Song of the Heart - Alexa Aston Page 0,79

to show you France. It’s a beautiful place.”

But not as beautiful as England, her heart cried out. “Mayhap,” she said, pretending to stifle a yawn.

“Oh, my love, I’ve droned on and bored you.”

“No, I’m not bored, just a bit tired.”

He kissed her brow. “I must take you to your own bed. Here, let me help you dress.”

Garrett replaced her tunics, chatting lightly as he did, and then dressing himself. “I’m to have a visitor from France at the end of this week, coincidentally.”

The overwhelming sense of dread crashed full force upon her. Tamping down her alarm, she inquired, “Someone comes to conduct business with you?”

“Yes. An odd, rather cranky fellow named Henri de Picassaret. He wants to negotiate a land deal. De Picassaret would award me a portion of his champagne vineyards in northern France, close to Reims.”

A low roar sounded in her ears and the pit of her stomach turned to ice. Her hands began shaking so she started fussing with the folds of her tunic to hide her distress.

“What does this Frenchman want in return?” she forced out, relieved that she sounded so natural.

“That my ships would carry his own wines to certain ports I frequent, in particular the Hanseatic ports and the Low Countries.” Garrett snorted. “We had quite a falling out in London, April last. To be honest, I thought the old man had gone half-mad. But Ash saw him at Lord Ancil’s this week and brought a letter to me from de Picassaret. The writing was fluid and intelligent and the arrangement he proposes is far sweeter than what he offered before.” Garrett shrugged. “I suppose whatever troubled him then has now been resolved. I am at least willing to meet with him again and see if this is a business venture that I wish to pursue.”

Garrett continued speaking but Madeleine heard no more. Panic welled inside her like a pot boiling over. Henri, here, this very week.

If he found her here, he’d kill her. He’d kill Garrett—and anyone who’d had knowledge of her.

She must escape.

Madeleine composed herself. She could give nothing away. She must protect Garrett at all costs. Involuntarily, she shivered.

“Are you chilled, love?” He wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back. “Let us get you to your bed.”

He lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hall to her chamber, placing her in the bed and pulling the bedclothes over her.

“Sleep well, my love,” he said, his voice a soft caress before he padded quietly out the door.

But Madeleine knew sleep would elude her the rest of this night.

*

What had Garrett done with her jewels?

He was the last one with her clothes and she was positive he’d found the precious stones and hidden them away. The day after her fall, she’d spotted her freshly washed tunics neatly placed across a chair—no jewels concealed in them any longer. Instinct told her that Garrett must be behind them vanishing without a trace but he’d made no mention of them. Since she had been in no physical position at that time to bargain or demand anything, her decision to remain quiet about the gems’ disappearance had seemed wise. Now, so much time had gone by she didn’t know how to approach him, especially with all the tenderness he’d shown her. She also didn’t want him forewarned in any way of her planned attempt to flee Stanbury.

Thank the Sweet Lord that Elspeth left Madeleine’s bundle of things when the troupe had moved on weeks ago. Annie had brought it to her and Madeleine checked it immediately when she was alone. Several valuable pieces were still in those garments. With those—and the brooch Lady Sanvale had gifted her with—she could get to a port and sail for France and Chateau Branais.

Madeleine pondered where to travel. She was afraid to go the way of Sussex, in part because she might feel the need to stop and see Evan. Garrett would think of that and follow her, preventing her from leaving England by that route.

She’d go to London. The stories trickling out from there spoke of a raging typhus that consumed the city. Garrett’s reeve, Stephen, who went to London on business for him sometimes, had returned the last time with horrible tales. He’d regaled the great hall one night with talk of the many bodies he’d seen stacked in the streets awaiting burial. The reeve’s lurid descriptions sickened Madeleine. She’d asked Coster to take her to her room instead of listening to all the gruesome