The Loyal Heart (30 page)

“You still have green stuff on your head,” she found her voice.

“Do I?” He sat up straight and raised a hand to his forehead. Flecks of green and dark brown came off on his fingers.

Aubrey jumped into action. “Come here.” She grabbed one of the goblets of water that the servants hadn’t taken and a spare napkin from her place. Crispin stood and met her in the center of the table. “Let me see.”

Crispin sat on the side of the table, resting his hands on the warm wooden edge. He could hear the distant clatter of the servants in the pantry, the crackling of the fire in the great fireplace, but the house was still, holding its breath. Aubrey dipped the napkin in the water and bit her lip as she stood in front of him, between his knees, and wiped away the remnants of her handiwork. He forced himself to breathe as she touched him. She used her free hand to hold his head still in her palm as she worked.

“There.” The one word echoed through him.

He could feel her warmth inches away, could hardly move, hardly look at her. He wanted her so desperately he shook. Slowly he raised his eyes to her. She met his gaze with a warm sparkle that contained just a hint of fear. It wasn’t fear the way he had seen it in her up to that moment.

A lock of her hair had slipped from her plait. He reached up and brushed it behind her ear. She didn’t move or flinch. He let his fingers trail across the warm skin in front of her ear, along her jaw. Still she didn’t move. He repeated the gentle caress across her face, his heart audible in his ears, his breathing shallow. He rested his hand on her face, brushing her hot cheek with his thumb. Then he leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers, inch by inch. Still she didn’t move, didn’t breath. He pulled her closer still, closing his eyes as his mouth touched hers.

He kissed her. Lightly at first, waiting for rejection. But when she didn’t push him away, when he felt her body sway towards him he kissed her a hair’s breadth more firmly. But still with more restraint than his heart felt. It wasn’t until he felt her hands on his chest that he breathed out a quick sigh and pulled her against him, arms encircling her, mouth tasting her. Still he feared the moment would evaporate, even with her arms sliding up his shoulders and across his neck as her hands threaded through his hair.

He wanted to taste her, explore her, not devour her. Her mouth opened for him and his heart squeezed in his chest as his lips caressed her. His arm slid low over her back and he pressed her hips into the hard evidence of his desire. She gasped, her mouth against his, and her hands tightened in his hair. She didn’t pull away. She swiveled her hips against him.

He let her go with a shaky breath, unable to meet her eyes when they leaned apart for fear of what he would see. He could not have this perfect moment ruptured by the truth. He was seconds from losing all control, and if he lost control he knew he would hurt her. His body ached as he looked at her. Her lips were still parted, swollen and tender from the kiss. He fled before he changed his mind.

“Crispin!” His name on her lips stopped him. He turned to her. “I-”

“Thank you,” he interrupted, not wanting to hear her rebuttal. He took a deep breath. “For taking care of my injury. Thank you.” He cursed his voice for shaking with locked up passion.

She leaned against the table, her body limp and fluid. He looked away so that she wouldn’t see his desire for her burn in his eyes. He knew he should say something else to her, but didn’t know what. Finally he pushed himself forward and strode out of the room and into the chilly Autumn night, leaving her standing alone in the hall.

Jack marched through the halls of Derby castle and up the stairs leading to the High Tower a couple of steps behind Crispin, scowling. In two weeks as Crispin’s man he had discovered that everything Ethan had told him had been complete rubbish.

It started with Aubrey. Ethan prattled on and on about how he loved her, about how she had married Crispin under duress. Well, he had spotted them kissing in the hall after supper that night, and by the looks of things they would be un-duressed in no time.

As he crossed the hallway at the top of the High Tower and followed Crispin into Buxton’s room he took a deep breath and worked his face into a blank mask. Ethan had been dead wrong about other things too. He kept his place behind Crispin when they stopped and avoided looking at the big other thing who stood playing with one of the mice he kept in a huge hutch on his table. He thanked his lucky stars that Buxton had never bothered to see him when he’d been dragged in for horse thieving and that Crispin didn’t seem inclined to spill those beans now.

“My lord,” Crispin directed his anger at Buxton behind a schooled blank expression, “an emissary from the crown has come to see you.”

“Ah!” Buxton dropped the mouse on the floor and stepped on it as he moved towards them. “Show him in!”

Crispin jerked his head to Jack, who nodded and hurried out of the room. The emissary was waiting in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, a smarmy bloke named Pennington. Crispin hadn’t known he was coming, and if Crispin didn’t know about one thing there were at least ten more waiting to pounce.

“Oy, Buxton wants you, mate.” Jack motioned to the man to come with him.

“Of course he does.” The tosser dared to give him a hoity-toity sniff. Well, he couldn’t care less what the idiot thought, royal emissary or not. He lead the man up the stairs to Buxton’s room.

“But my lord,” Crispin was arguing with Buxton yet again, “to leave me in the dark is not only irresponsible, it’s-”

“Shut up, Huntingdon!” Buxton spun on him with a fierce frown. “You’re sounding more and more like your wife every day.” He lashed out and hit Crispin across the face with the back of his hand. Crispin had so many scratches from blows like that now that it was a wonder Aubrey even bothered to patch them up. At first Jack had wondered why the hell he put up with the abuse, but the mouse carcasses littering the floor was enough of an answer. Just because Buxton treasured you one minute didn’t mean he wouldn’t step on you the next.

“Ah!” Buxton melted to sweetness when he saw Pennington. “What news from London!” He left Crispin and sidled up to the hoity-toity emissary.

“My dear Buxton,” Pennington drawled. “So good of you to invite me for this momentous occasion.” The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood up. Pennington turned to Crispin with an obsequious grin that curled into a sneer. “I hear you’ve been making security arrangements for Prince John’s arrival.”

Crispin’s back went stiff. “We have doubled the number of guards in and around the castle for the Prince’s stay. The top of the High Tower will be manned at all times and only the prince, Buxton, and myself will be allowed access while he is here.”

“And Pennington,” Buxton added.

Jack sucked in a breath at the twitch in Crispin’s jaw. “Of course.” Crispin’s voice was so dark that it wasn’t much more than a growl.

“That’s all well and good,” Pennington sighed and waved a limp hand with a sniff, “but what about these rumors we’ve been hearing about a dispossessed noble who fancies himself a highwayman?”

Buxton snorted and threw his arm around Pennington’s shoulder. “He’s nothing. Just a story. Crispy’s got that all taken care of, don’t you Crispy?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“See, nothing to worry about.” He slapped Pennington’s back.

“Mmm. Right.” Pennington sidled towards the door, rubbing his hands. “Feel up for a game of chess, Alfie?”

“Chess? God no!” Buxton waved him off.

“If you change your mind….” Pennington shrugged and turned to leave the room. As he did he looked down his stubby nose and sniffed at Jack. Jack grinned as though the man had paid him a compliment then ignored him.

Buxton ambled over to his mouse hutch. Jack glanced to Crispin for his next cue. Crispin just stood there, tall and impassive the way he did when he was thinking. His face held no expression at all but his eyes shone bright blue. He’d learned to recognize that look. It wasn’t good.

“And you, Huntingdon!” Buxton shouted as if he were in the middle of a tirade instead of at the beginning of one. The man’s mood swings could give Sister Bernadette apoplexy. “It’s been months since I ordered you to kill Ethan of Windale. But oh, what’s this? He’s still alive?”

In the blink of an eye Buxton grabbed a dagger from the table and lunged at Crispin. He stopped short of thrusting it into Crispin’s gut. When Crispin flinched Buxton laughed. “One or the other of you had better be dead before the end of the week, Huntingdon.” He traced the tip of the dagger up Crispin’s chest, across his heart, and sliced the fastening that held his tunic closed near his neck. “I would have thought that you wanted Windale dead,” his voice was a sinister purr, “before he uses your sweet wife to populate his land with bastards.”

“We could raise the reward for his capture, my lord.” Jack watched in awe as Crispin ignored both the threat of the dagger and the burning in Buxton’s eyes as he peeled the neck of his shirt lower with the blade. The man had balls of iron. “Announce the higher price at the Faire.”

Buxton’s face switched from being driven by rage to thoughtful. He took a breath then stepped back and waved the dagger around as if it were a toy. The light in his eyes sent a chill down Jack’s spine. He didn’t know how Crispin could stand so still in the face of whatever disaster Buxton was hatching. “People love to bet on a good fight, don’t they.” He turned to Jack who blinked as he tried to follow the hazy line of logic. “Don’t they!”

Jack jumped as the dagger pointed in his direction. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, they do.” Buxton’s eyes flashed with fury and he charged Jack, dagger first. “My lord!” Jack remembered moments before being run through.

“That’s better.” Buxton laughed as if coming inches from making Jack soil himself was funny. He slipped towards Crispin. “Here’s the plan. We lure Windale out into public with a contest at arms. Nobles only, of course. I’d be willing to bet that Windale won’t be able to resist a good contest. We draw him in, spring a trap, and arrest him. We can even have him hung at the feast ending the Faire as the highlight of the whole grand event. Ooo! That’s good! Prince John would love that!”

Crispin shifted. “My lord, if Windale didn’t show up for the competitions at the end of the Council of Nobles how can we assume he would be present for the competitions at this faire?”

“He didn’t show up because you were busy marrying his woman!” Buxton glared fire at Crispin, temper swinging like an axe on a rope. He planted a hand on Crispin’s chest for a moment before it balled into a fist and pounded him hard enough to make Crispin lose his breath. Buxton’s eyes glittered with inspiration. “Ah, but this time we can dangle his woman in front of him. Good idea, Crispy.” He spread his hand across Crispin’s collar then slid his fingers into the neckline of Crispin’s shirt and across his bare chest.

“My lord….” No words followed as Crispin caught his breath and glanced at Buxton’s hand at work. It was all Jack could do not to lose his lunch as he realized Buxton’s intent. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the teasing motion of Buxton’s fingers across Crispin’s nipple.

“You will bring Lady Aubrey here for the Faire. And if she’s not enough….” He glanced up to Jack with a sick smile. “You say that one knows Windale’s ways.” The blood drained from Jack’s face. “I should probably kill him.” He shrugged, pulling his hand out of Crispin’s shirt, glancing up into his eyes. “He should be able to tell us just what sort of thing would appeal to Windale’s massive ego.” Buxton glanced to Jack with questioning eyebrows raised.

“I, yeah, uh, I think it’s a grand idea, my lord,” Jack choked. “Yeah, uh, Windale. If he thinks that he’s protectin’ Aubrey….” He trailed off, glancing up to Crispin to see if he’d said the right thing or if he was making it worse. Crispin wouldn’t acknowledge him.

Buxton’s grin widened and he walked over to slap Jack’s shoulder. “Not bad for a first try, Crisboy.” He slid his hand up Jack’s shoulder to flick his earlobe.

“Oy!” Jack slapped at his ear, and jumped away from Buxton as if he’d held a torch to his head.

Buxton ignored the reaction. “We have this faire, an armed combat competition, and if we fail to catch Windale then we’ll just kill this one at the feast instead.”

“My lord, no,” Crispin defended him, stepping forward.

“No?” Buxton whipped around to glower at Crispin. “No?” He smashed Crispin across the face with his ring-filled hand. “You do
not
tell me no, Huntingdon!” He struck out again, punching Crispin in the gut and doubling him over. “What do you care about that one anyhow?” He grabbed Crispin’s jaw in his tight grip and brought his face to Crispin’s, ignoring the blood that was beginning to drip from Crispin’s nose and onto his hand. “Things were so much nicer when it was just the two of us,” he purred. “First you let her get between us, now him.” Gently he kissed Crispin’s jaw where it met his ear. Then he bit his earlobe.

Crispin jerked. Buxton let him go with a laugh. He forced himself to stand straight and wiped at his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. “Do you want me to proceed with the preparations, my lord?”

Buxton remained still for a few moments, watching as the blood from Crispin’s nose trickled across his hand. His tongue flickered out to taste it, then he sniffed and wiped his hand on his chausses, pacing across the room. “Yes, I think so.”