The Loyal Heart (26 page)

By the time they saw a large retinue coming along the road, the carriage draped with Matlock’s colors and sigil, Ethan was too impatient to wait for the rest of his men. He kicked his horse forward to intercept them.

Matlock rode out to meet him a few yards from the road.

“Matlock.” He nodded as the tall, graying noble approached.

“Windale.” The reply was curt.

“What news from the Council?”

Matlock met the question with a short laugh. “You would know if you had kept your promises.”

Ethan didn’t flinch. “I am sorry that I wasn’t there. I should have been. What was the outcome?”

“Buxton asked that taxes be raised and that we be diligent in collecting them. We agreed. Business as usual.”

Ethan shifted atop his horse. “And?”

Matlock let out a breath. “And we are all to do our utmost to show our support for our royal protector, Prince John, when he arrives.”

“Prince John?” Ethan started. “When he
arrives
?”

For a moment Matlock looked at Ethan in surprise. “Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” Ethan turned to look at his men as they caught up. They all looked baffled, even Jack who liked to pretend that he knew everything.

Matlock studied Ethan with a frown. “The war will be over soon and Buxton wants Derbyshire to show its loyalty to the royal family in no uncertain terms. There’s to be a week-long faire with the prince in attendance on the last day.”

“He wants to show Prince John he’ll support a coup,” Ethan glared.

Matlock shrugged. “He could mean that. Or he could mean sacrificing virgins on the altar at the full moon to ensure royal prosperity. You know how Buxton is. And without Huntingdon there to keep his lid on he was in rare form.”

“Oh yeah? What’d he do?” Jack blurted.

Matlock sniffed and turned up his nose at Jack. “He was in rare form.” He glanced to Ethan. “You are not the only one upset by Huntingdon’s recent nuptials.”

Ethan’s heart and stomach went cold at Matlock’s accusation. “I should have been there.” He didn’t know if he meant Derby or Windale.

“There was nothing you could have done.” Matlock’s answer fit both situations. “He had more guards than usual around the castle, in the Great Hall. He was expecting you, and I believe he was disappointed when you didn’t show.”

“Well, I promise you this much,” Ethan spoke as much to the fates as to Matlock, “I’ll not disappoint him again.”

For a week after the wedding Aubrey slept. The burning pain in her side had lessened, but the leaden weight in her heart hung twice as heavily. Each time she awoke, whether it was light or dark, Crispin was somewhere in the room, sitting in his chair staring out the window, working with a stack of papers at a small table, asleep in the bed next to her.

The first time she discovered him asleep beside her she was tempted to throw off the coverlet and run for the door. She expected him to be inches away, eyes open in the dark, breathing down her neck. Instead he was curled at the far edge of the bed, back to her, black hair tousled on the pillow. He was tense even in slumber and she imagined that one tiny tap would send him crashing over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. She’d found him in that position in the middle of more than one night.

One morning he wasn’t there. The morning sunlight filtered through the bedroom window as she lay on her back with her eyes still closed willing the pain to return and remind her of how her heart was supposed to feel. She heard movement in the room and frowned. With a reluctant sigh she opened her eyes.

The servant who had reminded her so much of Toby busied herself at the far side of the room near the window brushing out her gowns. Aubrey blinked and sat up as quickly as she dared. “Where’s Cr-” She clamped her mouth shut.

The maid turned to her, eyebrows shooting up as a dazzling smile spread across her full lips and rosy cheeks. “It’s about time you woke up in earnest.” She lay the dress she had been brushing over the small table and hurried to the side of the bed, adding a quick, “My lady. Sorry.”

Aubrey stared at the beautiful young woman, mouth open. “Um. Oh. No, it’s okay. You don’t have to ‘my lady’ me.”

“Actually, I do, my lady.” The grin that brought flecks of light into the woman’s large brown eyes made Aubrey want to giggle. “Sir Crispin has appointed me your lady’s maid.”

“Oh.” Aubrey fought the flutter in her chest as she pushed the bedcovers off and swung her feet around to the floor. She tested her weight before standing. A dull ache throbbed in her side but it was nothing compared to the pitiful weakness in her limbs. She glanced to her maid before throwing aside modesty and lifting her nightgown over her head. The maid had to help her. Aubrey untied the bandage around her middle and peeled it away from her wound. She sighed and slumped her shoulders. A thick, crusty scar ran from her ribs to her hipbone on her left side, the flesh surrounding it pink but calm.

“The wise woman, says you had a lucky escape, my lady.” The maid returned with a bowl of scented water and armful of towels.

“She does, does she?” She had escaped nothing. The maid helped her to bathe and replace the bandage over the healing wound. All the while Aubrey shot nervous glances to the door, dreading the possibility that Crispin would return when she was naked. She scolded the butterflies in her stomach at the thought and bullied them back into silence.

“You’re Toby’s sister, aren’t you?” She made conversation to distract her rebellious thoughts.

“I am, my lady, Joanna,” she grinned. “Do you know my brother?”

“I do. We’ve been on a few adventures together.” She grinned at the memory of the dungeon escape.

Joanna took the wet rag from Aubrey, handing her a towel. “Is he still following Lord Ethan around like a puppy?”

Aubrey blinked at the woman’s tone. She would have expected one of Ethan’s servants to speak of him with respect, with love, but Joanna shook her head as if he were a disobedient child. “Didn’t you see them at the wedding?”

Joanna’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and she dropped her arms to her side. “I was in the kitchen. Toby was at the wedding?”

“He … he tried to stop it.” She swallowed over the tightness in her throat and the hollowness of the memory.

When she glanced up, curious at Joanna’s silence, the woman stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the ceiling and biting her lip as she shook her head. “He’d drown himself in the fish pond if Lord Ethan told him to.”

Aubrey’s jaw dropped. “But … Ethan is your master!”

Shock washed over her at Joanna’s merry peals of laughter. “Sure, if riding a fine horse and having a pretty smile makes a man someone’s master.”

“But he loves Windale! He’s trying to get it back. He was going to call for a vote at the Council of Nobles, challenge Buxton’s authority to give the land to Crispin.”

“He can’t do that!” Joanna blanched. “It would be…. All the work of the last years…. Does Sir Crispin know about this?” Aubrey opened her mouth to reply but the woman charged on with, “He can’t just march in here and destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for!” Joanna wrung the rag in her hands and paced. “Maybe if we petitioned the prince to stop it.”

“What?”

“If the people of Windale went to the prince on behalf of Sir Crispin.”

“What!”

“You can’t let Lord Ethan do this!” The anxious fury in Joanna’s eyes as she clutched the towel froze Aubrey.

Maybe she was still asleep and dreaming the whole conversation. Nothing she was hearing from Joanna fit with what she had believed to be true for so long. Forget the pain in her side. It was her mind that hurt now. “I think … I think I’m going to need help dressing.”

“Which one of your kirtles would you prefer to wear?” Joanna’s voice was laced with mock cheer as she forced herself away from the volatile talk.

Aubrey glanced at her garments spread across the table and chest. “The black one.” The last time she had worn it was when she was in mourning for her father. It seemed appropriate to wear it now with her heart and mind in such turmoil. She pressed her hand to her forehead and winced.

Crispin was striding up from the mill when he saw Joanna assist Aubrey through the front door of the manor and into the sunlight. He stopped, heart leaping in his chest, then quickened his steps. Her skin was pale against the black kirtle she wore, but as he approached her eyes flashed. She was already in a temper about something. He wanted to laugh in relief.

“Aubrey.” He nodded as he offered his arm to her. Joanna curtsied and fled into the house.

“Crispin,” she mumbled. She glared at his arm, flinching her hand to it then dropping it to her side only to reach for it again. He fought not to smile as he closed his hand over hers and lead her towards the oak.

“I have news for you, from Coventry.” He ignored whatever pleasantries he was supposed to make.

“What news?” Her hand squeezed his arm.

“Your friends returned safely to their convent. Sister Bernadette has been treated at the hospital and deemed fit.” He’d been waiting a week while she healed to give her the news. He had been waiting a week for a lot of things.

“Has she?” She broke into a smile and he matched it before he could stop himself. “How did you hear this?”

“I sent a man to Coventry.”

Her smile faded as she contemplated the admission. “And what about the Council of Nobles? Did Ethan make his stand?”

Crispin cursed himself for getting his hopes up only to have her crush them. “No.” He didn’t care if he sounded cruel. “He never showed.”

Aubrey dropped his arm. “You’re lying.”

Her words crackled but her eyes were dull. His throat constricted. “I told you I would never lie to you again.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip as she stared across the village instead of at him. “I hope you’re satisfied.”

Yes. He was. Immensely. “Aubrey.” He stepped into her line of vision so that she was forced to look up at him.

“What.”

Part of him wanted to throttle her for her petulance. He stared at his ring on her hand as she gripped her arm. “I have a wedding present for you.”

“A wedding present?” She relaxed her arms.

His heart pounded in his throat but he ignore it. He had been weighing this move all week. “Windale.”

She shook her head in confusion. “Windale?”

“Yes.” He spoke faster when he saw that she was disarmed. “I want you to run Windale.”

Her eyes widened and her arms dropped. “What, Windale Manor?”

He shook his head and glanced out over the common for a moment before looking back to her. “I want you to administrate the manor and the village for me.”

She started to say something that came out as a strangled grunt then gave up as she looked out over the buildings and people. “What do you mean?”

He wanted to reach for her, to take her in his arms and beg for her forgiveness for his past wrongs. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. Standing in the sunlight with her wavy brown hair loose on her back and a pink flush to her cheeks he could hardly resist the impulse. She would accept none of that from him, but there was a chance she would accept this.

“I want you to be lord of Windale. That means you would manage the farms, settle disputes, make sure people have enough to eat when winter sets in.”

“I know how to run an estate, Crispin.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I ran Morley for years.”

“Windale is ten times bigger.” He saw no reason to feign modesty. “It’s a much bigger job. The people would look to you as their master and protector.” He paused and watched her eyes flash as she absorbed what he was saying. “It would mean you would be responsible for collecting their taxes.”

She flicked her glance to him to see if he was teasing her. “Collecting their taxes?” Her saucy grin made his heart hammer.

“In whatever way you see fit, so long as Buxton gets what he asks for.”

“Buxton,” she scoffed. “What will you do while I’m running your land?”

He shrugged, folded his arms, and glanced out over the village in tandem with her. “What I always do. Serve Buxton.”

He wasn’t surprised when she exploded. “I should have known! Serve Buxton. Who are you going to kill for him next?” He winced as she brought up old shame, but he deserved the jab. “You continue to serve an evil man, you know,” she railed on.

“Yes I do!” Her words only made his true feelings about Buxton burn hotter. “But with a difference.”

“What difference?”

“The difference,” he turned to face her again and drew her eyes to his, “is that I will not break a law or kill again while in his service.” He had planned this gift to her in the days he had sat by her bedside, knotted with fear and guilt. “Unless it is to save your life or mine.”

For a moment she worked her jaw in stunned silence, then she squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. “You’re not serious.”

“I am absolutely serious,” he snapped back. “I promise you that I will never kill another man unless it is to defend you or myself.”