Song of the Heart - Alexa Aston Page 0,22

knowledge of the wines grown on his own lands. He also must consider his reputation. He was known for being fair and reliable. De Picassaret’s questionable behavior would make him undependable and possibly untrustworthy. Garrett wasn’t willing to risk his reputation on a venture he didn’t really need to be involved with. It would take a far more enticing deal before he would even consider linking himself with Henri de Picassaret.

As he rode, a steady rain fell and showed no sign of letting up. Soon, he was soaked to the skin, cold and irritable. The pounding in his head began a constant beat. He couldn’t wait to arrive home. A drink would do him wonders.

He spotted her a few short blocks from his destination. He could not be mistaken. She wore a simple tunic of brown cloth, but her head was uncovered. A long braid of golden hair trailed down her back. Carrying a heavy basket balanced on one hip, she trudged along the uneven street. He wondered briefly if she’d sold his cloak.

“Lady Montayne!” he called out as he leaped off Ebony. “Wait!” He rushed to her, grabbing her elbow.

The woman started and her basket fell from her grasp. Apples rolled all along the muddy street. Garrett stared into brown eyes filled with fear, not the amethyst ones that had haunted his dreams.

“My mistake,” he quickly apologized. “I thought you were someone else.” He released the stranger’s arm. The woman backed away. She then looked out over all the apples spilled from her basket, most likely bruised. Her lip quivered.

Garrett realized how precious the fruit must have been to her. He bent and quickly placed the apples back into her basket, waving her away when she tried to help. Removing a few coins from his purse, he said, “My fault entirely, madam. Will you accept payment for the damage I have done?”

He took her hand and placed the coins into her palm. Surprise flooded her face and she looked at him in wonder.

“Thank you, my lord.” Her voice quivered as she spoke.

He bowed and remounted Ebony.

Was he going as crazy as Henri de Picassaret? Or had he been bewitched?

Chapter Six

Madeleine couldn’t have spent a happier two months. She genuinely liked all the members in the troupe of mummers she had fallen in with. Being with this large group gave her a taste of a different life that was carefree and yet full of hard work. She said a quick Hail Mary to thank her Dear Lord for sending Gwenith into her path.

The June heat was oppressive, though, and it wasn’t even noon yet as she rested in the shade from her duties. She reached around, lifting her long braid high, and used it to fan the back of her neck. The slight breeze gave her momentary relief. She dropped the braid and started to turn but was stopped in her tracks when her braid remained aloft. For a moment, icy fear swept through her. Images of Henri crowded her head. Blinding panic filled her.

She only relaxed when a familiar laugh floated on the air behind her. Whirling, her braid now freed, she caught a glimpse of Royce, a fellow member of the mummers’ troupe, ducking behind the mature oak tree that had provided her shade for the past ten minutes. Silently, she crept toward the huge, gnarled trunk and melted into its side.

She moved quietly around the tree, stretched across the far side, then reached out and goosed him in the ribcage. He let out a yelp and wheeled around.

“You don’t play fair, Madeleine,” he said, his eyes teasing her.

“And you do, Royce? Shame on you.” She shook her finger at him comically, much as she remembered from her childhood how Cook had done when a scullery maid displeased her.

The thought of home and her youth gave her pause and the smile fell from her face. She fell silent, an aching lump lodged in her throat.

Royce must have noticed the change in her. He took her elbow. “Come, wench, we have need of sustenance. I can smell the hot chewets floating along the breeze.”

Madeleine stopped. “Now I know you jest. There’s been no breeze all day.” He looked at her imploringly. “But I seem to have caught a whiff of those meat pies all the same. Lead the way, Master Royce,” she commanded in a noble tone.

They strolled along a row of booths and purchased two steaming chewets, their meat savory and hot. They passed stalls filled with salt,