Song of the Heart - Alexa Aston Page 0,25

the last few days. It troubled Madeleine and she was torn about what to do.

Royce, too, had upset her, more than she would admit to Gwenith. She hated to lose his friendship but she could not tolerate any type of flirtation. There was still a half-hour or so before the first show of the afternoon. Since Gwenith now slept, Madeleine decided to take a turn in the fresh air. Walking always seemed to clear her head.

She pushed aside the flap of the tent and stepped out into the bright June sunshine. The colors and sounds of the faire assaulted her senses at once. She moved among the crowds, familiar now with these sights and sounds. Maman would be appalled by this type of life but Madeleine rather enjoyed the freedom it gave her after being a prisoner within her own home.

Suddenly, she froze in her tracks. Hannah, a pert-nosed brunette with a squeaky voice who sewed most of the costumes for the troupe, moved in her direction. Escorting her was none other than Sir Ashby, one of the two noblemen who had aided her escape from Frothmore that night almost two months past.

Madeleine knew with certainty that the nobleman would recognize her. They’d spent too much time together in one another’s company for him not to know her upon first sight. She groaned. Where Sir Ashby was, she was positive his friend, the brooding Lord Montayne, would soon appear. She did not care to see him face-to-face, especially since he had been so angry at her when they’d parted.

She decided to skirt around the crowd and make her way back to the performance area. She would plead a sore throat and have Farley allow her to take York’s place in the play. York was a decent lute player, though not much of a singer. Still, he could perform before and between their scenes while she could be in plain sight of all, disguised by the heavy costume and mask York wore.

Moving stealthily, she hoped to avoid attention. Just as she thought she’d made her way unseen, she heard shouts headed her way.

“Stop, thief! Stop!”

The cutpurse ran by her swiftly, throwing a cursory glance over his shoulder. She despised people who preyed upon others and would see this shabby scoundrel caught. Madeleine stepped out, ready to give chase when something slammed into her, knocking her to the ground. She tried to draw a breath but the wind had been knocked from her.

Instinct caused her to roll into a ball, her arms wrapping around her in a protective cocoon. She had spent many a time lying on the floor after one of Henri’s swift punches to her belly and knew she must guard her ribs at all costs. Oh, God, it hurt so much when one broke. Please, not again. Not again.

A hand, firm but reassuring, touched her shoulder. A voice came through the fog rolling through her brain. It wasn’t Henri! She half-laughed, half-gasped, as she opened her limbs and came to lie on her back. She even reached into her pocket and stroked Henri-the-Pebble, validating that she was alive and unharmed.

Yet who had attacked her? She peered up into the blinding summer sun but could not see who stood above her. Then the shadow moved, covering her face from the harsh light.

“Why, if it isn’t Lady Montayne,” said the dreaded familiar voice. “Where the Hell is my favorite cloak?”

Chapter Seven

“I could ask the same thing about my lute, my lord.”

Garrett peered down into the angry face of the woman who had haunted his dreams by night and left him absentminded by day. Their encounter had been brief but he had never met a more remarkable woman. Not even his petite Lynnette had brought such a sweet longing to his loins as did the bewitching creature before him.

Her honeyed hair, loosened from its intricate braid, curled around her shoulders. Tiny beads of sweat graced her upper lip. Without thinking, he wiped it away with his thumb. She flinched slightly, her dark, amethyst eyes glowering up at him.

Garrett smiled in spite of himself, offering her a hand to help her to her feet. He had forgotten how very tall she was as she stared at him, her cheeks flushed with anger.

“Perhaps we could arrange a trade?” he suggested.

She eyed him suspiciously. “I’m not sure if I trust you, my lord,” she countered.

“Trust me?” he sputtered. “This from the woman who traipsed about the countryside claiming to be my wife?” Garrett paused to