and knew her sojourn would be a long one. She must put distance between her and Frothmore before the sun rose and she was discovered to be missing.
Keeping to 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. Madeleine relished her newfound liberty on the dark road to London. She thought it best to travel at night since almost all travelers would move during the day. She also would need 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 continued, 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. While she sang, Madeleine thought of Yves, the troubadour that had showed up at her parents’ home 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, teaching Madeleine all she knew about music. He’d told her she was the most gifted songbird in all of France.
She smiled, remembering Yves’ praise, knowing she was fortunate to hear a song but once and the melody became engraved on her heart. It allowed thousands of songs to be locked into her memory. Yves regretted that she could not go out as 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 the wealthy English Stanbridge family. Henri had been one of the many visitors who came to discuss the grape. 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 she 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 continued, Madeleine untied her lute, which continued to bump against her. She didn’t mind carrying the instrument. After an hour, she began to experience some discomfort. She shifted her boot and forced herself onward. After a few steps, the problem returned. She 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 sat down in the middle of the road, her lute next to her, and removed the leather boot. She stuck a finger inside, feeling around for what irritated her foot, and 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 of the troubles she’d escaped.
Madeleine started to sing a tender ballad that reminded her of her parents as she slipped her boot 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 Two
Stanbury
Garrett paced restlessly as Lyssa opened a gift from her grandmother. His daughter was five years of age today. It was the fourth birthday his wife