The Loyal Heart (42 page)

Buxton concealed the knife in the folds of his cloak before the prince could see it. A grin spread across his thin lips and sunken eyes. “You are dead, Huntingdon,” he seethed, black hatred in his eyes. “You and your precious Aubrey and your boy Jack will all be dead before the sun sets today.”

“Sir Crispin, you too,” Prince John called again.

“Coming, my liege.” Buxton turned and smiled, holding his hands wide to show that there was nothing in them. He strolled to the prince’s side, straightening his tunic with a sniff. Crispin dropped his arms and glanced at his tunic. A slice went through to his shirt and drew a faint red line along his abdomen. He heaved a long, shuddering breath before forcing himself to recover and join the others.

The Great Hall was swarming with preparations for the chess match when they arrived. Pennington disappeared into the colorful throng of nobles. Buxton sent Crispin one last glare before charging up to the gallery. He waved his guards to him and whispered wild instructions, sending Crispin another glare coupled with a toothy grin that made his blood run cold. Two of the guards nodded and rushed off.

“Go find your lady.” Prince John rested a hand on Crispin’s shoulder. His eyes dropped to the clean cut in his tunic. The hand weighed heavily on his shoulder. Then the prince patted him again and sent him off with a nod.

All he wanted was Aubrey. Everything within him was desperate for her. He had to find her and the sooner the better. There was no going back now.

She was busy to the side of the room, handing out white tabards with black chess pieces painted on them. Jack was by her side. At least something was right. When he reached them they both looked at him as if seeing a ghost. Aubrey dropped the tabards and clasped both hands on either side of his face.

“You’re pale as a sheet,” her voice quavered. His eyes flickered to the hole in his tunic without a word. She saw it and hardened into cold steel. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer. With her touch some of his life was coming back. He bent over and picked up the dropped tabards, taking out one marked with a knight and throwing it over his head, hands shaking.

“There is no going back now.” Jack stepped forward to close their small circle, a look of understanding in his eyes. Crispin assumed Aubrey had told him of the pseudo plan and he was more grateful for it than he thought he would be. “He’s promised the three of us will be dead by the end of the day.”

Aubrey nodded, turning pale herself. Jack clasped his friend’s forearm in a show of solidarity. Aubrey darted off to a carved chest against the wall and returned with a long wooden practice sword. She handed it to Crispin, showing him without words how a tiny latch on the handle turned to free the sharp steel sword from its wooden casing. “I have one too,” she told him. She nodded down to her boots and Crispin saw the glimmer of his wolf-headed dagger concealed there. He noticed with a sudden flicker of a smile that she wore the outfit she had once worn as the Bandit with a white queen’s tabard over top.

Crispin glanced to Jack. “I got two, mate.” He drew two swords from his belt. They also appeared to be wooden.

“Two?” Crispin found strength in his voice for the first time all day.

“Yeah.” A rogue’s grin touched Jack’s face as he swung the swords in quick circles in front of them, blades intertwining in a wicked dance. “I’ve learned a few tricks, thought I might show ‘em off.”

A blast of trumpets called them to the game. A buzz went up from the assembly as the servants began ushering the nobles up to the gallery or to a platform that had been raised at the far end of the room. It cleared the painted chess board in the center of the room. The prince, who had been laughing with one of the parties of nobles, started towards them.

“Jack, I want you to protect the prince at all costs.
All
costs. Whatever happens you stick by him and do
not
let him leave your sight,” Crispin ordered, eyes dark and serious.

“Right.” Jack grinned in anticipation.

“Thank you, Lady Huntingdon.” The prince bowed to Aubrey as she handed him his king’s tabard. “And thank you, Sir Crispin.” He flicked his eyes to Jack to show that he had heard the order.

“No, my liege,” Crispin bowed, “thank you.”

Aubrey glanced from one man to the other, miserable with worry over all that those words could imply, over Crispin’s announcement that there was no going back. “Are we all ready?”

“This should be interesting.” The prince smiled at her, taking her gloved hand and kissing it.

They set to work on last minute preparations, Aubrey making sure all of the men on her team were armed, had their tabards, and knew their places. The nobles who she had let into the game preened and showed-off for each other as she cursed their stupidity. Crispin and Jack scanned the room, assessing the space, the noble spectators, the opposing team, looking for exits, weaknesses, traps. Aubrey studied the men on Pennington’s side of the board. Most were nobles decked out in their finest, but one or two had their faces concealed under long hoods. They must be the ringers.

Jack saw what she was thinking and turned to study the men. His eager expression tightened. “Ethan,” he seethed in a low voice.

“Where?” Crispin scanned the room through narrowed eyes as Aubrey swallowed.

“Black queen,” Jack told him, pretending that he hadn’t noticed. The men on both sides were coming out to take their places on the board as the trumpeters sounded another fanfare.

Crispin sent a questioning glance to Aubrey. She wasn’t surprised. Ethan had spent the last seven months tying her in knots. Why should he stop now. Crispin took her hand and squeezed it, kissed her forehead, then handed her over to the prince.

The crowd of nobles applauded as Aubrey and the prince walked to the center of the board and bowed before heading to their places. She stood with only the castle’s master-at-arms, York, in a bishop’s tabard, standing between her and Crispin. He glanced from the Prince to Harrow, one of the few guards they knew they could trust, in the other bishop’s tabard to Jack. The two men’s eyes met and they nodded.

The trumpet fanfare stopped and Buxton appeared in the gallery above the board. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “We are here today to witness a symbolic gesture of peace! For this very morning Arthur Pennington, emissary of King Richard, and our own Prince John have taken the first steps to begin the process of reconciliation between brothers which will bring stability to Derbyshire and England!” A cry of delight swelled from the crowd. The prince and Pennington waved to the assembly and accepted the praise that was offered. “And so as a symbol of the end of conflict, Pennington has challenged our own Lady Huntingdon,” he growled out her name, “to a human chess match.” As the crowd cheered Aubrey tried to smile and wave. She glanced to Crispin for support.

“The rules of the game are simple. The pieces move like any other chess game. When one piece is in a position to take another, the two men, or woman in the case of Lady Huntingdon,” Buxton said her name as if it were something sour, “will engage in combat. No, not real combat. Pity about that. There’s a few people down there I wouldn’t mind seeing bloodied.” The nobles laughed at Buxton’s apparent joke. “No, they battle with imitation weapons, if you will. Combat will continue until one side yields. And if there are any disputes, well, as host of this game
I
will be the judge.” As he announced this Buxton sent a murderous glance to Crispin. Crispin met Buxton’s threat with eyes of fire. “Pennington has graciously given Lady Huntingdon the white tabards and the first move. Let the game begin!”

The trumpeters played a long, elaborate fanfare as the crowd applauded and everyone took their final places. Aubrey stood in her square, heart pounding, gathering all of her resolve. She would win this match. But more importantly, she would find a way to create enough chaos so that Crispin could go after Buxton. She looked to the prince on her left and tried to be reassured by his smile. Then she took a deep breath and announced, “Queen’s pawn forward two!”

The crowd applauded the first move of the game and the chunky nobleman who had spent a solid hour the day before begging to be on her team stepped forward two squares.

Pennington grinned across the board at Aubrey, his eyes shadowed. He countered with “Queen’s pawn forward two.”

One of his men, a noble with curling black feathers in his cap, rushed to face her pawn. The two men made a show of staring each other down until they both laughed.

Aubrey couldn’t laugh. She needed to attack. “Queen’s knight to King’s row, third square.” She sent Crispin an stoic glance as he walked through the two pawns in front of him and took his new place with a glance over his shoulder to her. The crowd murmured and a few shouted to the black pawn that he had better watch out.

“Queen’s bishop’s pawn forward one.” Pennington protected the pawn he already had in play with another. The queen’s pawn made a show of being relieved, playing to the crowd.

In her mind Aubrey was trying to map two games; the chess match in front of her and her own plan to position Crispin and Jack where she needed them. “King’s knight to Queen’s row, third square.” Jack nudged his way through the pawns in front of him to a spot mirroring Crispin. The two men glanced at each other, tense. The crowd was disappointed by the move. They thought they were going to see a battle at last.

“King’s pawn forward two.” Pennington shrugged and smiled to the crowd, putting the cloaked pawn in danger of an attack from Jack’s knight to feed the crowd’s desire for action.

Aubrey hesitated. She glanced to Jack. He looked back at her with a ready nod. It was as good a time as any to start the action. “King’s knight to take the black pawn.”

Jack stepped forward and the pawn in question stood his ground as from above Buxton called out, “Clear the board!” and the trumpeters played a fanfare. Crispin headed straight to Aubrey’s side.

As soon as the board cleared Jack drew his twin swords. He itched to move, to use his muscles and hear steel on steel. Or at least wood on … he wasn’t sure what the pawn in front of him used as a weapon. He wasn’t sure who the pawn opposite him was. The man was tall and thin but his face was covered by a hood. He glanced up as he took a peace-bonded axe from his belt. Gray eyes met brown and Jack’s heart pound to this throat.

“Tom!” He dropped his swords to his sides. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Fighting you,” his brother snapped.

Jack raised his weapons again as the two circled each other at the center of the board. “Oy, mate, you don’t want to do this. This isn’t a game.”

“I know.” Tom’s eyes burned with anger. “And you’re gonna lose.” He lunged forward and tried to hit Jack across the face with the handle of the axe.

Jack dodged. Tom’s blow landed on his shoulder, stinging. He spun around and whacked his brother across the side with the flat end of his right-hand sword then followed it with a jabbing blow to the gut with his left. Tom hadn’t seen the second blow coming and doubled over, fighting to keep his balance and not sink to his knees. “Just concede now and get off the board. Get out of the castle, out of the city, where you’ll be safe,” Jack pleaded, leaning over his brother.

Tom didn’t listen. He brought his axe up hard, connecting with Jack’s face and sending him staggering backwards. Jack bit his tongue, and when he spit out blood the nobles shouted with delight. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes flaring as he stared Tom down. The only way to keep his brother out of danger was to take him out. “Don’t make me do this, Tom.”

“You did it to yourself, Jack,” Tom mocked him.

Jack dropped into crouch. As soon as Tom came at him again he jumped into action. He spun his right-hand sword in his hand, chopping a blow across Tom’s shoulder with a loud crack, then slashed with the left-hand sword, thumping it into Tom’s side. Had they been real swords Tom would have been dead before he could blink, but covered with wood the second blow only knocked him off balance. He swung around and brought the right-hand sword crashing against Tom’s back in another move that would have killed him had the sword been real, knocking him over.

When it looked like Tom would struggle to get to his feet he had no choice but to kick him in the ribs, which brought a loud “Oooh!” from the crowd. The blow flung Tom to his back and Jack lunged to him and brought both swords down, crossing them on either side of his brother’s neck. Had the blades been exposed he could have cut Tom’s head off with one motion.

“Yield,” Jack warned him.

“To you?” Tom snarled up at him.

Jack’s expression softened into deep regret. “This isn’t about us, mate. People are gonna die here today. Please don’t be one of them.”

Tom blinked at his brother. It was the look one stranger had for another. All the years they had had only each other to rely on vanished. Jack closed his eyes on the pain. He had never felt more alone.

“I yield!” The sharp cry from Tom snapped his eyes open.

The crowd erupted into cheers and boos. Jack stood, releasing the swords from Tom’s neck. As Tom crawled off the board he shot him a look that told him nothing was over. The yield was only temporary.

“Resume the board!” Buxton called from the gallery and the trumpeters played again. Jack took his new place. As long as Tom kept out of this dangerous madness nothing else mattered.