Song of the Heart - Alexa Aston Page 0,32
leg was heavily bandaged and he used a makeshift crutch but he hobbled up to the edge of the stage nonetheless.
“I’m fine, Madeleine. Go to Gwenith.”
She hesitated a moment.
“It’s all right, Madeleine,” York assured her. “My lady friend who helped put me in this”—he tapped his leg gently—“thinks I’m doing a brave thing by performing when I feel so poorly. I’m sure,” he said, a wide grin breaking out on his handsome features, “she’ll reward me properly for my efforts. Now off with you.”
She needed no further urging, taking Evan’s hand in her own and hurrying back to their tent.
Gwenith lay there, flushed and feverish. Madeleine ran to her, touching her cheeks, frightened by the scalding flesh.
She turned to Elspeth and said, “Please boil some more of the barley.”
The woman began muttering in her thick Scottish brogue, mostly words Madeleine couldn’t understand and had no time to try and decipher. She and Elspeth had disagreed heatedly about Gwenith’s care from the beginning. The older woman had been in favor of sending immediately for a barber to bleed Gwenith, which Madeleine objected to vehemently. She had seen the practice used several times in her youth and had lost a favorite cousin in that manner. She was determined to try other methods to save Gwenith.
Instead, Madeleine implemented the practices of her gentle mother. Cadena had had a way with herbs and had freely passed along her knowledge to her only daughter.
As she waited for Elspeth, Madeleine nursed Gwenith patiently, wetting cloths with cool water and pressing them to her friend’s hot skin.
Finally, a sullen Elspeth returned from the cookfire and passed the barley to her. After mixing in some honey, Madeleine coaxed Gwenith to sip it.
“Come on, love, just a bit more,” she urged.
Her friend sighed. “Ye’re a tyrant, Maddie, but I’m glad ye’re my tyrant.” She drank the last bit, falling back onto her pillow.
Her fever eased afterward but every cough stained her handkerchief with bits of blood, black and thick.
Despite her best efforts, Madeleine realized that Gwenith was growing worse. She brushed a strand of hair from her friend’s face. “I’m off to fetch a physician, Gwenith, dear. Lie here and rest. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Gwenith protested, no louder than a weak kitten. “Oh, Maddie, there’s none to be had ’round here, that’s for sure. The best ye’ll find is a barber. Savage beasts,” she muttered.
“No, Gwenith,” Madeleine assured her. “None of that foolish nonsense. I’ll return as soon as I can, dearest, and I will find someone to help.” She tenderly kissed Gwenith’s brow. “Get some rest. That’s a direct order from your very own tyrant.”
She slipped to the far end of the tent and lifted the hem of her skirts, feeling carefully before placing her finger into a loose stitch. She broke a few of the threads, removing what she needed and putting the ring into her pocket with the pebble. She kept her hand there, afraid she’d lose the precious item.
Then she made her way toward a stall in the heart of the faire. Old Pascal traveled this circuit and had bought a piece of jewelry from Madeleine when she’d first arrived two months before. She’d been low on coin, having forfeited the money paid for her passage to France, and he’d been generous in the price they’d settled upon. She hoped he’d be decent again.
As she approached his booth, she removed the sapphire ring from her pocket, having left the matching bracelet within her hem. The pair had been a birthday present from Henri, who liked to keep up appearances with his friends. Otherwise, Madeleine doubted he’d have gifted her with even a hardened bread crust to mark that day of celebration.
Before she could address Pascal, she jumped when a low voice said in her ear, “So you’ve moved on from cloaks to jewels now. Where did you steal such a fine ring from, Madeleine?”
Chapter Nine
“You’ve judged me poorly, Lord Montayne,” Madeleine huffed, pocketing the jewelry and stepping away from Pascal’s ears. The tradesman might be charitable but he was a ferocious gossip. Madeleine had no intention of airing her affairs before him.
She managed several paces away from the booth when the nobleman roughly took her by the arm. “Prove it,” he said as he swung her around to face him.
“I owe you no explanation, my lord,” she curtly replied, shrugging off his hand. She turned and moved in the opposite direction.
He was immediately by her side, grabbing her wrist and dragging her