Music for My Soul (3 page)

“
Merde
,” she swore softly. She looked down at the smooth stone in her hand. “You bloody pebble.”

The two gentlemen must have heard her voice and now approached. Madeleine knew she must take control of the situation in a direct fashion. She bravely stood, her lute in hand, and swung the instrument high over her head. Storming toward the pair, she scowled.

“If you dare come closer, I’ll bring my lute crashing down upon your heads,” she warned. “’Tis the only valuable I have. If I destroy it, you’ll have nothing.” She tried to appear as menacing as possible as she studied the men before her.

The one on her left was tall and fair, his hair a bit unruly, his body lanky. He had a nice smile, and he was no more a highwayman than her Uncle Raymond. He dressed as a gentleman and carried himself thus.

The other one was quite different.

He had a dangerous air about him. He, too, was tall, with short, dark hair and brooding eyes. He moved with a natural grace and ease and dressed as a nobleman. But there was an air about him, a purpose, that made her blood run cold. His dark eyes seem to pierce her soul with a ruthlessness unlike she’d ever known. He frightened her, and yet at the same time she felt drawn to him in some inexplicable way. Mayhap it was the sadness he wore, draped about him like a cloak, that drew her to him.

The dark one held his hands out, palms up. “We wish you no harm, my lady. We would but render you aid. What brings you to the middle of nowhere in the night with only a lute for protection?”

Madeleine detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Mayhap these weren’t noblemen after all, but highway swine who’d stolen the very clothes they wore. No, she was sure they must be nobility, simply by the arrogant air of the dark—haired man. No ruffian could mimic that.

She thought quickly. Henri was to meet a Lord Montayne while they were in London. He’d carried on about what a ruthless reputation the man had in business and how he planned to get the upper hand with the English noblemen in a bargain he hoped to strike with the man. Madeleine prayed that these men before her might know of Lord Montayne’s unforgiving nature and launched into her lie.

“I am lady to Lord Montayne, good sirs. Mayhap you have heard of him.”

The two men seemed visibly shaken by her words as they exchanged a glance and continued to stare at her without speaking.

“Oh, yes, I know my husband’s very name can bring even the bravest of men to utter silence.” She sighed. “That’s how I frightened our attackers.”

“Your attackers?”

“Yes, the men who waylaid us on our way to London.” She sighed audibly and then teared up, getting more into her performance now.

“Poor Simon. Lord Montayne’s valet, you know. He was escorting me to our London residence when we were attacked. Oh, ‘tis all my fault,” she told them, as a single tear cascaded down her cheek. She wiped it away briskly. “I took far too long to finish my tasks at hand. We should never have started out so late.”

“And when was this, my lady?”

Always the dark—haired devil, she thought, never a word from his companion. She shot a look at the fair-haired gentleman, her eyebrows raised. She finally prompted him, ignoring the dominant one. “Would you like to know how we fared, my lord?” she asked the silent man.

He flushed slightly, but managed to reply, “And then what happened, my lady?”

Madeleine placed a palm over her heart as if to still it. “’Twas horrible. Three men rushed into the road, daggers raised. Simon’s horse reared, and he fell from it. He struck his head and did not move.”

At this, her eyes widened. “I think it frightened the robbers badly. They ordered me to remove the few jewels I wore, but they were all shaking. Then I told them who my husband was, and that put the fear of Our Lord in them.” She smiled at that and leaned forward as if giving a confidence. “It does help sometimes to be married to such a man known for his terrible temper and black moods.”

“I’m sure,” both men muttered at the same time.

She stamped her foot suddenly, her fury shining through now. “They will pay, I tell you. Lord Montayne will see to it.”

“And you were unharmed, my lady?” Again the darker man spoke, his tone conveying an insolence while his face remained a mask of propriety.

“A bit shaken, ‘tis all,” Madeleine told him. “Of course, the brutes tossed Simon’s body off to the side of the road and took my jewels and our horses. All they left me was my lute.” She had lowered the instrument by this time and stroked the surface fondly.

“Why did you leave the scene, my lady? Surely you must have feared the men who robbed you. Why would you go out and possibly have to confront them again?”

Why indeed?
Madeleine had gotten so worked up over poor Simon and her missing jewels that she hadn’t quite decided that part of her story yet.

“Mayhap I was more upset by the event than I imagined, my lord,” she ventured weakly. Let them think her a silly, simple woman without a brain in her head.

“Then,” the menacing stranger said, “’tis up to my friend and I to escort you to safety.”

He held his hand out to the fair-haired man. “May I present Sir Ashby? And I,” said the dark-haired devil, “am Sir Garrett.” He bowed low, as did Ashby.

“We were on our way to London, Lady Montayne, despite the late hour. I know Sir Ashby and I could not leave you stranded here on such a dark and desolate road. ‘Tis also too far a distance to take you all the way back to Stanbury.”

“Oh, then you know of my home?” Madeleine asked breathlessly. Trying to maintain her composure, she added, “Of course, you would, Sir Garrett. If I’m not mistaken, you have been entertained there by Lord Montayne.”

His smile gleamed at her in the moonlight. “As a matter of fact, I have, my lady. Although I don’t recall seeing you there.”

Madeleine cocked her head to one side. “No, I’ve been away often the past few years. My mother has been quite ill, and I’ve spent much time with her.”

“I am sorry to hear of her illness,” he answered. “But, come, let us mount our horses and ride to London.”

Madeleine watched Sir Ashby turn his head and discreetly cough into his hand, hiding his mirth. She wondered what he found so humorous about the situation.

Then Sir Garrett started toward his horse then suddenly stopped, turning to her. “Coming, my lady?”

Madeleine felt her feet moving as if they had a will of their own. “Of course, Sir Garrett. I thank you for your kind offer. I’ll reach London much faster on horse than by foot.”

She was reluctant to ride with them but didn’t want to seem churlish and arouse their suspicions. Surely there must be plenty of time between here and London. She was a resourceful person. She knew she could create an opportunity to slip away. Besides, her feet already hurt enough, thanks to little Henri-the-pebble.

Sir Ashby quickly mounted his horse as Madeleine moved toward them. He reached his hand out to her. “May I help you up, my lady?”

She had almost placed her hand in his when the devil himself spoke. “You must be jesting, Ash. Your nag was tired before we left for London. Lady Montayne is welcomed to ride with me.”

Ashby withdrew his hand, and Madeleine looked at Sir Garrett.

“My lady?” he said, his hand extended to her.

“Thank you, my lord,” she answered as she placed her hand in his.

Chapter 3

Garrett easily helped the woman onto his horse, settling her in front of him. Although she was very tall, she was slim, as light as the rushes covering the floors of the Great Hall. She shifted, obviously uncomfortable at first, until he shifted her back closer to his chest. He felt her stiffen at the contact, her back ramrod straight, holding her lute out to her side.

“My lady, I fear you think me forward, but I must know that you are secure,” he assured her. Gently, he added, “I would like to hold you in place. The road is bumpy at times, and you have had enough mishaps this night. I would not want you to take a sudden spill.”

She turned and eyed him with suspicion for a moment. Then she seemed to come to a decision about him. Her posture, though still erect, seemed to relax a bit, as did her facial features. For a moment, Garrett thought he caught a glimpse of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“I’ve no interest in flying off and landing in a ditch, Sir Garrett. How would you have me sit?”

He hesitated, finding her an enigma. One minute she was shy and unsure of herself, the next haughty and arrogant. Just like a Montayne, he thought wryly.

“More like this, my lady,” he answered, and he moved her slightly to one side, bringing his arm about her waist lightly to hold her in place.

She became still as a stone. He could not even detect a breath coming from her.

Concerned, he asked, “Can you ride thus, my lady?”

She remained motionless for a long moment. Finally, he felt her exhale. “Of course, Sir Garrett. Shall we start?”

“We need to secure your lute,” he told her. “Obviously, it means a great deal to you. May I allow Sir Ashby to attach it to his saddle? I don’t think I can manage it and you, Lady Montayne.”

She shook her head and tightened her grip on the instrument. “I’ll vouch for my friend, my lady. He’ll take good care of it.”

With a sigh, she nodded curtly and allowed him to slip the lute from her hands. He handed the instrument over to Ashby. “Attach this to your saddle, Ash. And guard it with your life.”

His friend nodded agreeably, a ghost of a smile still hovering about his mouth. Both men spurred their horses and set off.

Although headed toward a popular city such as London, the road was neither large nor smooth. Thick, green foliage lined the pathway, with an occasional tree limb having blown across the way. Boulders littered the thoroughfare and were difficult to see in the moonlight that came and went in odd snatches.

Garrett found it hard to keep Ebony at a canter with so many bumps along the way. The woman sat straight as a board in front of him, only touching him the few times the holes in the road forced her to tighten his hold on his passenger’s narrow waist. He found her slender build deceptive. She had soft curves that melted into him when Ebony sidestepped a piece of debris or tried to avoid a rut.

Garrett found the contact pleasurable, yet it filled him with guilt. Though he’d not led the life of a monk since Lynnette had left, having such sweet temptation literally in his lap caused his mind to race in directions he knew it shouldn’t go. He willed himself to concentrate on the road and not the woman in his arms, though it seemed an impossible task.

The night wind grew cooler as they rode, and as she shivered, Garrett noticed for the first time that she was without a cloak. Rather than listen to another outrageous tale of how she’d lost it, he simply drew his own cloak from where it whipped in the wind behind him and wrapped it around them both. She went rigid at his touch, but he tucked the cape securely about her, nonetheless. Immediately, her chills ceased, and he sensed the tension draining from her.

A faint, “Thank you, my lord,” swept back to him, so soft that he wasn’t sure if she had spoken or if it was the whistle of the wind.

After an hour of silence, the road smoothed once again. Gradually, Garrett felt her become limp in his arms. Instinctively, he cradled her till she fit snuggly against his chest, as he, too, let himself be lulled by the horses’ hooves beating a constant rhythm in the dark night.

Her scent was intoxicating. It was light, something floral that he couldn’t quite place. She was leaning back fully into him now, her head braced against his jaw. He moved slightly and inhaled, her wavy hair tickling his cheek as it came out of its braid. He reached up and took a strand, the color of wheat, soft and inviting, rubbing it between his fingers. He suddenly longed to see all of her hair unbound, to be able to run his fingers through the strands slowly, sensually.

Startled, Garrett came out of his reverie. Holy Christ! What had come over him? He looked quickly over at Ashby. His friend gave him a lazy smile before returning his gaze to the road ahead.

Garrett tried to think rationally. Who was the young woman seated in front of him, the one who’d had him thinking lustful thoughts for the first time in ages? And why was she claiming to be his
wife
?

Of course, she’d told them how her husband’s name frightened off the robbers. He knew some called him “Satan Himself,” although never to his face.

He knew he was feared by many and loathed by a few more. Yet Lynnette had brought a softness to him for a short while. When she fled, the softness became harder than stone. Now, it was only in sweet Lissa’s company that he became human.  

So if this chit had heard tell of him, then she was wise to use his name to cower the thieves.

But had there been any thieves? Her tale seemed implausible. So why was a lady—for surely she was a lady, her clothing and regal bearing, as well as her cultured tone, testified to that much—in the middle of nowhere? She had no obvious jewels, no money, no protector. Her story was full of holes.

And then there was the faint scar, high on her cheekbone, another intriguing mystery. What lady of breeding carried a scar across such perfect features?

Why did he feel the urgent need to protect her? Especially when he didn’t even know her name.

His thoughts raced as they rode. Yet as dawn broke over the horizon and they came within sight of the gates of London, he was no nearer an answer than when this unusual journey began.

Suddenly, Ebony stumbled. The horse quickly lifted his hoof out, only to falter again. Garrett’s heart began to thunder as he realized it was his own carelessness that had caused this. His horse started whinnying and twisting erratically. Off balance, the horse bucked as he scrambled up, tossing Garrett off in the process. He landed painfully on his hip, and a roar of anger escaped his lips as Ebony galloped past him.

Garrett saw that the woman had somehow managed to stay on Ebony. Her fingers grasped the thick mane, clinging to it. She grabbed the horse’s reins and brought him to a halt. She walked him back toward where Garrett lay sprawled on the ground, stroking Ebony’s neck and murmuring soothing words in the horse’s ear.