Velvet Song (Montgomery/Taggert 4)

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.