The Loyal Heart (15 page)

Tom and Toby dashed into the stable to fetch their horses. Jack stood shaking on his spot. He raked a hand through his hair then turned and paced into the stable. He walked past his horse’s head to the portmanteau thrown over the saddle. In one swift motion he pulled it from the horse and threw it over his shoulder, then marched to Aubrey’s side.

“Jack.” Ethan narrowed his eyes at the man.

Jack met those eyes with indifference. “I got no problem with you looking after your interests, mate, but I’m bloody well gonna look after mine.” His eyes flickered past Ethan to Tom. “Oy, get off that horse!”

Tom had already mounted and stared at his brother. “I’m going with Sir Ethan.”

“Don’t be a prat. Now come on!”

Tom huffed out a breath and frowned. “You know I would love to help Madeline. I mean, Sister Mary Peter,” his face flushed. “But Sir Ethan is a lord. He saved us from the gallows. If he needs our help then our duty is to-”

Jack held up a hand, cutting him off, and turned away with a scowl. “Let me know when you’re back, right?”

Tom’s jaw tensed and he kicked his horse forward to Ethan’s side, scowling at his brother.

Too furious to thank Jack for his support, Aubrey could only grind her teeth as she watched Ethan mount. “So that’s it? You’re just going to ride off?”

Ethan sighed and nudged his horse closer to her. “Don’t you see that I’m doing this for you?” He leaned closer to her and whispered, “I want Windale back so that we can be together.”

Ethan straightened as Aubrey’s jaw and stomach dropped. She could have ripped him off his horse and pummeled him into the ground for saying those wonderful words now. He had the nerve to wink at her and flash his golden smile before kicking his horse forward. Toby and Tom jumped after him. She stood in the inn’s courtyard with Jack at her side, heart quivering with rage.

“Smarmy bastard,” Jack’s muttering shook her to her senses. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about Ethan or Tom but turned her blazing eyes to him anyhow. Jack stepped back and held his hands up. “I’m on your side, mate.” She was in no mood to joke and his face dropped into seriousness.

She clenched her fists and spun on her heel to march out of the courtyard. “Come on. We’ve got nuns to rescue.”

“… and … furthermore … the … bounty … Derbyshire … has … to … offer ….”

Crispin forced himself to breathe and move the quill across the parchment in a smooth hand as Buxton dictated his letter at a deliberate snail’s pace. The air in the room Buxton affectionately referred to as his War Room was rife with tension.

“… will … provide … the … perfect … backdrop ….”

The quill snapped, bleeding ink across the page. Buxton smacked him hard upside the head. “Crispy, you idiot.”

“My lord, this is a job for your scribe.” The effort of keeping his voice from shaking with rage caused his words to come out as barely more than a whisper. His back was aching with the stress of sitting still in the chair as Buxton pressed over him.

“How sweet of you to be concerned,” Buxton cooed, smoothing his hand over the head he had smacked moments before. “But you’re still an idiot.”

“My lord-”

“Now we have to start from the beginning.” He leaned over Crispin and snatched the ruined parchment from the right, then slid a clean piece in front of him from the left, arms circling him. Crispin’s stomach ached. Buxton bend his head to Crispin’s ear and murmured, “My … dear … Pennington.”

The door banged open and Aubrey stormed into the room. Buxton straightened fast enough to crack his back. Crispin’s shoulders dropped and he looked away.

Her fiery eyes passed right over Crispin and settled on Buxton. “My lord, it’s been three days. I have sought an audience with you and been ignored. I have sent a letter and had it returned unopened.” She strode across to the table and banged her fist on its smooth surface. “I want to see my friends!”

“And I want to be king of a balmy island in the Mediterranean!” Buxton drawled.

Crispin jumped up from his chair to stand between Aubrey and his master.

“You can’t hold them prisoner in the tower.” She ignored him. “Sister Bernadette needs medical attention. You have no justification for-”

“I don’t need justification, little girl!”

“Aubrey, you shouldn’t be here.” Crispin grabbed her by the elbow. “Let me take you out to the-”

She wrenched out of his grip as Buxton shouted, “You’ll do no such thing!”

Aubrey stopped struggling and Crispin turned to face his master. Buxton had his eyes fixed on Aubrey like a hawk circling its prey. Crispin fought the urge to pick her up and run. “My lord, surely it would harm nothing to let Aubrey visit her friends.”

Buxton blanched. “Maybe she would like to join her friends?” His voice was high and reedy. “On the gallows!”

Crispin opened his mouth but Aubrey cut over him with, “Don’t be absurd. You can’t hang them and you know it.” His heart dropped into his stomach.

Buxton chuckled, his eyes demonic. Crispin’s blood ran cold. “Crispy, get her out of here.” He waved her off as if she was a petulant child.

Crispin grabbed both of her arms and marched her out of the room so fast she stumbled. When he had dragged her down the hallway and up a curved set of stairs to the main hall he spun her to face him and hissed, “Don’t ever speak to him like that again!”

Her face went white and she wriggled out of his grasp long enough to smash her palm into the side of his face. His head whipped to the side but he maintained his grip on her other arm.

“I knew it!” she raged at him. “You’re no help at all! You’re nothing more than his lap dog! You’re protecting a cruel, sadistic madman!”

He blinked as he realized her assumptions and held her tighter. “I’m protecting you!” He felt her go limp for a moment and sucked in a breath to steady himself. He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm. “Aubrey, he was about to kill you.”

“What? No!” Her voice tipped close to a squeak. Then she blew out a frustrated breath. “No he wasn’t.”

“Yes, he was.” He shook her hard to prove his point.

A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye and he glanced up to see a familiar man with red hair leaning against the wall far at the other end of the hall. The man twitched his hands towards his belt. He had a concealed weapon.

Crispin glanced back to Aubrey. “Aubrey, stay away from Buxton.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.” She struggled out of his grip. Her eyes flicked to the red-headed man and he shifted in his place, dropping his arms.

“Who is he,” Crispin rumbled. “I recognize him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A sharp jerk of jealousy raked across his gut. “I need to see my friends, Crispin.” Her tone changed and she leaned into him. “Sister Bernadette could be dying.”

He forced himself to breath, to ignore the closeness of her body. She was playing him. She would win if he let her. “They’re safe. Sister Bernadette’s ribs were bruised, but she’s resting comfortably. They’re being well looked after. I promise you.”

Aubrey relaxed and stood back. As she turned off her charm he felt all warmth seep away from him. It ached. “You can’t keep them locked up like that forever, Crispin.”

“I know.” It took all of his effort to let her go. He straightened and dropped his hands to his side. His face throbbed where she’d struck him. “Buxton is already distracting himself with some other quest for glory. He’ll soon get tired of having them around and then-”

“He’ll hang them?”

He frowned at her. “He’ll let them go. Quietly.”

She crossed her arms. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I know him.”

She huffed out a laugh. “How can I trust you?”

His eyes snapped to hers, heart hammering in his chest. He could spill it all out to her, tell her everything he felt for her … and she would slap him again. “Trust me.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. Her doubt shredded him. “Fine.” The single word rang with loss. She turned on her heel and marched off. The red-haired man was already gone and she turned down a corridor in the opposite direction.

Crispin stared at the corner where she had disappeared then glanced over his shoulder to the stairs that lead to the War Room. He turned and dragged himself to the stairs. Buxton would be waiting.

Aubrey wound through the castle and passed through the kitchen on her way outside. Her hand pulsed with a dull pain where she’d slapped Crispin. Her efforts to set her friends free had been ramming up against wall after wall for days. Ethan had run off to Matlock and Geoffrey had sent his steward Henry to rail at her to come home rather than lending his influence to battle Buxton. She had known the direct approach would fail, but Crispin had swept her away from Buxton so fast she would have had better luck sending him a message by pigeon.

“Oy!” Jack’s strained whisper caught her when she marched through the small archway into the castle’s back garden. He jumped into step with her as they circled through the garden to stand under the north face of the tower. “I take it your negotiations went belly up?”

She glared sideways at him and crossed her arms, focusing on the window at the top of the High Tower. “Apparently Buxton was seconds away from killing me.”

Jack’s eyebrow twitched. “Was he?” She stared at him, jaw clenched. “Right. Well you showed Crispin then, didn’t’cha.”

“He deserved it.” She fought the urge to gloat.

“Whatever you say, mate.” Jack’s expression blossomed into humor.

Aubrey bit back the urge to smack him as hard as she’d hit Crispin. She turned her attention up to the small window at the top of the tower. “Have you seen them?”

“Nah.” Jack crossed his arms in mirror of her. “Not since yesterday.” He frowned. “MP looked like she wanted to say somethin’ but there was guards crawlin’ everywhere.”

Aubrey nodded. “She’d have to shout to be heard.”

Jack shifted his weight, dropped his arms, and raised a hand to stroke his goatee. “Not if I was at that window right there.” He pointed to another small window several feet below the North Room. “What’s up there, do ya reckon?”

“Guest rooms, if memory serves.”

“Any guests?”

The thrill of a plan shot through Aubrey’s blood. “Not that I know of.” Her small mouth widened into a grin as she and Jack shared a mischievous glance. “It’s just one floor under the top of the tower.”

“With its eight guards,” Jack finished. “We could take ‘em. What with you dressed as the Bandit and all.”

He was teasing her. Strangely enough she didn’t mind. She shook her head. “My clothes are still packed. Besides, if the Bandit is seen in the tower we’ll have bigger problems on our hands than nuns.”

“What about after dark then?”

They could sneak up to the High Tower, find a way to draw Madeline or Sister Bernadette to the window, and let them know that they were doing their best to free them. They might even be able to give them a clue as to how to work around Buxton and his cronies. Hope at last.

“Tonight.” Aubrey nodded once. Her shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. They were going to do something.

With no festivities to draw gawking nobles, Derby Castle was sleepy after dark. Aubrey had expected to have to press herself into shadows and hide in alcoves to avoid being discovered. But by the time she and Jack snuck up the dark stairs to the High Tower, most of the servants had gone to bed and neither Buxton nor Crispin had been seen for hours.

The lack of opposition set Aubrey’s nerves on edge. She took the lead, creeping up flight after flight with silent steps. Jack could keep quiet when he had half a mind to. They made it to the landing below the top floor of the tower without so much as a sneeze.

The muffled sound of guards chattering drifted down to them. Aubrey strained to listen but couldn’t make out a word. Good. She turned to Jack and gestured across the hallway. He jumped out in front of her, blending into the dark as he felt his way along the torchless hallway to a door at the far end. A long coil of rope was wrapped around his waist. Aubrey had been far too wary to bother asking him what it was for. She held her breath as he creaked the door open and listened for any sign that they had been heard as Jack rushed into the room.

There was a muffled thump and thud. She rushed into the room behind Jack as he scraped himself up off the floor and righted a dusty chair.

“Didn’t see it,” he muttered. He made far too much noise as he scraped the chair back to the table before hurrying on to the window. Then he banged open the shutters and thrust his head out into the June air. “Oy!” he called up to the North Room.

“Jack!” She hissed. He ignored her. “Ssh!”

He whistled, focused on the window above. She glanced over her shoulder, panic rising through her stomach to her throat. There was no point in talking to their friends if Jack’s noise got them caught.

Sparing one brief glance at him hanging so far out the window that a strong wind could have blown him to his death, she dashed into the hall. When she reached the landing she climbed a few stairs to listen to the conversation of the guards to judge if they’d been overheard. The tone of the conversation had changed. They still chattered, but it was no longer the dull drone of bored men.