The Loyal Heart (45 page)

The best versions of the story were those spread through the city of Derby by Sir Crispin’s ginger-haired man. Jack Tanner was everywhere, organizing, arranging, and overseeing everything in the castle and the city as his master and friend recovered from his wounds. Some rumors said that he was a horse thief, that he had been rescued from certain death by Lady Huntingdon, but anyone who wanted to be taken seriously knew that he was a noble from some far-off shire who had just disguised himself as a thief to serve the prince. Jack wasn’t about to set them straight.

Prince John returned to Derby just after the new year. The snow of a few days before had hardened into ice and the sunshine of the morning of his arrival glistened off of icicles hanging from the walls and turrets. A feast was held in his honor and many of the nobles who had been chased off by Jack after the faire returned to enjoy it. The prince sat at the head of the table in the newly painted and redecorated Great Hall. Every sign of the chess match was gone and Buxton’s blue and green colors had been replaced by the royal standard of England. Crispin sat at the prince’s right hand and Aubrey at his left, with Jack on Crispin’s right.

The hall was bright and people laughed and talked. Even still, all Crispin wanted to do was go home to Windale. He missed the coziness of the manor, the intimacy of his and Aubrey’s bedroom. When the prince stood to speak he had to drag himself away from those fond thoughts, glancing to Aubrey who smiled and winked at him.

“My good people,” the prince announced, holding out his arms. “As I understand it, Derbyshire has had a bit of a shake-up this past season.” The assembled nobles laughed and a few applauded. The prince soaked up their praise, his smile smug and warm. “But as I understand it, the shire has not been without leadership during this time. My most loyal vassal, Sir Crispin of Huntingdon, has battled through his own near death and grievous injuries to continue to keep Derby and the surrounding country in order. I think it only appropriate to make that formal.” The assembled nobles cheered their agreement. The prince stepped away from his chair and walked around the end of the high table, striding out to a spot in the center of the floor. “Sir Crispin, would you please step forward.”

Aubrey grinned across the table to Crispin as he stood, head lowered and face coloring under the attention. He took hold of the thick cane he was now using to support himself as his broken leg healed and limped to the spot where the prince stood. The nobles all around applauded. It was a feeling like nothing Crispin had ever experienced. He remembered the long-ago promise that Buxton had made him; that he would make him wealthy, powerful, respected. He had kept true to that promise, though never in the way he would have expected.

“Sir Crispin, please kneel,” the prince commanded him.

Crispin leaned on his cane and lowered himself to his knees. Just when he thought he was going to stumble and fall flat on his face, Aubrey was at his side, holding him steady. He grinned at her and was nervous for a moment that he would show too much emotion when she took his hand and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Well this is unusual,” the prince laughed, “but perhaps appropriate.” He motioned for one of his attendants who brought forth a small polished and bejeweled sword. He took the sword and held it over Crispin. “Sir Crispin of Huntingdon, in thanks and in honor of the great sacrifices and services you have made to me personally and to England, and on behalf of my brother King Richard, I hereby appoint you Sheriff of Derbyshire.”

He lay the sword on Crispin’s shoulder and a great cheer went up from the nobles. The prince wasn’t done. He held out his hands for the nobles to quiet, and when they did he went on.

“Furthermore, as a reward for the unswerving loyalty that you have shown,” a mischievous smile lifted the corners of his mouth as Crispin glanced questioningly up at him. “I hereby also confer upon you the title of Earl of Derby, granting you all the land and jurisdiction inherent with it.”

A gasp went up from the nobles. Crispin had just been named as lord and master of all of them. He glanced up at the prince, eyes wide with surprised. “My liege,” he frowned, his tone daring to question him.

Prince John leaned closer to him. “You once told me that you did not want more, that all you wanted was to go home to your manor and raise a family and grow old with your lovely wife.” Aubrey looked from the prince to Crispin with a bright, stunned smile. “You are exactly the kind of man I will need watching my back.”

The prince smiled and bid Crispin and Aubrey rise. Crispin struggled to his feet, gripping his cane. As overwhelmed with gratitude as he was at his new status he felt the twist of obligation inside of it. The prince went on.

“Jack Tanner, please step forward!”

Again the crowd gasped then fluttered to applause. Jack stood where he was at first, shocked beyond reaction. It was only when one of the nobles nudged him forward that he found his power of motion and walked around the edge of the table and out to the center of the floor. Crispin nodded to him, trying hard to hide a grin. As Jack took his position he motioned for one of the castle guards to come over to him. “Go and get Ethan and his men out of the dungeon and bring them here.” The guard nodded and rushed off.

“Jack Tanner, you will kneel,” the prince commanded. Jack dropped to his knees, eyes wide with possibility, a grin spreading across his face. He felt for the rosary on his wrist. “From henceforth you will be Jack Tanner no more. Sir Crispin, I hope you don’t mind if I go parceling up your land.”

“Not at all, my liege.” Crispin bowed to the prince. He smiled at Jack as Aubrey took his arm.

“In the name of my brother, King Richard, and England, I hereby grant you the title of Lord John of Kedleridge, conferring on you the land and estates of Kedleridge and all of the rights and privileges thereof.” He lay the sword on Jack’s right shoulder. “Rise, Lord John.”

Jack climbed to his feet, stunned. He glanced around at the nobles who now applauded him, although they didn’t necessarily look happy that a peasant was now their equal.

He sent the prince a lopsided grin. “Thanks, my liege.” He turned to Crispin and Aubrey. “Did’ja hear that? Lord John of Kedleridge!” He joined his friends and Aubrey hugged him firmly. “Oy, where in hell is Kedleridge anyhow, mate?”

Crispin laughed and held out a hand to grasp Jack’s. “Right over the hill from Windale.”

“Oy! We’re neighbors then!” Jack patted his friend’s arm.

“Looks like it.” Crispin glanced up as Ethan and his men were shuffled into the room by way of the gallery above. He glanced to them with a wicked grin, then smiled mysteriously at Aubrey before stepping forward to the prince. “My liege, may I make a pronouncement?”

The prince saw Ethan and his men enter the room and nodded to Crispin. “This is your shire, Lord Crispin, administrate it how you will.”

When the assembly of nobles had settled down Crispin raised his voice. “As the new Sheriff of Derbyshire and Earl of Derby,” he glanced to Ethan as he said the words, getting exactly the kind of ferocious glare from Ethan that he had hoped his words would illicit, “I would like to appoint Lord John of Kedleridge as my Bailiff.” Again he glanced to Ethan, once more to be rewarded with the kind of shocked and angry stare at the twist of fate events had taken for them all. He turned to Jack, who was grinning smugly up at the gallery, and asked, “Will you be my right-hand man, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. “Figured I already was.”

Crispin glanced to Aubrey and then to Jack again. “What’s the point of being Sheriff if you don’t have an adversary, eh?”

Jack caught on to what the words implied and a slow, wide grin spread across his face. “Oy, it’s your call, mate,” he shrugged. “They’ll be trouble.”

“I’m counting on it,” Crispin replied. He nodded to Jack, who nodded back. Then he turned to address the prince and the room. “As my first act as Sheriff, I hereby declare that the outlaw Ethan of Derbywood and his men-” he paused again, glancing to Aubrey. She rolled her eyes. He went on. “-be released from custody and allowed to return to Derbywood.”

A gasp went up from the nobles. Ethan’s jaw had dropped open in surprise and at his sides his men were still trying to grasp what had just happened. Ethan recovered and stared down at Crispin. “This does not mean I owe you, Huntingdon.”

“Of course not, Derbywood.” Crispin grinned mirthlessly up at him. “Get them out of here!”

The announcements, surprises, and reversals of fortune were over. Everyone turned to resume their feast and the musicians began to play again. Prince John walked back to the table with a satisfied smile, feeling he had gained two strong allies. Crispin, Aubrey, and Jack took their places more slowly.

“Earl of Derby.” Crispin groaned in disbelief.

“And you thought you owed Buxton!” Aubrey raised her eyebrow and tossed him a look that was both amused and alarmed.

“Let’s not think about that yet.”

“No, let’s not,” Aubrey agreed.

“This means that you’re a countess now,” he beamed at her as she held his arm in support while they walked around the table to resume their seats. “Lady Aubrey Huntingdon, Countess of Derby.”

“I like just plain Aubrey,” she laughed.

“I’m rather fond of Lady Huntingdon myself,” Crispin grinned, heart full and calm. And even though he knew that they were in view of a room full of people, most of whom either did or would want a piece of him, he leaned over and took Aubrey in his arms, capturing her mouth with his own. He didn’t care about the land or the titles or the honors and responsibilities. All he cared about was her.

The story continues this winter with …

Coventry, 1192

Madeline had never done anything bad in her life. Until now. She yanked the dull gray wimple off of her head and threw it behind a bush, praying that the shadows in the convent gardens would hide her. She crept through the darkness, keeping her hands and body pressed against the wall on her way to the gate. It would be locked this late at night but with the dark to cover her she might be able to climb it and make her escape unnoticed.

An owl hooted nearby and she gasped, eyes flying wide. She held her breath at the flutter of wings that followed and squeezed her eyes shut again, pressing into the wall as if she could become one with the stone. The convent garden was silent but for the rustle of the Spring breeze and the owl. Still she listened, frozen.

Only when she was close to passing out did she let out her breath and resume her creeping. Dread over what she was doing, what she had been forced to do, made every step precarious, every pebble a mountain. The gate that separated the prison of the convent from the promise of the outside world loomed like a titan in the dark. She’d worried so much about reaching it without being seen that she hadn’t given much thought to scaling it. Now that she was here its height and the thick iron spikes lining the top gave her second thoughts.

“All problems look bigger in the dark.”

Madeline yelped and spun to press her back against the great iron gate at the whisper in the night. The tiny form of Sister Bernadette shifted out of the shadows. The serene old nun stared at her as if they had met in the cloisters at midday.

“Sister Bernadette, I can explain,” Madeline wasn’t sure how she found her voice. “I was just-”

“You’ve no need to explain, child,” Sister Bernadette’s wrinkled face glowed in the moonlight.

“But-”

“If I had a handsome young man waiting for me on the other side I would run as well.”

Madeline closed her gaping mouth and blinked at the woman. She had tried so hard to be good, to obey the rules and forget what was in her heart, but Sister Bernadette knew her too well. All of her resolve, all of the fortitude she had built up since her trip to Derby, since meeting the enigma that was Jack Tanner, melted around her.

“I have to go to him,” she rushed to grasp Sister Bernadette’s hands. Tears that she had been holding back through months of prayer and punishment flowed. “I can’t live without him, Sister Bernadette. I tried, truly I did, but I can’t.”

“I know, child,” the gentle nun put one frail arm around her shoulders.

“I tried,” she repeated. “I tried to be strong when Mother Superior told me it was a sin to speak of him. I tried to forget him when father refused to let me leave the order. I tried to obey, but…,” she gulped at the memories of the confinements, the involuntary fasts, the days on end of prayer on her knees on cold stone floors all winter that had been imposed on her for her rebelliousness. “Oh, Sister Bernadette,” she broke down anew, “I love him.”

“I know you do,” Sister Bernadette dropped her whisper to the mere hint of sound, walking her back to the gate. “You are young, my dear, and the hearts of young women should be filled with love.”

“But I’ve tried to fill my heart with love, with love of God,” Madeline sniffled, wiping her face on the sleeve of her threadbare habit. “It’s what my father wanted.”

Sister Bernadette patted her back. “How can a father expect his young daughter to be faithful to God when she has the love of a handsome red-headed young man?”

Madeline could only stare back at the woman. “Sister Bernadette!” she squeaked, “How can you say that?”