Velvet Song - Jude Deveraux
PART I
The South of
England
January
1502
Chapter One
THE LITTLE VILLAGE of Moreton was surrounded by a
high stone wall, the gray of the stones casting a long, early-morning shadow over the many houses
packed inside. Well-worn pathways connected the buildings, radiating out from the central position of the
towering church and the tall white town hall. Now, in the dim light of the morning, a few dogs began to
stretch, sleepy-eyed women lazily walked toward the town well and four men waited, with axes over
their shoulders, while the gatekeepers opened the heavy .oak gates in the stone wall.
Inside one house, a plain, narrow, two-story, whitewashed house, Alyxandria Blackett listened with
every pore of her body for the creak of the gates. When she heard it, she grabbed her soft leather shoes
and began tiptoeing toward the stairs, which were, unfortunately, on the other side of her father's bed
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room. She'd been dressed for hours, waking long before the sun rose, slipping a plain, rather coarse
woolen dress over her slight figure. And today, for once, she didn't look down in disgust at her body. It
seemed that all her life she'd been waiting to grow up, to gain some height and, most of all, to gain some
curves. But at twenty she knew she was always going to be flat-chested and hipless. At least, she thought
with a sigh, she had no need for corsets. In her father's room, she tossed him a quick glance to make sure
that he was sleeping, flipped the wool of her skirt over her arm and started down, skipping the fourth
step, as she knew it creaked badly.
Once downstairs she didn't dare open a window shutter. The sound might wake her father, and he very
much needed his rest now. Skirting a table covered with papers and ink and a half-finished will her father
was drafting, she went to the far wall, gazing up with love at the two musical instruments hanging there.
All thoughts of self-pity for what God had forgotten in her physically disappeared when she thought of
her music. Already a new tune was beginning to form in her head, a gentle, rolling melody. It was
obviously a love song.
"Can't make up your mind?" came her father's voice from the foot of the stairs.
Instantly, she ran to him, put her arm around his waist and helped him sit at the table. Even in the dark
room she could see the bluish circles under his eyes. "You should have stayed in bed. There's time
enough to do a day's work without starting before daylight."
Catching her hand for a moment, he smiled up into her pretty eyes. He well knew what his daughter
thought of her little elfin face with its tip-tilted violet
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eyes, tiny nose and curvy little mouth-he'd certainly heard her wail about it enough-but to him everything
about her was dear. "Go on," he said, pushing her gently. "Go and see if you can choose which
instrument to take and leave before someone comes and complains they must have a song for their latest
love."
"Perhaps this morning I should stay with you," she whispered, her face showing her concern for him.
Three times in the last year he'd had horrible pains in his heart.
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"Alyx!" he warned. "Don't disobey me. Now gather your things and leave!"
"Yes, my lord," she laughed, giving what, to him, was a heart-melting smile, her eyes turning up at the
corners, her mouth forming a perfect cupid's bow. With a swift, practiced gesture she pulled the long,
steel-stringed cittern from the wall, leaving the psaltery where it was. Turning, she looked back at her
father. "Are you sure you'll be all right? I don't have to leave this morning."
Ignoring her, he handed her her scholar's box, a lap desk containing pen, ink and paper. "I'd rather have
you creating music than staying home with a sick old man. Alyx," he cautioned. "Come here," With a
familiar gesture he began to plait her long hair into a fat braid down her back. Her hair was heavy and
thick, perfectly straight without a hint of curl and the color was, even to her father, very odd. It was
almost as if a child had thrown together every hair color possible on one very small young woman's head.
There were streaks of gold, bright yellow, deep red, a golden red, mouse brown and, Alyx swore, even
some gray.
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When her hair was braided, he pulled her cloak from the wall, put it about her shoulders and tied the