Music for My Soul by Lauren Linwood Page B

treasure, little Hannah,” he exclaimed. “But come, Lord Montayne and I shall enjoy your company while we find some refreshment. Let us try some of that mulled wine you spoke of.”
    Ashby took Hannah’s arm and began leading her away. He glanced back over his shoulder and motioned Garrett to follow. Meeting his companion’s glare with a lecherous grin, he gave Hannah’s bottom a fond pinch. She swatted his hand away playfully, and he threw an arm around her waist.
    They purchased their wine and some hot sticky buns and made their way across the crowd. Ashby picked out a soft patch of ground and they sat.
    “So, my dear, you were telling me about life with the mummers.” Ashby glanced back to Garrett. “We would love to hear all about your troupe.”
    Garrett thought he’d go mad. The chit was comely, but her voice grated on his nerves worse than rusted armor. Still, Ashby was good with the girl, both in listening and complimenting her at the right times. He had always admired his friend’s easy charm when it came to women. Gradually, Ashby led Hannah around to the information they sought.
    “You were right about the lute player, Hannah. Rarely have I heard so talented a minstrel, and never one that was a woman,” Ashby proclaimed.
    “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather the first time I heard her sing,” said Hannah. “Just like a songbird, she is, and right nice, too.”
    “Even one so beautiful?” interjected Garrett. “I find beautiful women to often be tiresome, so enchanted are they with their own looks.”
    Ashby groaned. “Sweet Hannah, listen not to my friend. He’s had bad luck with beautiful women.” He paused and then added, “And even worse luck with ugly ones.”
    Hannah cackled at his wit while Garrett waved a fist at Ashby. “See, dear Hannah, even now he mocks me, wishing he found you first,” and he gave her a sweet smile. “But tell us more about the lady troubadour,” Ashby continued. “Has she been with your group for long?”
    “Nay, my lord. ‘Tis been but a few weeks now. She came back with Gwenith.”
    “Gwenith?”
    “Oh, poor Gwenith didn’t perform today. She’s been much too sick. Madeleine has been caring for her and little Evan, Gwenith’s naughty son.”
    Garrett interrupted. “The woman who sings, her name is Madeleine?”
    “Aye, my lord,” Hannah replied. “She’s as kind as she is pretty, and she tells the most amusing stories. Half the men in the troupe swear they’re in love with her, even fat, old Edgar.”
    Hannah frowned. “But she cannot even take a needle to thread properly. She’s all thumbs, though she has tried to help me once or twice.”
    “Is she sweet on someone?” Garrett asked softly.
    Hannah’s eyes grew large. “Nay, my lord, she keeps to herself. Oh, she’s close to Gwenith and Evan, and treats everyone right nice, she does, but she goes all quiet when someone asks about her past. She’s mighty mysterious about things, if you ask me.” She sighed. “But I think Royce is sweet on her.”
    “Royce?” Garrett asked. Even as he spoke the name, he remembered the muscular, blond man who possessively had taken his mystery woman in hand and led her away. No, he didn’t like this Royce at all.
    But he’d found out what he needed to know.
    Her name was Madeleine.
    Madeleine wove her way through couples who were arm-in-arm, racing children, and happy families enjoying both the calm weather and goods to be had. She didn’t stop until she reached the copse of trees, and even then she continued till she had gone a distance she deemed safe.
    Breathless, she finally collapsed upon the soft, mossy grass, cool against her overheated skin. She tried to breathe slowly and deeply and regain control of her racing pulse.
    Why had she run? What did she have to fear from him? She’d done nothing wrong. Well, perhaps just a wee bit wrong. She remembered the cloak still in her possession, the rich, plush fabric as it felt when wrapped