The Huntress by Susan Carroll

Author:Susan Carroll [Carroll, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Historical, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780345490612
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

MEG FLEXED HER SORE FINGERS AND FETCHED A DESPONDENT sigh. Her tutor said that in time, her fingertips would become tougher, inured to the lute strings. Perhaps he was right. But what was never going to change was her ability.

In tune or out of tune, the difference between one note and another…she simply couldn’t hear it. She was miserably conscious of being a failure and a great disappointment. Not just to her father, but to the golden youth who occupied the parlor window seat beside her.

Sunlight filtered through the window, haloing Alexander Naismith’s smooth handsome face and wavy blond hair. Stretching his arm around Meg, he patiently readjusted her fingers upon the lute strings for about the dozenth time.

“There now, Mistress Margaret. Try it again. Just the first few bars of the song.”

Meg nodded, scarce able to look up at him. Sander’s mere presence, let alone his touch, was enough to make her feel all fluttery inside.

Drawing in a deep breath, she gripped the frets of the lute and assailed the instrument again. But no matter how hard she tried to imitate what Sander showed her, all she produced was the most dreadful twanging.

She stilled her hand, letting the last awful note vibrate to silence. A tear welled from the corner of her eye, cascading down her cheek.

“Here now. What’s this?”

Sander crooked his fingers beneath her chin, trying to coax her to look up at him. But she ducked her head, allowing her hair to fall forward as she struggled to contain herself.

“I—I am hopeless, Sander.”

“Nonsense, milady. You are much improved.” Sander bent down, parting her cascade of hair to peer at her. “Why, you have not broken a single string today.”

His grin was teasing, but warm as well, eliciting a chuckle from Meg in spite of herself. She tensed at the sound of snoring from across the room.

Sometimes she forgot that she and Sander were not alone. Agatha sat in a chair, plying her needlework, ostensibly to act as chaperone for her young mistress during the music lesson. But she tended to nod off from time to time.

Her head bobbed lower and lower until her chin all but rested atop her sagging bosom and then she straightened with a mighty jerk. She blinked owlishly at Meg and Sander, then gave a foggy smile before returning to her needlework. She set a few stitches before her eyelids grew heavy and the process began all over again.

Sander leaned closer to whisper in Meg’s ear, “Sometime I expect Mistress Butterydoor’s head to entirely drop off and go rolling across the floor.”

Meg clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“I cannot even begin to fathom how she can sleep that way,” Sander added.

“Especially with the horrible noise I am making,” Meg replied in a low voice. “Perhaps she puts cotton wadding in her ears the way Maude and Jem do.” She turned her attention back to the lute positioned on her lap and added indignantly, “I overheard Jem laughing and telling

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