Velvet Song

  There was news that in July Judith Montgomery had borne a son and later in August Bronwyn MacArran had also been delivered of a son. The Montgomery cousins were still incensed over Stephen’s adopting the Scot’s name and ways.

  Alyx listened avidly to everything Jocelin reported to her.

  “It’s good that I’m no longer with him,” she said quietly, strumming a lute. “His family is full of ladies while I am a lawyer’s daughter. If I had stayed with him I don’t believe I could have been docile or polite to his lady-wife and she wouldn’t have wanted me near, though some of these ladies I see are coldblooded wenches. Perhaps he could have used a little warmth.”

  Jocelin tried to show her that what was different between her and the ladies could be solved with a silk dress, but Alyx wouldn’t see it. He knew she brooded not only over Raine but over the hatred of the people in the forest.

  As Alyx’s pregnancy advanced she grew quieter, more thoughtful, and she seemed much more aware of the world than she had been when he first met her. Once in a while, not often, really, she’d stop practicing to help someone do something. On the road they always traveled with a group rather than risk the highway robbers alone, and Alyx sometimes took a few children for a walk to give the mothers some peace, and once she shared her food with a toothless old beggar. Another time she prepared a meal for a man whose wife was lying under some trees giving birth to her eighth child.

  The people smiled in gratitude and as a result they’d made friends wherever they traveled. A child once gave Alyx a little bouquet of wildflowers, and there’d been tears in Alyx’s eyes.

  “These mean a great deal to me,” she’d said, clutching them tightly.

  “She was repaying you for helping her yesterday. The people here like you.” He motioned to the travelers beside them.

  “And not music,” she whispered.

  “Pardon?”

  “They like me for something besides my music. And I have given them something besides music.”

  “You have given of yourself.”

  “Oh, yes, Joss,” she laughed. “I have tried to do things that were difficult for me. Singing is so very, very easy.”

  Jocelin laughed with her. That anyone could say that music such as Alyx produced was easy was amazing.

  Now, in August, when the burden of the heavy child was dragging on her, her steps were slower and slower and Joss wished they could afford to stay in one place for a length of time.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked, trying to heave herself upward. “We’ll make the castle by nightfall if we hurry.”

  “Stay here, Alyx,” he urged. “We have food.”

  “And miss the lady’s betrothal celebration? No, once we’re there we’ll have plenty to eat, and all we have to do is create a divine bit of music celebrating the heiress’s slender charms. I do so hope this one is pretty! The last one was so ugly I confessed the severity of the lies I sang to the priest.”

  “Alyx!” Joss said in mock chastisement. “Perhaps the lady was beautiful inside.”

  “Only you would think such a thing. Then, of course, with your face you can afford to be generous. I saw the way the ugly girl’s mother threatened to devour you. Did she make you an offer after the singing?”

  “You ask too many questions.”

  “Joss, you can’t keep cutting yourself off from people and life. Constance is dead.”

  It had taken Alyx a long time to get him to tell her about the woman he’d once loved.

  Jocelin set his jaw in such a way that Alyx knew he was refusing to speak of himself. Between them, her problems were common property while his were his own.

  “Of course, none of the women have been as lovely as Rosamund. Except for her devil’s mark, that is. That hideous thing makes it difficult to see any beauty at all. I wonder if it really is Satan’s sign.”

  Jocelin whirled on her. “It is more likely a mark of God’s favor because she is a good, kind, passionate woman.”

  “Passionate, is she?” Alyx teased as he turned away.

  “You are cruel, Alyx,” he whispered.

  “No, I only want you to see that there is no reason for you to bury yourself with me. You cannot hold yourself inside. You have so much to give, yet you stay inside yourself.”

  When he looked at her, his eyes were cold. “Raine is not here, so why don’t you find someone else to love? I’ve seen many men, from noblemen down to stable boy, give you looks. They’d take you even with your big belly. Why not marry some merchant who will give your child a home and who will make love to you every night?”

  After his attack, she was quiet for a few moments. “Forgive me, Joss. I had hoped Rosamund could replace Constance, but I see she cannot.”

  Jocelin turned away because he didn’t want Alyx to see his face. Too often in the last months the face he remembered at night was Rosamund’s, not Constance’s. Rosamund, so silent, almost apologizing for her existence, was quite often the woman he saw, not as the quiet, gentle woman he knew but as the woman who’d kissed him goodbye. For the first time since Constance’s death, a spark had shot through him. Not that there hadn’t been a few women here and there, but before he’d met Constance and since then he’d been detached, always apart from the women. Only that one brief time when he’d held Rosamund had he felt even a flicker of real desire, real interest in a woman.

  Joss took Alyx’s hand in his and together they started toward the castle that loomed ahead of them. It was an old place, one tower crumbling, and Alyx knew they’d have another drafty sleeping place. In the last months of traveling she’d learned a great deal about the nobility. Perhaps the most significant thing was that noble women had as little freedom as women anywhere. She’d seen great ladies with blackened eyes from their husband’s beatings. She’d seen weak, cowardly noblemen who were treated with contempt by their wives. There were matches of great love, couples who hated each other, households of great decadence and some based on love and respect. She’d begun to realize that nobles had problems very similar to those of the people in her own small town.

  “Daydreaming?”

  “Thinking about my home, what a protected childhood I had. I almost wish my music hadn’t set me apart from everyone else. It makes me feel as if I don’t quite belong anywhere.”

  “You belong wherever you want.”

  “Joss,” she said seriously, “I don’t deserve either you or Raine. But someday I hope I can do something worthy.”

  “Did you know you talk more like Raine every day?”

  “Good!” she laughed. “I hope I can rear his child to be even half as good as he is.”

  As they approached the old castle, they had to wait to be admitted, since there were hundreds of people entering before them. The betrothal was to join two powerful, rich households and the guests and entertainment were to be sumptuous.

  Joss kept his arm around Alyx’s shoulders as he led her through the crushing crowds.

  “Are you the singers?” a tall woman shouted down at Alyx.

  Alyx nodded up at her, awed by the dark, steelbanded hair, the richness of her gown.

  “Follow me.”

  Gratefully, Alyx and Jocelin followed her up a narrow, winding stone stairway to a large round room at the top of the tower, where several women were pacing and showing signs of agitation. In the center of the room was a young woman wailing loudly.

  “Here she is,” a woman beside Alyx said.

  Alyx looked up at an angelic face, blonde hair, blue eyes, an ethereal, delicate smile.

  “I am Elizabeth Chatworth.”

  Alyx’s eyes widened at the name, but she said nothing.

  Elizabeth continued. “I’m afraid our little bride-to-be is terrified,” she said in a tone of exasperation and disgust. “Do you think you could calm her enough so that we could get her downstairs?”

  “I will try.”

  “If you can’t, then I’ll have to put my hand to her cheek and see if that music will quieten her.”


  Alyx had to smile at this sweet-looking woman’s words. They did not fit her face at all. “What is she frightened of?” she asked, trying to decide what music to play.

  “Life. Men. Who knows? We have both just come from the convent, and you’d think Isabella was going to her death.”

  “Perhaps her betrothed—”

  “He’s manageable,” Elizabeth said with a wave of dismissal. Her eyes went to Jocelin, who was staring openly at Elizabeth. “You’re pretty enough to not frighten the rabbit,” she said. A loud wail from Isabella sent Elizabeth to her side.

  “My goodness,” Alyx said, feeling as if she’d just left a storm. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone quite like her before.”

  “And I pray we don’t again,” Joss said. “She calls us. Heaven help the man who dares disobey that one, although . . .”

  Alyx looked up at him, saw the speculative gleam in his eye. “She’ll have your hair if you disobey her.”

  “It’s not my hair she’d remove, and damned if I’d mind letting her.”

  Before Alyx could reply, Joss pushed her toward the crying bride.

  It took an hour to calm the woman, and all the while Elizabeth Chatworth paced behind the chair, now and again narrowing her eyes at the weeping Isabella. Once she opened her mouth to say something but Alyx, fearing the woman would ruin what she and Joss had accomplished, sang even louder to cover the beginning of Elizabeth’s sentence.

  When at last Isabella was ready to go downstairs, all of her maids went with her, leaving Jocelin and Alyx alone with Elizabeth Chatworth.

  “You did well,” Elizabeth said. “You have a magnificent voice, and unless I miss my guess you are well trained.”

  “I have spent some time with a few teachers,” Alyx said modestly.

  Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on Jocelin in a piercing gaze. “I have seen you before. Where?”

  “I knew your sister-in-law, Alice,” he answered softly.

  Elizabeth’s eyes turned hard. “Yes,” she said, with a brief, insolent look up and down Joss’s form. “You would be her type. Or perhaps any man with the proper equipment is pleasing to her.”

  Jocelin had an expression on his face Alyx had never seen before. She wished he’d say no more. After all, it was Joss who’d killed Edmund Chatworth, Elizabeth’s brother.

  “And how are your brothers?” Joss asked, and there was challenge in his voice.

  For a long moment Elizabeth’s eyes bored into his, and Alyx held her breath, praying Elizabeth would not know who Joss was.

  “My brother Brian has left my home,” she said quietly, “and we do not know where he is. There is rumor that he is held by one of the filthy Montgomerys.”

  Jocelin’s hand clamped down on Alyx’s shoulder brutally. “And Roger?” he asked.

  “Roger . . . has changed. Now!” she said smartly. “If we are through discussing my family, I am sure you are wanted below.” With that, she swept from the room.

  “Filthy!” Alyx yelled before the door was closed. “Her brother kills my Raine’s sister and she dares call us filthy!”

  “Alyx, calm yourself. You cannot take on a woman like Elizabeth Chatworth. She’d eat you alive. You don’t know what kind of brother she grew up around. Edmund was mean, vicious, and I’ve seen Elizabeth stand up to him at times when even Roger backed down. And she adores her brother Brian. If she thought the Montgomerys caused him to be taken from her home, she’d be full of hate.”

  “But she has no right! It was the Chatworths’ fault.”

  “Quiet! and let’s go downstairs.” He eyed her sharply. “And none of your tricks of writing songs about feuds. Do you understand me?”

  She nodded once, but she didn’t like making such a promise.

  * * *

  It was late at night, and most of the guests were lying drunken on the floor or sprawled across the tables when a servant whispered to the man sitting in the corner. With a smile, the man rose and went outside to greet these newly arrived guests.

  “You’ll never believe who is here,” the man said to the one dismounting.

  “What! no greeting?” he asked sarcastically. “No concern for my safety? Come, John, you’re letting your teeth show.”

  “I have remained sober to tell you this. That should be enough.”

  “True, that is a great sacrifice.” He gave the reins of his horse to a waiting servant. “Now, what is so important that it can’t wait until I’ve had some wine myself?”

  “Ah, Pagnell, you’re too impatient. Remember that little songbird this winter? The one who knocked you over the head?”

  Pagnell stiffened, glaring at John. It was all he could do to keep from fingering the ugly scar on his forehead. He’d had headaches ever since that night, and although he’d tortured to death some of the people from her town, no one would tell him where she was. Every time a pain shot through his head, he vowed he’d see her burn for what she’d done to him. “Where is she?”

  John laughed deep in his throat. “Inside and swelled out with a brat. She’s traveling with a pretty lad and the two of them are singin’ as pretty as you please.”

  “Now? I thought everyone would be asleep.”

  “They are, but I marked where the lad and the songbird stretched out.”

  Pagnell stood still for a moment, contemplating his next move. When he and his friends had gone over the town wall looking for Alyx, he’d been drunk and so had bungled the job. Now he mustn’t make that mistake again.

  “If she cried out,” Pagnell said, “would she receive help?”

  “Most of them are dead drunk; the snoring’s so loud a charge of gunpowder might not be heard.”

  Pagnell looked up at the old stone walls. “Does this place have a dungeon, some place for keeping prisoners before they’re executed?”

  “Why wait? We’ll tie her to a stake and burn her as the sun rises.”

  “No, some people frown at that, and with the King in this melancholy mood, who knows how he’ll react? We’ll do this legal. A cousin of mine is conducting court not far from here. We’ll toss the slut in the cellar, then I’ll talk to my cousin and when I return, we’ll have a trial. Then we’ll watch her burn. Now show me where she is.”

  Alyx was lying in an uncomfortable sleep, trying her best to position her big stomach, when a hideous whisper sounded in her ear. The voice, one she had never forgotten, and never would, sent shivers down her spine, made her skin tighten.

  “If you want your little play fellow to live, you’ll be quiet,” came the voice.

  Pressed against her throat was the sharp steel of a knife. She didn’t need to open her eyes to see Pagnell’s face leering into hers. It was a face that had haunted her dreams for months.

  “Have you thought about me, sweetheart?” he whispered, his face very, very close to hers. His hands went down to caress her hard stomach. “You gave to somebody else what you fought me for. You’re going to die for that.”

  “No,” Alyx whispered as the knife pressed forward.

  “You going to go peacefully, or do I have to slip a knife into his heart?”

  She knew well who he meant. Jocelin was asleep not a foot from her, his breath coming even and deep, not even aware that her life was in danger.

  “I’ll go,” she managed to say.

  Trembling, too frightened to cry, Alyx heaved herself upward, Pagnell’s knife scraping, cutting the skin of her throat once. It wasn’t easy to make her way through the bodies sprawled on the floor. Each time she stumbled, Pagnell twisted her arm behind her back, almost pulling it from the socket.

  When they came to the dark, cold, stone stairs leading downward, he pushed Alyx so hard she slammed into the wall and tripped down four steps until she caught her balance. Pausing for a moment, her hands protectively on her belly, she tried to catch her breath.

  “Go on,” Pagnell sneered, pushing her again.

  Alyx managed to get down to the bottom without falling again. The room they wer
e in was cold and totally dark, the ceiling very low. Barrels and sacks of stores crowded the floor. She whirled when she heard the door creak open.

  Pagnell stood in front of a heavy door, open to reveal a yawning black nothingness. “In here,” he growled.

  “No.” She backed away, but the room was so crowded there was nowhere to go.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and with one shove, slammed her into the blackness.

  Crouching in a corner, surrounded by the cold blackness, she saw the door shut, blocking off the last ray of light, and heard the heavy iron bolt shoot into place.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE HIDEOUS LITTLE room seemed to be the epitome of every nightmare, every bad thought, every horrible story she’d ever heard. There was no light, and even after an hour she still could not see her hand before her face. For a very long time she remained huddled in the corner where Pagnell had tossed her, afraid to move.

  If she could not see, she could certainly hear the noises of insects on the walls and floor, sounding loud and treacherous. What made her finally move was something scampering across the soft leather of her shoes. With a little squeal, she came upright, her hands trying to clutch the stones of the wall behind her.

  “Calm yourself, Alyx,” she said aloud, and her voice echoed off the walls. It would be morning before long and Jocelin would be looking for her—if he were still alive. No, she couldn’t depend on anyone getting her out of here. She had to try to find her own means of escape.

  Cautiously, hands out like a blind person, she took a step forward and nearly fell across a low bench. Kneeling, she ran her hands over it and was glad to see that she could make out the shadow of it. When she’d finished her exploration of the bench, she moved to the walls, feeling her way to the door. For all the door gave when she pushed against it, she might have been trying to move the stone walls.