children together, but he’d been proven wrong. Lynnette disappeared a little more than a year later. He’d been concerned when she did not appear at the evening meal and frantic by the end of that night when she could not be found.

Finally, his reeve had reluctantly stepped forward. Stephen admitted he’d seen Lynnette recently ride out alone on two separate occasions. Worried about his lady’s safety since she had no guard with her, Stephen had followed her. Both times she’d met a tall knight with dark hair. Stephen had kept his distance, but he acknowledged that Lady Montayne had been on very familiar terms with the man.

Garrett sent search parties for his wife, as well as riding for weeks on his own, seeking some sign of where Lynnette might be. She seemed to have vanished without a trace. Finally, he could hide from the truth no longer. His wife had deserted him and their daughter for her lover.

Garrett spat upon the floor in disgust, angry at himself for still caring about her. At times, his marriage didn’t seem real. He could barely remember what she looked like, and then he would catch a glimpse of Lissa and memories of Lynnette came flooding back.

Ashby rose from the party of merrymakers, a thoughtful look upon his face. Garrett knew his childhood friend worried about him. It was true Garrett had lost his sense of humor these past few years and was in a black mood more often than not. His fits of depression could last for days, even weeks, and it was becoming harder and harder to rouse himself from his gloom.

Garrett poured another glass of wine and drank the contents in a single swallow, his eyes daring Ashby to say anything. Before, his drinking had been of little consequence. In fact, he usually became quite light—hearted when he partook of a few cups of wine. Now, the more he drank, the more his mood ranged from ugly to hateful.

Lissa squealed in delight, drawing her father’s attention. “Oh, Papa, Papa! Come here, Papa!”

Garrett set his cup down and went to her, a smile upon his face. Despite everything, he always tried to be a good father to his only child. He was a family man at heart and relished the times when he pulled Lissa into his lap and listened to her prattle on in the engaging way she had about her.

“What is it, Lissa?”

“Look at what Aga made me,” she said excitedly.

Garrett took the doll Lissa handed him and glanced toward his mother. Edith gave him a tentative smile, and he returned it. He’d been curt to her—to all women—since Lynnette vanished. Part of it was not knowing where his wife was. Part was knowing he could not marry again and beget an heir for Stanbury. He had soured on all women, not understanding how a wife could abandon her husband and babe. The bitterness threatened to swallow him up at times.

Yet he knew his mother could not be blamed for Lynnette’s transgressions. He studied the doll his mother had thoughtfully made for his daughter. .He decided he must show his mother more kindness in the future. She had suffered far too much in the past for him to add to her misery.

Garrett asked Lissa, “Did you thank your grandmother properly?”

His daughter shrugged, her characteristic shyness taking over. Garrett swept her up into his arms and swung her around, then tossed her in the air several times. Lissa laughed until she had trouble catching her breath.

He set her back down on the ground and whispered into her ear, “Go on, Lissa, thank Aga.”

Lissa skipped to her grandmother, pecked her on the cheek, then threw her arms around the old woman, bringing tears to Edith’s eyes.

“Now off to bed with you, my child,” Garrett told her. He motioned for Annie, her nurse.

Protesting, Lissa informed him, “I’m five now, Papa. I don’t want to go to bed so early.”

He kissed her brow. “When you are a score and five, I’ll still tell you when ‘tis time for bed. Now be off!” He gently pushed her in Annie’s direction.

Lissa left reluctantly, dragging her feet, but Garrett had already turned to Ashby. “I have some papers to look over. ‘Twill take me no more than an hour or so to do them justice. Will you ride with me to London after?”

Ashby nodded. “You are to meet with Henri de Picassaret tomorrow?”

“Nay, not till the day after, but I’ve business to see to before that. I don’t look forward to the meeting with de Picassaret, though.”

“Why?” Ashby asked.

“I’ve dealt with the man before. He’s very astute and drives a hard bargain. He’s offered for some of my properties in Bordeaux in exchange for some of his land near Reims.”

Ashby was perplexed. “You are interested in champagne vineyards?”

“Not really, but we’ve done some business in the past. ‘Tis more a courtesy to see him and hear him out.”

“Then see to your papers, Garrett. I’ll make sure our horses are ready.”

It was closer to two hours before the two men got on the road. Garrett inhaled the April night air, chilly and fresh, his head bothering him again. The headaches had started shortly after Lynnette’s disappearance and came upon him with no warning. Sometimes lasting a few hours, sometimes a few days, they were becoming more frequent in their arrival and duration. The pain so great at times that he wondered if he was going mad.

He and Ashby rode in companionable silence. Garrett often marveled at what Ashby put up with, such as leaving for London in the middle of the night, but he would not trade his friend for all the silk in Italy.

They passed several manors and castles along their ride, even stopping at Frothmore briefly to leave a letter for Lady Ancil with the gatekeeper. She and Edith had been friends in childhood, and any time Garrett made one of his frequent trips to London, he dropped off correspondence from his mother for Lady Ancil.

Back on the road again, they rode for an hour until Ashby pulled up. Garrett slowed his mount and turned to his friend.

“What ails you, Ash?”

Ashby frowned, a puzzled expression crossing his features. “I could have sworn I saw a woman in the road ahead.”

Garrett peered into the distance and saw nothing. He slapped Ashby on the back. “You’re going blind, my friend, or mayhap you need more sleep. Or,” he said in a sly tone, “you simply have need of a woman and wished her here.”

For a moment Garrett knew he sounded like the Garrett of old, and Ashby grinned at him.

“A soft bed and an even softer woman sound good to me.” Ashby spurred his horse, and they continued on their way.

Ahead of them a woman suddenly ran out into the road. She bent swiftly and picked up a large object and went scurrying back to the nearby trees. They reined in their horses and stared at each other in surprise.

“I told you, Garrett. I knew I saw someone.”

“You were right. Shall we investigate?”

They guided their horses slowly toward the spot where the woman had disappeared then dismounted. Both men stared into the trees, searching. Neither spoke.

The cloud cover broke at that moment. Strong rays of moonlight poured over the area.

Heart pounding, Garrett spotted someone crouched behind a tree. He called out, “We mean you no harm. Are you hurt?”

Madeleine groaned inwardly. She instantly blamed Henri-the-pebble for her current situation. To remove Henri, she’d placed her lute down beside her. The sound of horses as she slipped the shoe back on had caused her to head for a hiding place. Only when the riders came closer did she remember her beloved lute. She couldn’t chance the oncoming horses crushing her beloved possession, and so she’d ventured from safety to rescue the instrument.