Sing to Me of Love and Shadows

On a honey-scented spring morning, the young widow Solange sat spinning the wool from her own sheep and patiently repeating the melody of her newest song while Gaétan the minstrel struggled to set chords to it. The sun cast a narrow strip of shadow from her house, one of a half-circle that made up the tiny village. A breeze carried the mingled smells of hot earth, leeks, and thyme. A short distance beyond lay the manor house of Val-Joli, whose ancient, battered stones had been pried from the...