Free The Maestro's Maker by Rhonda Leigh Jones

them.
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Chapter Ten
    For a while, I simply walked the streets with a lump in my throat. All of my vampire sight
    could not help me see through the tears that were forming in my eyes. I knew, however, I could
    not let them fall. I could not show such weakness in the street. A woman alone would attract
    attention. I knew I could take care of myself, but what then? What if I was discovered to be a
    vampire?
    Gunnar’s threats to leave me in the first village he came to returned. I wondered how
    much danger I was in. Then I realized I didn’t care. With my family gone and the man I
    pinned my hopes on disinterested in me, I had no one. There was no reason to live.
    I decided I would stay with Claude-Michel and François for a few months to ensure
    they knew how to survive. I remembered how Claude-Michel looked at me in the hold
    and new tears formed. Then I remembered the sound of his playing. He needed a violin,
    I told myself, even if he didn’t need me. I began my search.
    It was midday before I found any sort of violin at all. A young man was playing it for
    money in the square. It sounded beautiful, so I approached him. At first, he did not want
    to part with it. I offered him almost all the gold I had brought with me—enough to feed
    him for a week and purchase another instrument. He could not resist, even though he
    gave his instrument one last, longing look as he placed it in the hemp cloth he carried it
    in and handed it to me. I gave him the coins and began my journey back to the inn, which
    was another hour’s walk.
    My success brightened my spirits, and I allowed myself to hope—not for Claude-
    Michel to love me, or even want me, but for him to be pleased with me for just a little
    while. Then I could pretend things were different than they were, just until the next day,
    when I would begin to make plans for living on my own.

    * * * *
Things were not quite as I expected when I returned. It was mid-afternoon, and
    Claude-Michel was very, very angry.
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    He met me at the door. François was on his feet, and looking much better than usual.
    Jean sipped a glass of wine on the couch. But it was Claude-Michel who kept my attention.
    He worked his jaw and flared his nostrils angrily. His black eyes flashed as they had when
    Gunnar broke his violin.
    “Claude-Michel…?” I asked hesitantly.
    “Put that down,” Claude-Michel said, motioning with his head toward my packages.
    I tried to smile, thinking perhaps I had read him wrong. “I apologize, Monsieur , for
    taking so long. It was a strange errand and I wasn’t sure where to begin, but I think you
    will enjoy—”
    He stepped toward me. “I said, put that down.”
    “Claude-Michel...” I began, but faltered. I swallowed and hurried toward the bed, and
    placed everything there.
    “Put it on the floor,” he said.
    I searched his face, wondering how he could be so angry and what I might have done,
    but I didn’t dare ask. I looked at Jean, who looked from me to Claude-Michel uncertainly.
    Then I made the mistake of looking at François, who flung himself on the mattress and
    grinned. “I do so love the theater,” he said.
    I tried to keep my lip from trembling as I did what Claude-Michel said.
    In mere seconds he had my arm and was pulling me toward the bed. “Claude-Michel…
    what…?” But in another moment, I was bent over his knee with my skirts raised. “Why
    are you doing this?” It was more of a panicked cry than a question.
    He did not answer. He simply began bringing his hand down hard on my derriere
    until tears spilled from my eyes. He spoke between clenched teeth. “When you say
    you will return at midday, you will return at midday, not several hours later. Do you
    understand?”
    All I could do was nod frantically and gasp. “Please, Claude-Michel...” I begged,
    holding a fistful of his breeches leg in my hand, yelping in pain and surprise.
    “Don’t cry out,” he warned.
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    I obeyed, not wanting to make him