Chapter 11
Marcus waited for a response from Jess as she released Agatha.
“Not now,” she informed him. “I’ve merely invited Agatha to join Peter and me once the troupe disperses for winter.”
He wanted to sag in relief. Instead, he stood tall, keeping his emotions masked. “I see. It’s a good thing because we would miss having Agatha around. She’s the true heart of the Vawdrys’ company. If not for her organization, backstage would be in constant turmoil. I don’t see how one play could occur without Agatha managing the mummers, their costumes, and props.”
Agatha glowed at his compliment. “Thank you, Marcus,” she said shyly and added, “You’ve done an excellent job stepping in for Gylbart today.”
“Thank you. Only one more narration to complete and then I’m off for my exhibition with Rand.”
Agatha turned to Jessimond. “Oh, Jess, you must go see Marcus and Rand fight. They simply terrify me. All that clanging of steel causes my knees to go weak. It looks as if they are going to kill one another.” She grinned. “But it’s ever so much fun to watch.”
“I’ll do so another day, Agatha,” Jess said. “I need to tend to Hamlyn now.”
“Wait until I finish my final piece,” Marcus said. “I need to go back to the tents to retrieve my sword. I’d like to check on Hamlyn when I do so.”
She agreed and they stood in the wings until the scene played out. Marcus went before the audience for a last time. This was the most he’d been in front of crowd, saying lines. He found it came rather easily to him, as if he were born to act. He finished with a flourish and knew that he preened a bit in order to impress Jess.
Gathering his clothes and boots, he set off with her. The crowds had died down at the stalls. Most of the faire goers attended the play now. They headed toward the tents and found the way deserted.
“It’s kind of you to take Agatha with you when the season is over,” he began, wanting to learn more about her plans when their tour ended.
“She’s a lovely young woman. I feel sorry that she was abandoned last year when everyone went his own way. Besides, she and Peter are sweet on one another.”
“They are?”
Her words didn’t surprise him. Marcus had caught the couple staring at one another repeatedly, turning away in embarrassment and then stealing furtive glances when they thought the other wasn’t aware.
“Aye. No one has a sweeter nature than Agatha and Peter is quite protective. I think he would make her a good husband.”
“What about you, Jess? Have you thought of taking a husband yourself? You seem older than Peter.”
She shrugged. “The opportunity has never presented itself.”
“I doubt that. Kinwick is a large estate and must be filled with men.”
“It does have its fair share.”
“I cannot believe that not one man has offered marriage to you,” Marcus pressed.
“I didn’t say I had never received any offers,” she quickly replied, a faint smile playing about her lips.
The thought of another man wanting to wed Jess had him seeing red.
That’s when Marcus knew beyond a doubt that he had to have her. He couldn’t bear to think of another man touching her satin skin. He certainly didn’t see himself with any other woman. He would have to be careful and guard his heart, but he intended to make Jess Gilpin his.
“Then you’ve refused these offers?” he asked.
“I intend to marry for love.”
Her simple statement drove a nail into his heart. Love was something to be avoided at all costs. Marcus didn’t want his world turned upside down by it. His mother had loved his father and look what that had gotten her. A one-sided wound that festered painfully the more he berated her and pushed her away. Already, it was difficult enough that Jess tempted him beyond measure. He would enjoy worshipping her body with his but he refused to offer her love.
Marcus stopped and decided to end this nonsense. He needed to plant the seed in her head that what they had between them would be more than enough for a happy marriage without the notion of love being involved.
“You do realize love is a myth,” he began. “It doesn’t exist. Oh, I know some couples are fond of each other. Some are ruled by passion. But love isn’t real, Jess. I do believe love can exist between a parent and child. I loved my mother tremendously and she returned my affection but love is something ethereal. You might think it lives and then it vanishes without warning.”
“You actually believe what you just said.” She looked at him in astonishment. “That love—true love between a husband and wife—cannot exist. I feel sad for you, Marcus.” Sighing, she walked away.
Marcus watched helplessly as she trod on. How was he to convince her that the passion between them would be more than enough? That he would also add respect for her, guaranteeing them a successful union. Yet, Jess said she wanted love. He’d found her inexperienced. That would help. He would show her that he cared for her. Desired her. Needed her.
If she wanted to call that love, so be it.
He raced to catch up with her and they went to Hamlyn’s tent. The mummer’s loud snores echoed as they entered. Jess placed her palm against his cheek.
“No fever. ’Tis a good sign.”
Marcus exited the tent and she followed.
“Thank you for escorting me back,” she said politely. He sensed a vast gulf spreading between them.
“Jess.”
He placed all he carried upon the ground and grasped her upper arms. Her eyes widened as he stepped to her. “I may not believe in love but I believe in you—and me—together.”
Marcus held back. He wanted to crush her to him. Tangle his fingers in her long tresses. Take her mouth by storm. Instead, he softly pressed his lips to hers. He realized his earlier declaration had frightened her. He didn’t want to see her spirit broken. He would lure her in gently, like a feral cat. He would build trust between them over the next few weeks and finally ask her to be his. She wasn’t ready to hear that now, having foolish, girlish dreams of love.
But he could make her want him. Fan that flame of desire until she needed it like the very air she breathed.
Gently, he skimmed his hands along her shoulders and up her neck until he cupped her face. He kissed her lightly. Softly. Then pressed his brow to hers.
“I must go.”
Releasing her felt like cutting off one of his limbs. She’d already become an essential part of him. Marcus quickly turned away, scooped up his things, and made for his tent. He shed the toga and rid himself of the uncomfortable sandals that were too small for him, replacing them with his gypon, pants, and boots. He didn’t need his armor today. He and Rand only wore it when they jousted. They’d learned their audiences liked to see their faces and bodies while they fought with swords and had even discovered the crowd enjoyed them bantering back and forth with one another. Fortunately, they knew each other well enough to coordinate their moves. So far, neither of them had suffered even the slightest nick.
And if they did?
Marcus wouldn’t mind the angelic Jess tending to his wounds.
*
They arrived at Whitmore, the estate of Lord Cedric Wariner, a widower who had engaged the troupe because his wife enjoyed them visiting each year. Once they arrived and received word that the baroness had passed away last Christmas, gloom settled over the group as the men set up the tents and stage.
As Jessimond carved up a few plucked chickens and tossed the pieces into a boiling pot for the evening meal, Bartholomew came to her, his distress obvious.
“My throat hurts,” he rasped. “I’m having trouble swallowing. I can barely speak, much less sing tomorrow.” He began coughing.
“I can give you lungwort for your cough.”
“Those bluish flowers?”
“Aye. I’ll crush them and steep them in boiled water. You can drink that thrice a day. I’ll also rinse sage and thyme with water and mix them together. That, too, will be boiled in water and steeped. Once it cools, you can gargle with it. The scent is very pleasant.”
“How soon could I sing again?” Bartholomew asked.
“It depends. I’d advise you to stop talking and rest your voice. I would think two days would be enough time.”
The troubadour frowned. “Elias will not be happy.”
“You can’t help it if you are ill,” Jessimond said. “Keep to your pallet and get plenty of rest. I’ll speak with Elias and Moss for you.” She hesitated. “I’ll even take your place tomorrow and the day after if you’d like.”
“Would you, Jess?” Relief caused his body to sag.
“Go to your tent. I’ll get the lungwort and other herbs now.”
She retrieved her case and had Jopp fetch more water so she could put a smaller pot on to boil. Jessimond could divide that boiled water in half and steep the different herbs separately. As she waited for the water to boil, she cut up some onions and dumped them into the pot with the chicken and stirred in plenty of pepper. Next, she crushed the lungwort in one bowl and ground the sage and thyme, mixing them together in another.
Moss appeared and bent over the pot, inhaling deeply. “I see ’tis chicken tonight.”
“It will be ready in an hour. In the meantime, I need to let you know that Bartholomew is unwell and will not be able to sing for a few days.”
Jessimond was glad she broke this news to the placid Moss, who seemed to take everything he heard in stride. If it had been Elias, the hot-tempered redhead would have exploded with curses.
“I’ve told him I would step in and take over his duties until he returns,” she added.
Moss gave her an appreciative smile. “Our audiences have taken to the duets you do with Bartholomew. I’m sure they will like whatever you choose to sing for them.”
“I can perform any of the songs Bartholomew does since I’ve heard them several times now. I also have others I know and a few original ones I’ve written that I’d be happy to sing.”
“Whatever you choose is fine with me,” Moss assured her. “’Tis good to change the pace with each song, though. And most important, make the last song slow and soft. The crowd will quiet and even strain to hear you. That makes it easier to begin the play as soon as you finish.”
“I’ll remember that,” Jessimond promised.
She took both her concoctions to Bartholomew, making sure he drank the lungwort to calm his cough, and instructing him on how to gargle since he’d never done that before. It took him a few tries and a little sputtering before he understood what to do. Once he did, Jessimond told him to continue resting and that she would make sure he had enough of the steeped herbs at the beginning of each day.
By then, the company gathered to eat, most of them seeking a second helping of the stew, thanks to the appetite they’d built up assembling the tents and stage. Elias had stopped in the village they passed just before arriving at Whitmore and had purchased plenty of bread, which they used to sop up the last of the stew from their wooden bowls. Agatha and Jopp collected the bowls and placed them inside a large container. As had become the habit, Marcus lifted the container and Jessimond accompanied him to the nearby brook. They would cleanse the bowls with sand and then rinse them with water.
She’d come to enjoy that part of the day. Marcus was a witty companion and always had interesting stories to tell her. Everyone seemed to understand that they wanted to be alone and never interrupted them. At first, Peter had accompanied them a night or two, but Jessimond explained that Marcus only desired her company.
Much to her chagrin.
She gave the knight every opportunity to kiss her but he never took it. At least not as she wished. Every so often, he would brush his lips against her cheek or upon her brow briefly. Twice, he had held her hand for a moment. But the passionate kisses from before had ceased.
That made Jessimond hunger for them all the more.
Tonight, they walked in silence to the running water and cleaned the company’s dinnerware quickly, stacking the bowls back into the crate. Instead of starting back, however, Marcus plopped down on the bank.
“Come join me,” he invited.
She sat beside him. Not too close but near enough to feel his warmth and smell the spice of the soap he used as its scent rose from his skin.
“I hear you’ll be singing in Bartholomew’s place tomorrow.” He casually slipped an arm around her waist.
“Aye,” she answered, her mouth growing dry. “He’s bothered by a cough and his throat is sore. I’m boiling herbs for him to ingest and gargle with.”
“I see.” His free hand reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.
Jessimond stared into those mesmerizing blue eyes, willing him to kiss her. She began worrying her bottom lip and his fingers tightened against her waist. Then his mouth descended ever so slowly until their lips met.
That was all the encouragement she needed.
Her hands cupped his face, the stubble rough against her palms. She parted her lips and he accepted the invitation, his tongue slipping inside and gliding along the roof of her mouth, sending chills through her. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks as he kissed her as he had in the tent that first time. Both his arms now encircled her, making her feel safe inside the steel bands. Jessimond almost purred as a contented cat might.
Marcus broke the kiss. “I could do this all night,” he murmured against her lips.
She smiled against his mouth. “Do you have the stamina to go all night?” she teased.
He growled and yanked her toward him. Her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest and she linked her hands behind his neck, rubbing against him. His hand slid from her back and cupped one breast, squeezing it. His fingers found her nipple and rolled it, causing shoots of pleasure. Jessimond pressed closer to him as his other hand imitated the first, kneading her breasts and teasing the nipples. The friction drove her mad.
Marcus pulled her into his lap now, his hands gliding along her curves. She kissed his neck and then had the urge to lick it. His skin tasted slightly salty as the growl deepened in his throat. His lips found hers again and showed her just how skilled he was. Soon, Jessimond found herself breathless, coherent thought impossible.
Then he stopped abruptly. Lifted her from him and rested her back on the ground next to him. She heard his rapid breathing and knew he fought to gain control. Quickly, he pushed himself to his feet and then grabbed both her wrists and brought her to hers. Still holding on to her, he dipped his head and gave her one sweet, final kiss.
“Dream of me tonight, Jess,” he implored. “I know I will dream of you.”
Jessimond wished it could be more than dreams and stolen kisses between them. She wanted to become a part of him. Her mother had explained love play to her long ago. More than anything, she needed this man inside her. She wanted to scream his name as he pleasured her and feel his bare skin, slick with sweat, against hers. She needed to touch him. Ride him.
Love him.
That thought brought her to her senses. Marcus had been frank with her. He didn’t believe in love—something every de Montfort lived for. Jessimond didn’t know who held Marcus’ loyalty. Where he lived. What his situation was. He’d continued to hold back from her, which made her believe he wasn’t in a position to commit to her—or anyone else.
“We need to return to the others,” he said softly.
“Aye.”
She watched him retrieve the dishes and joined him as they returned to the camp. The fire had burned down to embers. Only a few mummers sat around it. The others had already gone to their tents for the night. Marcus set the crate down and walked with her to her tent.
“Are you married?” Jessimond asked him. “Or do you have a sweetheart? You tease me and then stop as if you are guilty of something and then try to put distance between us.”
He startled, his eyes widening. “Nay.” Frowning, he lifted her braid, toying with the end. “Do you think so little of me, Jess? Or do you know so little of my character that you think I would kiss you like that if I were committed to another?”
Frustrated, she said, “Sometimes, I believe I know all I need to about you, Marcus. Other times, I realize there’s still so much I haven’t learned about you. Where you live. The name of your liege lord. The mission you and Rand are on. Why two knights joined the Vawdrys’ troupe.”
Marcus swished the tail of her braid against the tip of her nose. “All in good time, sweetheart. I promise you—those answers will come—in time.”
He dropped her braid and took her hand. Turning it palm up, he pressed a fervent kiss into the center. The heat from his lips caused her blood to stir.
“Goodnight, Jess.” Marcus kissed her palm once more and released her hand.
As he walked away, Jessimond wondered if she could ever have a future with this man.