The Faithful Heart (19 page)

Jack drifted somewhere between the waking and
sleeping worlds, head drooped forward, eyes closed. It took a rare
form of idiot to traipse into the forest and get himself captured
by old friends. He wished that he had lost track of the hours that
he and Simon had been tied to the tent-post in the stuffy tent deep
in Ethan’s camp, but the truth was that he could feel every minute
that had ticked by. The ropes lashed around his bare chest tying
him back to back with Simon, the tent pole between, them tugged
tighter.

“Give it a rest, Simon,” he growled through
clenched teeth, pain pushing him fully awake. “That wanker who tied
the knots knew what he was doing.”

When he’d come to the day before after having
the shit beat out of him he’d found himself in just his
smallclothes, hands and feet bound fast, trapped where he was. No
one had come back to check on them or bring them food or water or
anything, not even Tom.

Pain and hunger were the least of his
worries.

They’d galloped off like fools, leaving
Madeline alone at Kedleridge. Alone. How would she cope? Who would
look after her? Her father knew she was there. What was to keep him
from marching in and dragging her away? He would have been sick at
the thought if he wasn’t so thirsty. He had to get out of there,
had to get home. If only he could figure out how.

The ropes cinched again, squeezing the air
out of his lungs.

“Oy!” he shouted over his shoulder, voice
cracking. “Stop struggling already!”

Simon ignored Jack’s order. He strained for
all he was worth against the ropes around their torsos.

“Bloody hell, Simon! What is your bloody
problem?” He bumped his head back against the tent-post, wishing it
was Simon’s head so that he could knock some sense into the man.
His temper flared to the point where against his better judgment he
snapped, “I’m your bloody master, alright, and I order you to
stop!”

Simon went still. “Four months as lord over
my home does not make you my master!”

Jack’s eyes flew wide. “Oy!”

A crushing silence followed the outburst,
punctuated by a thump as Simon smacked his head against the
tent-post, inches away from Jack’s.

“Oh right, I forgot.” Jack was too miserable
to check himself, “I get it. I’m just some filthy peasant dog who
happened to be in the right place at the right time an’ Prince John
rewarded me for standin’ around scratchin’ my arse!” His whole body
relaxed with the catharsis of shouting his frustration aloud.

Another long silence followed. Simon was
still. “I didn’t mean it like that, my lord,” he muttered.

“Sure you did,” Jack’s sigh turned into a
moan. “It’s what everyone else means, so why not you too? It’s what
they’re saying when they think I’m not listening, and when they
know I am. ‘Look at the stupid, uppity, ginger peasant dog!’ Well
I’m bloody well sick and tired of it, alright? And I’m damn good at
what I do. I’m clever and Crispin relies on me. And yeah, maybe
Prince John was having a laugh at everyone’s expense, including
mine, but I plan to make the best of it, for Madeline’s sake if no
one else’s!” He blew out the last of his exasperation at the end of
his sentence and relaxed.

Both men leaned their heads against the
tent-post, panting as if they’d run miles. Jack stared up at the
canvas ceiling, willing himself to keep it together. Madeline would
want him to keep it together. He tried to reach his hands behind
him so that he could touch the rosary but it was just out of reach.
It was a small miracle that the goons that had roughed him up
hadn’t taken it. They probably didn’t know what it was.

The thought of Madeline giggling as he told
her that joke settled him. “Oy, I’m sorry, mate,” he muttered over
his shoulder to Simon.

Simon shifted against the post, let out a
sigh. “I was born in the manor house at Kedleridge,” he revealed in
a voice that was hardly more than a low rumble. “My mother was the
housekeeper. I grew up there, I married there, and I hope to
someday die there.” He paused, taking a breath before adding, “I’ve
only set foot outside of the manor three times in my entire
life.”

Jack turned his head as far as he could,
trying in vain to see his steward. “Never! Only three times?”

He felt Simon nod. “I went to the faire
surrounding the Council of Nobles when I was fourteen. I left last
Spring to report Lord Hugh’s murder.” A thick silence followed. He
cleared his throat. “And I left yesterday to follow you.”

Jack opened his mouth to say something but
was too startled to come up with any words. Three times counting
this one. He couldn’t imagine. “Me and Tom wandered all over the
place when our dad died,” he shared his story instead of commenting
on his steward’s. “I was sixteen and he was thirteen when we left
Wellington. Had to get out in a hurry, see. Dad left nothing but a
mound of debts we couldn’t pay and a couple of angry buggers who
thought the two of us should work those debts off.” He chuckled as
old memories poured back over him. “Oy, and there was this woman …
can’t even remember her name. Promised me a lot of things, she
did.” He sighed. “Delivered on those promises too.” Those days felt
like someone else’s life now.

“How did you end up in Derbyshire?” Simon
prompted when the silence grew uncomfortable.

“Well, there was this horse. She was mine and
Tom’s. Tom’s really seeing as he was the one who earned most of the
money to buy the old nag in the first place. Wherever we went,
everyone wanted to hire Tom to fix their roofs, mend their fences,
build them things. Me they wanted around for a laugh or a tumble.”
He shook his head. “Anyhow, time came when we couldn’t pay our
rent. They took the horse instead. Tom was crushed, of course. He’d
gotten mighty attached to that horse. So I nipped in and stole her
back. Only that’s when we got caught. Spent at least a fortnight in
some God-forsaken hole before being dragged out and carted to
Derby. Buxton bought us from the Sheriff of Shropshire so’s he
could hang us for show.”

Jack wished he could see Simon’s face. He
could feel the fight leaving the man as their bare backs rubbed
against each other in spots. “When I was six years old,” his voice
was almost a whisper, “I … I walked in on Lord Hugh and my mother
and saw something I shouldn’t have seen. As punishment my master
had me tied up and locked in a chest all day and night.”

“Never!” Jack exclaimed, horrified.

“I don’t like being tied up.”

Jack’s face flushed red in sympathy for his
steward as all of the struggling and the desperation suddenly made
sense. “Oy! Why does Roderick hate you so much, mate? He’s your
son, isn’t he?” If they were going to be close they might as well
get it all out.

A long silence followed. “Roderick … Roderick
has always been difficult. From the time he was a boy. He…” The
pause was so long that Jack didn’t think he would get an answer. “I
failed to instill him with a proper sense of right and wrong. I
failed as a father.”

“I’m sure you did your best, mate.” He was
surprised to hear the words leave his lips. Roderick was a
first-class wanker and in his experience those sort were made not
born. He flexed his back, trying to find a more comfortable
position and coax blood back into his limbs. “It’s not your fault
if he up an’ killed someone,” he continued where he left off when
the silence became more uncomfortable than their position.

Simon shook his head. “It’s not the fact that
he killed someone, it was his reasons why.”

Jack waited as long as his patience would
allow for the rest of the story, and when it didn’t come he
prompted, “So why did he kill him?” His question was met by
silence. He waited. Still no answer. Restless irritation seeped
back into his bones. He filled in the answers from the things he’d
heard. “Oy, hold on. He killed his lord, didn’t he? Lord Hugh who
had Kedleridge before me. The one that tied you up and locked you
in that chest?” Simon tensed behind him. He knew he was right.
Ethan’s murderous little lap-dog was the reason he called
Kedleridge home today. “You’re joking!” he exclaimed as if Simon
had answered him. “So what’d you do about it?”

“Nothing!” he finally snapped, “Alright? I
did nothing about it!”

Jack clamped his mouth shut. He turned to
face front, mulling over the information as he stared at the tent
flap. He wished he could reach the rosary and run the beads through
his fingers. He always thought better when he played with those
beads. “You were protecting him, weren’t you.” Again his statement
was met by silence and he knew it was true. “Oy, mate, no offense
or nothin’, but I got to know Roderick a bit and he’s not exactly
the kind that should be protected, if you know what I mean.”

“He’s my son,” Simon answered in a voice so
low that Jack almost didn’t hear him.

Jack took in a deep breath, letting it out on
a sigh. If he had done something half that bad, if his father had
been around when the horse was stolen, he would have turned him and
Tom both in first chance he got and watched them hang with a smile.
The respect Jack already had for his steward grew tenfold. “Right,”
he nodded, “Well, I won’t tell the law neither then.”

“My lord,” Simon spoke in a flat tone, “you
are the law.”

Jack blinked. Then his face split into a wide
grin and he began to laugh, in spite of the pain and the
frustration and misery that made him want to crawl out of his skin.
He laughed because the situation was so bloody ridiculous. He
laughed because for five short minutes he had forgotten that he was
no longer a wily horse thief from Shropshire.

“Oy,” he snapped his eyes open as the
question came to him. “So if Roderick killed the old lord of
Kedleridge, what would have happened if Prince John hadn’t up and
handed the whole lot over to me?”

Simon tensed. “Someone’s at the door.”

The tent flap folded aside, flooding them
with harsh morning sunlight. Jack squinted and turned his head,
trying to see who came in without being blinded. When the flap
dropped again his heart sank at the sight of Lydia.

“Good morning, boys,” her smile was full of
false sweetness. She carried a stool that she set on the floor
between them, sitting and crossing her legs with a cheery sigh.
“Well this is intimate, isn’t it?”

From the way their back’s touched Jack had a
fair idea that Simon was staring straight forward, refusing to
acknowledge Lydia’s presence. He considered doing the same
thing.

Thirst got the better of him. “Oy, you bring
some food an’ drink for us, mate?”

“Oh?” she batted her eyelashes. “Are you
hungry?”

Jack sighed and stared at the wall in front
of him. “Bitch.”

“My lord!” She sat straighter in mock
offense. “You’ll hurt my feelings if you talk to me like that.”

“You have feelings?” He arched an eyebrow.
“Coulda fooled me, mate.”

Her throaty laughter sent a chill down his
already aching back. “Now, now, Jack,” she switched to his common
name. He hated the way it sounded in her voice. “You should be nice
to me.”

“Should I?” He turned his head to glare at
her.

“Yes, you should.”

“Why?”

“My lord, don’t bait her,” Simon’s comment
cut between them.

Her expression hardened. “You keep out of
this!”

Simon fell silent again, his back rock
hard.

Lydia’s cloying smile returned as she leaned
forward on her crossed legs, resting an elbow on her knee and her
chin on her hand. “Now Jack, let’s see if we can’t figure out a way
to get you out of this horrid little mess you’ve created for
yourself.”

The surprising sting of her words threw him
off balance. It was his own damned fault at that. “Right then,” he
played along, matching false grin for false grin. “What do you
want?”

“Such impatience,” she tutted. “I’ll have to
train you to have so much more endurance if I’m to get the best out
of you.”

Her suggestive wink left him cold. “What do
you want?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I want you,
Lord John of Kedleridge.”

“Fat chance,” he huffed out a laugh, facing
the wall again. It wasn’t worth paying her any mind.

“I want your title,” she went on as if he was
all rapt attention. “I want your land.”

Simon snorted. Lydia snapped a scathing look
in his direction. She picked up her stool and scooted closer to
Jack, out of Simon’s line of sight.

“We could be so good together, you know.” She
ran her fingers along the top of his shoulder and squeezed his
bicep. He flinched but the ropes trapped him under her touch. “We
could be very, very good together. As man and wife, lord and
lady.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” he growled
through clenched teeth.

Her throaty laugh made his hair stand on end.
“You’ll see things my way,” she leaned close and whispered in his
ear, stroking her hand across the bit of his chest that wasn’t
covered in rope. “You’ll see.”

“Never.” His skin grew hot with revulsion. It
was small comfort that for once his body was in tune with his
thoughts.

“You’ll marry me, Jack, and I will make you
into the perfect lord.” He turned his head away but she kept
talking. “Those fools who laughed at you at the council will shake
in their boots when they hear your name. They’ll scrape to kiss
your feet. When you marry me you’ll have the whole shire at your
feet.”

He cursed the twist of fear that shook
through his gut, the promise of power.

“Why don’t you go fuck yourself,” Simon
hissed behind him. “You’re so very good at it.”

Lydia sucked in a breath and slapped Simon
across the face. He jerked forward, snapping the ropes taut and
squeezing the air from Jack’s lungs with a sharp gasp.

“You will learn manners, Simon McFarland. I
told you once you would regret the way you treated me and the time
has come for me to make good on that promise!” She stood, taking
her stool with her. “I see that you need a bit more time to
consider my proposal.” Her attempt to resume her seductive act only
half succeeded. “I wouldn’t take too long if I were you, Jack.” She
turned and left the tent. As the flap fell Jack heard her tell
someone, “No food or drink until I say so. And keep Tom Tanner
away.”