Music for My Soul (6 page)

“What shall we do when she boards?”

“Let her suspect nothing. Simply post a man outside her cabin. Confine her there until I arrive with additional help.”

“And if for some odd reason ‘tis not whom you seek?”

“I have paid for several men to watch the harbor. If she seeks passage on any ship from London, I will know of it.”

“Very good,” replied the other man.

Madeleine waited as the men shuffled off in the opposite direction. Her heart sank. Tears spilled silently down her cheeks. What was she to do? She could not board that ship, nor could she reclaim the vast sum the captain had charged to take her as a passenger.

She huddled on the ground, her growing despair clouding her mind. She tried to think of a new escape plan, but she couldn’t focus. Her fear was too great. The bitter taste of defeat began closing in.

She was startled when a young boy rounded the corner and ran smack into her. His eyes widened first with surprise, and then they glowed with mischief.

“Evan! Evan, come out at once before I throttle yer bones, and ye know I will.”

The boy put a finger to his lips, his eyes wide and playful.

Madeleine started to rise, but he placed a hand upon her wrist and tugged her back down.

“Evan, ‘tis the last time I take ye anywhere with me. Oh, go hop in the water and swim away with the mermaids, for all I care.”

The boy burst out laughing at her words, and immediately a petite woman leapt from around the corner. She took a step back when she saw Madeleine crouched there. Then she spotted her son.

“Evan, me boy, ye are the bane of me existence. If I could give ye back to God in His heavens, I would. I’d say to Him, ‘Mister God, me Lord, sir, ye’ve made a dreadful mistake. Ye meant to give me a good boy, I’m sure, but somehow me good lad was replaced. Instead, I’ve got the silliest rascal, a tyke descended from elves, no doubt. Could ye please let me return this imp?’ And Mister God will say to me, ‘Now, Gwenith, I only give ye what ye deserve.’ So of course, I’d say back to Him, ‘Mister God, I . . .”

The boy squealed, throwing himself into his mother’s arms.

“There, now,” she cooed to him. “Maybe God didn’t make such a mistake after all.”

Madeleine watched all this in bewilderment. She rose, wiping her tears, then blurted the first thought that entered her mind. “You’ve got the most gorgeous hair!”

The woman before her laughed heartily. “I’m delighted to find out ye like this red mop o’ mine. Gwenith’s me name.”

Madeleine smiled at her. “I am Madeleine Bouchard.”  

Gwenith grinned at her. “Pleased to meet ye, Madeleine Bouchard.” She poked Evan in the ribs.

“Pleased ta meet ye,” the young boy echoed. “Mama, can we go now? Ye said ‘twas a nasty place here.”

“And then why’d ye run off from me, lad?” Gwenith scolded.

Evan considered this. “Why, to protect ye, o’ course. Ta keep all the bad ‘un’s away.”

Gwenith’s rich laughter tinkled musically. “Ye are a scamp, me little one. A charming one, but a scamp, nonetheless.” She squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she glanced across at Madeleine.

“Well, we must be off.” Gwenith began to turn as a tear slowly trickled down Madeleine’s cheek.

Gwenith peered at her with concern. “Are ye lost, Maddie? Did ye fight with yer Mister Bouchard?”

“No,” Madeleine said hastily. “Mister Bouchard is . . . well . . . he’s . . .” Her voice trailed off and suddenly her tears began flowing freely.

“There, there, me girl,” the young woman said, and placed an arm around Madeleine’s waist as she balanced the squirming boy in the other. “Ye look like ye could use a friend, love.” She gave Madeleine a squeeze.

“’Tis a long story”.” Madeleine sighed. “I find my plans have . . . changed. I’m not sure what to do, and I don’t know London very well.”

“Some things are not even worth discussing,” Gwenith told her, looking Madeleine square in the eye. She paused a moment, and Madeleine saw she was sizing her up.

“I’m a mummer,” Gwenith shared. “Evan and me, we travel all around the south performing our little plays. Sometimes,” she confided, “being on the road is the perfect way to forget yer troubles. Would ye care to join us? Can ye act or sing a bit?”

Madeleine’s thoughts were in a swirl. She had nowhere to go, not a friend in all of England. She also had no way of escaping to France, at least not at the moment. Impulsively, she said, “I do sing and play the lute.”

Gwenith looked about and frowned. “Have ye a lute?”

Madeleine shook her head, feeling a flare of anger heat her cheeks, knowing her lute was in Lord Montayne’s hands.

“If ye’ve money to buy one, then let’s do it and be off. We must meet up with Farley tonight, for we leave in the morning. Are ye game, Maddie Bouchard?”

Madeleine smiled at her wearily, then said a silent thank you to God. Things were beginning to look up.

Chapter 5

Garrett pulled his new cloak about him as the wind suddenly gusted. The April day was gray and bleak, much like his mood. The overcast skies were threatening London with rain at any moment. He kicked Ebony lightly, spurring the horse on before the coming storm soaked them.

He guided the steed through the tight streets that already teemed with people, though it was but eight of the clock. As he continued, a fine mist began, slowly turning into a lazy drizzle. Garrett cursed under his breath. He had hoped to reach his destination before the shower began. Now he would arrive wet and miserable, feeling as black as his soul at this moment. He pondered on his mood, which had been dark since they’d reached London. Or rather, as Ashby had pointed out, since just before they’d come upon the city.

Lady Montayne
. The vision of the woman calling herself thus invaded his private musings. He had tried to shake off her image over the last two days with no luck. She came to him at the oddest times, when he least expected it.

Why was he so taken with a stranger? Especially one whose true name he didn’t even know? He closed his eyes briefly, and she appeared again. He could see those deep amethyst eyes that dominated her face. The flawless skin, the delicate bone structure, the generous mouth that wove her outlandish tales, were all too real.

And the feel of her. Garrett remembered how little she weighed, despite her height, which was taller than any woman he’d seen. She’d fit quite nicely against him once she’d fallen asleep in the saddle.

Garrett cursed again and opened his eyes. The picture of the mystery woman dissolved, leaving him to wonder again why she plagued him so. He thought back to his conversation with Ashby the previous day.

“You’re coming out of your mourning for Lynnette, Garrett,” Ashby reminded him. “You’re ready to live again. ‘Tis simple enough to see. You’ve met an exceptionally attractive woman and you were drawn to her.” Ashby shrugged nonchalantly, which infuriated Garrett.

“I’ve had plenty of women since Lynnette’s leaving,” he told his friend bluntly.

“Aye, Garrett, but you’ve not gotten close to any one of them. ‘Twas nothing more than a quick roll in the hay—sometimes literally.” Ashby laughed, amused by his own clever reply.

Garrett suspected Ashby was right. He’d changed when his wife had disappeared. He did everything possible to keep busy, the better to have no time to think. To feel. Driven in all he did.

He’d thrown himself into the management of his estate in England and the vineyards he owned in France, even taking his first trip the previous year to the Bordeaux area. He had learned more about wines during his month in France than he would have thought possible. Robert Bouchard, who oversaw the Montayne family estates in France, had proven to be reliable and knowledgeable. His son, Pierre, had even more expertise. By the time Garrett came home, he could list all the fine intricacies of a Cabernet Sauvignon and a Merlot.

Unfortunately, he had turned to his cups lately, drinking more heavily when the headaches came upon him, as much to numb the throbbing in his head as to ease the pain in his heart.

Now, some strange woman had come about and intrigued him with her beauty and her spinning of yarns, and suddenly he felt alive again, wondering what new story she’d invent once they reached London and she didn’t know where the Montayne family home lay.

And then she’d cheated him by vanishing without a trace. Garrett suspected the smith’s wife had known more than she’d let on, but short of beating the woman into a confession, he’d been helpless. Despite his reputation, he had never struck a woman, and so he and Ashby had pressed on to London without their female companion.

Garrett arrived at Lord Fenton’s, the gentleman who’d introduced him to Henri de Picassaret. He dismounted and handed Ebony’s reins to a young lad, who gazed at the steed with admiration.

Garrett ran his fingers through his damp hair and hurried up to the shelter of Fenton’s home. A pretty blond maid answered his knock and led him down a long corridor. Normally, Garrett would enjoy the sway of her hips, but she wasn’t the blond female who weighed on his mind. He was glad he’d left Ashby behind in his shipping offices, for this comely wench would have distracted his friend from the business at hand.

The servant showed him to a cozy room, complete with lit fire. He slipped his cloak off and tossed it aside, taking a seat near the fireplace. He stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles. The heat quickly warmed him, slowly moving from his booted feet up his chilled limbs.

A servant entered and Garrett recognized him from his previous dealings with de Picassaret, although he couldn’t recall the retainer’s name.

In stilted English, the stout man said, “Monsieur de Picassaret has been detained, my lord. He will arrive shortly. May I get anything for you?”

Garrett shook his head. “No, thank you.”

The man nodded and left, leaving the door ajar. Garrett heard him pause in the hallway and begin speaking rapidly in French.

Garrett could not follow the entire conversation. The words came quickly, spoken more as the French did in the north. Still, he was able to ascertain that Henri was terribly angry. Something about plans being ruined and responsibility being questioned.

Frustrated at his lack of understanding, Garrett closed his eyes and imagined himself back in Bordeaux, the lazy sunshine of the south permeating his being. Speech there was more melodic and not nearly as rapid. Garrett had picked up much of the language while there. Unfortunately, he had rare opportunities to use it since he despised any time spent at court, so he’d lost his command of it since returning home to England.

Eventually, he heard sharp steps approaching and he sat up quickly. Henri de Picassaret strode in. Garrett was shocked by his appearance.

The man had aged half a score since they’d met the previous year in France. Henri’s skin was even paler than before, and deep wrinkles now lined his face. His ice blue eyes were bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept for several nights. His iron gray hair had a dull cast to it. Always lean despite his extended belly, he now seemed gaunt. As usual, his thin mouth was set in a tight line.

Garrett rose and offered his hand. Henri shook it perfunctorily. Both men took seats across from one another.

Henri spoke first. “I hear that your wife ran off, Montayne.” His eyes flicked rapidly over Garrett, who sat stunned by the Frenchman’s opening remark.

Garrett stood abruptly, his fists clenched. He fought to keep his anger from erupting at the older man’s cruel words. “That topic, de Picassaret, is not open for discussion. Good day.”

Garrett moved to leave, but Henri stood and clutched his arm tightly. For such a frail—looking man, his strength was surprising.

“No, my apologies,
monsieur
. I was thoughtless. I am sure that you grieve for your lost wife.”

Garrett was slightly mollified but did not take his chair.

“Come,” Henri said, his tone now conciliatory. “Let us not talk of wives when there is business to conduct.” He paused. “I merely heard that an acquaintance’s wife had run off. The man is beside himself and has no idea where to begin looking.” He offered Garrett an apologetic smile. “I thought you might advise me, for my friend, since you have experienced something similar.”

Garrett s glared at Henri. “Some things are best left private,” he said, his mouth set. They stared at each other for several moments before taking their seats.

Henri opened the discussion again. “I am ready to offer you an unusual business proposal, Lord Montayne.” Henri’s eyes glittered. “It is one that you must accept immediately, however, for I am to return to my home shortly.”

“What do you propose?”

Henri smiled. “I would like to go into a partnership with you,
mon ami
. You have a good head for the business, and you know wine. Your vineyards in Bordeaux regularly bring in a profit.”

“’Tis true, my family has been in the wine business for many years now. What kind of partnership do you seek?”

“I know you trade your wines not only in England, but also ship to the Hanseatic ports and the Low Countries. I would like my champagnes to go also to these places.”

Garrett raised his eyebrows. “On my ships?”

Henri nodded. “In exchange for our wines traveling to their destinations together, I would give you control of one—fifth of my vineyards outside Reims for a period of ten years.”

Garrett frowned. “I would own part of your vineyard in exchange for your champagne accompanying my wines? Do I understand you correctly?”

“Yes, you have grasped the essence of my offer. We can work out the details, of course, at a later date.” Henri waited for Garrett’s reply, but Garrett rose and began to pace around the room, his hands locked behind him.

He stopped abruptly. “I know little to nothing about champagne and really have no inclination to begin now. I rarely travel to Bordeaux as it is. Reims is far away from my home. Why do you suggest this?”

Henri shrugged in the typical Gallic manner, a shrug that could encompass many things. “It would open up new markets for my champagnes, of course. You have a large fleet, and it is well—protected.” Henri grinned. “You also have a reputation for getting the best prices available, my lord. You seem to squeeze more gold from the traders than anyone in all of England.”