The Loyal Heart (3 page)

“Well you’re welcome to stay with us at Morley as long as you’d like while you…” Geoffrey searched for the right words, “while you figure things out.”

“Figure things out,” Toby huffed and kicked at the dirt.

“Figure out how to get Windale back you mean,” Ethan answered them both with sudden energy. “I’m not going to sit by and let Buxton and Huntingdon steal my land. Windale is mine by right of blood. I’ve done nothing to warrant losing it, nothing except serving my country.”

Aubrey shrugged. “I’m sure if you bargain with Buxton-”

“I am not bargaining with that traitor!” Ethan spat.

Aubrey let out an exasperated breath. “Well maybe you can buy it back from him. He’s always hoarding money.”

“I don’t have any money,” Ethan answered in a glum voice. “Everything I own is at Windale.”

The four of them fell into silence. Aubrey felt more helpless than she had since before Geoffrey returned. She stared at the purses tied to her belt. “Here.” She began to untie them. “Take these.”

“I will not!” He planted his hands on his hips.

“But they could help.”

“I’m not taking anything from you.”

“I see the Turk didn’t beat the stubbornness out of you,” Geoffrey scoffed.

Ethan let out a breath, his shoulders dropping. “I’m not a charity case. I’m a lord. I only want what’s mine.”

“In that case I think Aubrey’s right,” Geoffrey shrugged.

“Thanks, Geoff.” Aubrey turned her self-satisfied smile on Ethan.

“The only way you’re going to have your lands restored to you is by convincing Buxton to restore them. I know you don’t want to,” he raised his voice as Ethan opened his mouth to protest, “but if there’s one thing we’ve all learned from Buxton’s tenure as Sheriff it’s that if you want anything you have to fawn over Buxton to get it. He loves the attention.”

“Come to Derby with me tomorrow,” Aubrey fed into the growing plan. “There’s a feast at the castle in the evening. Everyone is invited.”

“A feast at the castle?” Ethan glanced at her. “You’re joking.”

“Buxton is always throwing a party or hosting games and the like,” Geoffrey nodded. “He thinks his duties as Sheriff are best fulfilled by keeping the nobles of Derbyshire happy, fat, and entertained. He figures that way they won’t bother him about petty things, like rights or taxes.” He smirked. “Most of the nobles just love him.”

Ethan dropped his shoulders. “Buxton. Most of the nobles love Buxton.”

“Yeah, and most of the nobles are idiots,” Aubrey added. “You know that. As long as they’re comfortable they’re happy.”

“It’s worth a try at least,” Geoffrey finished.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Ethan swayed in agitation. “What happened to all of you while I was away? Don’t you remember who Buxton is? How he got to be Sheriff in the first place?”

“Not this again.” Aubrey threw up her arms even as her skin itched with uncertainty.

“Buxton won his appointment fair and square, Ethan,” Geoffrey turned serious. “There was no evidence linking him to your father’s murder.”

“And now he’s the most popular man in the shire?” Ethan brushed over their doubt.

“Well, we’re not going to solve old mysteries tonight,” Toby broke into the debate, his tone brisk and businesslike. “My lord,” he stepped across to Ethan and laid a hand on his arm, “you need your rest. Sir Geoffrey, may we retire to Morley?”

“Sure Toby.” Geoffrey pushed away from the tree and hobbled towards his horse. “You two look like you could use a nice hot meal and a warm bed, no matter what Buxton’s up to.”

Toby’s large brown eyes wavered from Geoffrey to Ethan. His expression melted into a hopeful, devoted smile. Ethan rewarded him with a tired grin, patting his hand then stepping towards Aubrey. Certain that things were as taken care of as they could be at the moment, Toby hurried to Geoffrey’s side. “My lord, would you like assistance?”

Geoffrey’s expression was pure misery as he turned to the mousy man with a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Ethan couldn’t watch Geoffrey struggle onto his horse. Instead he glanced to Aubrey. Face flushed, she concentrated on untying the pouches from her belt and securing them in her saddlebag. As Ethan joined her, standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body, she became aware of every inch of her tight chausses. Her cinching vest squeezed the breath out of her. When she turned her blue-green eyes to him and caught his gaze a warm twinge spread through her gut.

“Do you go out like this often?”

Heat rose to Aubrey’s face. Her heart raced in her chest, but she did her best to hide it with a careless shrug. “Every once in a while. Enough to make an impression.”

“You’ve certainly made an impression on me,” Ethan grinned.

A thrill of danger, like the one she’d felt when she battled Sir Crispin, raced down to her toes. She turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Have I?”

“A sight like you battling Huntingdon makes coming home worthwhile.”

“I’ve got a price on my head, you know.”

“Really?” He leaned towards her. “How much?”

“Twenty pounds.”

“You don’t say,” he hummed. “And how much do you bring in on average?”

She grinned, face less than a foot from his. “At least that much and more.”

He purred. “I could use a friend like you.”

“Oh?” Aubrey cursed her voice for trembling. She could smell his rich, masculine scent and wanted to reach out and touch him. She was mere inches from kissing him.

“Oh yes.” His expression turned mercenary. “To help get my land back.”

It was as if ice water had been thrown on her. Aubrey stood straight and busied herself with the pouches of coins to hide her flaming red cheeks.

“There has to be a way to get Windale back that doesn’t involve licking Buxton’s boots,” Ethan went on. “I can’t just let my people suffer under Huntingdon’s iron grip.”

“Well they’re not exactly suffering,” Aubrey snapped, refusing to look at him. “I can’t say if Huntingdon is good to them, I haven’t been to Windale in ages, but they prosper as much as any other village.”

“It’s my land and I want it back.”

“So get it back,” she hissed and threw the last pouch into the saddlebag. “Swallow your pride and appeal to Buxton directly. You never know unless you try. He can’t be entirely unreasonable.”

“You don’t know Buxton like I do,” Ethan snarled.

“Oh, and you know him?”

“Well enough. And Huntingdon,” he spat the name.

“Don’t start that again.” Aubrey narrowed her eyes. Every time Crispin’s name was mentioned Ethan started hurling accusations. Granted, Crispin wasn’t the most charming or cheerful man she knew, but the worst that could be said about him was that he was Buxton’s lackey. He was no murderer. She knew him well enough to know that. She knew him better than Ethan thought she did.

“Well don’t just stand there looking like a lost sheep.” She grasped her saddle and pulled herself to mount. Once settled she asked, “Wanna ride with me?”

Ethan pulled himself out of his dark thoughts long enough to give Aubrey a warm smile. “Thanks, but I’ll walk.” Aubrey fought not to let her grin fade. Ethan glanced ahead to where Geoffrey had finally made it to his mount’s back. Toby leaned against the beast panting with effort. “And I think I will come with you to the castle tomorrow.”

Sir Crispin of Huntingdon stormed up the curving staircase leading to the High Tower of Derby Castle, his jaw tight and his stomach in a painful twist. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed the sleepless night he’d endured after the attack in the forest. It was nothing to the misery that awaited him. He reached the High Tower’s top floor and marched to the door at the end of the hall with grim determination. The guards let him pass without hesitation.

“My lord.” He bowed his head as he entered.

Lord Alfred of Buxton stood at the far end of the room on the other side of a long, narrow table on which sat a wire mesh hutch. His sharp eyes flickered to Crispin as his hands caressed a ball of gray fur. “Ah, Crispy,” he cooed at the whiskered face in his hands. He held the tiny mouse up to his mouth and made kissing noises, wiggling his own pointed nose at it before tossing it back in the hutch with two dozen others. “How’d it go?” He wore a false smile as he sauntered around the table, rich robe trailing on the stones behind him.

Crispin kept his face impassive. “We were attacked by the Derbywood Bandit, my lord,” he confessed, stomach rolling.

Buxton’s crooked smile grew as he came toe to toe with Crispin. “I’m sorry,” he coaxed, “What was that?”

Crispin cleared his throat, hunched his shoulders. “We were halfway through the forest when the Bandit attacked us.”

“What!” Buxton snapped to fury before Crispin could blink.

“We only lost thirty-five pounds-”

“Thirty-five pounds?” Buxton choked.

“-but the two guards who came with the shipment were injured. They are in the infirmary now.”

“I don’t care if they are in Hell now!” Buxton’s wrath erupted. “Do you know how much thirty-five pounds is, Huntingdon? Thirty-five pounds will feed an army of mercenaries for a week! Thirty-five pounds will arm a man for battle. Thirty-five pounds is not some trifle that you can just toss away to a lunatic in the forest!” He grabbed a fistful of Crispin’s tunic. “And you’re telling me that one skinny little outlaw bested two of my guards
and you
?”

“My lord, I almost had him.”

“Almost?” Buxton yanked Crispin’s tunic hard enough to force him to bow.

The burning in Crispin’s stomach flared. “I was inches from unmasking him and killing him when…”

“When?”

“When he was saved.” He soured into a bitter frown at the memory. Buxton’s mouth hung open in mad suspense. He released Crispin before shouting, “Saved? By who?”

“Ethan of Windale.” Crispin’s voice dropped several registers. His hand closed over the wolf-head dagger in his belt.

Buxton’s face twisted. Then he erupted into laughter. “No!” He clutched his chest as his body shook with mirth. “You don’t say? Windale! Back from the Crusades at last.” Crispin shifted and glanced up at the ceiling with raw irritation. “Sir Ethan of Windale. The same Windale where-”

“-I am lord now,” Crispin finished for him, lowering his cold blue eyes to meet Buxton’s.

Buxton held his breath for a heartbeat then burst into a belly laugh. “What a dilemma,” he teased. “Do you think Windale will ask for his land back?”

“My lord,” Crispin fought down the bile in his throat, “I have had possession of Windale for almost two years. I have made numerous improvements to the land. The waterwheel has just been finished. The profit I have made, that I will make-”

“Oh relax, Crispy.” Buxton nudged Crispin’s chest with his stubby fingers. “It’s not like I’d actually give it back to him anyhow.” Crispin let his body unclench a fraction. “It would be cruel to take away your land after you worked so very hard for it.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he swallowed his offence. He had indeed worked too hard, done too much for what had been given to him to lose it over something as inconsequential as his sense of decency.

“Besides, Windale was a thorn in my side before he left.” Buxton waved his hand and walked to his hutch. “Always pestering me about his father. Who knows what kind of trouble he would get into if I let him have what was rightfully his.” He glanced up to Crispin with a sinister twinkle in his eyes.

Crispin lowered his gaze. “He will challenge your authority, my lord.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Windale if I were you,” he sniffed away the problem. “He’s probably tired and war-weary. His only friend is that cripple Morley and what can he do?”

Crispin’s only answer was to nod. The fire that he had seen in the man’s eyes the night before wouldn’t let him believe for a second that he would slink off and disappear. “My lord, if I may take my leave.” He let his hands fall to his sides. “The gallows need to be prepared for this evening’s entertainment.”

“Oh yes!” Buxton gasped like a child. “I love a good hanging. How many do we have today?”

“Just two, my lord,” Crispin muttered through clenched jaw.

“Guilty of?”

“Stealing horses.”

“How charming,” Buxton sighed. “Carry on.”

Crispin bowed and rushed to leave. He clutched the handle of his dagger and reminded himself of the low hills and swaying fields of Windale as he strode across the hall and started down the long, winding stairs. The land that was now his was worth the price he’d paid for it.

He descended into the wide front hallway of the castle, dodging busy servants as he fled through the castle’s front door. Buxton was hosting a display far grander than a simple hanging that evening and he was the one who had to organize it. He stopped at the top of the long stone stairway leading to the courtyard and glared at the assortment of merchants delivering their wares and the craftsmen constructing the gallows.

His heart stopped and his tension melted at the sight of Lady Aubrey riding through the front gate. She sat astride her chestnut horse wearing a flowing green kirtle with a vermillion under-dress. Its wide neckline set off her pale skin and her long neck. She wore her wavy brown hair loose, brushing her shoulders. He could feel her smile across the courtyard. It spread through his chest and filled him with warmth to the pit of his stomach. And lower. She was beautiful.