April 1831
The sea had been kind to them since they departed from Spain. And Madelyn was grateful for the gentle mercy.
Spain had dazzled her, certainly more than before.
The cities had glowed glorious gold beneath the sun, and the entire valleys had been perfumed with the orange groves. Every evening had been filled with music and laughter spilling from taverns into lantern-lit streets. Even now, she could remember the warmth of Seville's spring winds against her cheeks, and the great cathedrals and opera houses.
Brand had indulged her in every curiosity.
He had walked beside her through crowded markets as merchants shouted out in Spanish, had bought figs and sweet wines she had no business drinking in her condition, and had stood patiently while she admired silks she never purchased. There had been evenings when they dined on the balcony of their rented villa overlooking the sea, and mornings when she woke up in his arms while sunlight streamed through thin curtains.
