The Loyal Heart (5 page)

“What a fine price for treason!” he called up to Buxton.

Aubrey paled and took half a step towards him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Buxton kept the mirth in his voice even as it disappeared from his eyes.

“Treason!” Ethan called louder. “To accept this
bribe
from an upstart who would steal the throne from his own brother.”

The room buzzed. “Ethan, what are you doing?” Aubrey dashed to his side to stop him. One fierce look from him halted her in her tracks.

Buxton’s face split into a wicked grin and he winked at Crispin. “I told you not to worry,” he muttered before grasping the banister leaning over to purr, “And what, sir, do you know about the situation in England? You’ve been off gallivanting with our errant king.”

“I have been fighting for what is right with the man who is the rightful sovereign to us all!” Ethan glared at Buxton then swept his eyes around at the nobles. The majority of them gawked at him while a few looked away in embarrassment. “I did not risk my life to come home to a country gripped with complacency and indifference to the liege who has given his all for God and for England!” He threw his words out to the nobles, ignoring Buxton as he leaned over and rested his elbows on the banister, chin in hand. “King Richard is the man you should all be supporting. If you support his usurping tyrant of a brother then you risk the wrath of a powerful man!”

“Ah hem,” Buxton interrupted with a bored wave of his hand. “King Richard, not here. Prince John, in London. What does that tell us?”

“It tells us that Prince John does not have the mettle to fight!” Ethan shouted. The crowd gasped. Aubrey winced and bit her lip. She glanced up to Crispin in the gallery. His face had gone pale with shock. Ethan charged on. “When I left the Holy Land the war was almost over. King Richard
is
on his way home. How do you think he’ll react when he returns to find Derbyshire in his brother’s pocket?”

Buxton straightened, beady eyes wide. “If the king really is on his way home,” he scrambled to cut off the panic that rippled through the nobles, “then Derbyshire will welcome him with open arms. What have we done here but shine? What king would punish prosperity and peace?” He smiled at his nobles to reassure them.

“Are you all mad?” Ethan barked. Aubrey couldn’t decide if he was exceptionally brave or if the desert heat had cooked his brain. “No king will tolerate rebellion, and make no mistake, that is what this is. If you throw your lot in with a cowering knave like Prince John you will all be punished.”

Buxton’s face flickered into an hollow grin. He arched an eyebrow at Crispin. “Give a man enough rope….” He sneered before rounding on Ethan. “I’m sorry, but did you just call the Prince a cowering knave?” Aubrey’s hands and feet went numb and her instinct took over as she searched for an escape route. “You, Ethan of Windale, so-called champion of England. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you just call a member of the royal family, son of our great, departed King Henry, a
coward
? Who’s committing treason now, eh?” His voice hardened and Aubrey reached for the sword she didn’t wear. “We don’t tolerate treason here!” Buxton declared. “Guards! Arrest him!”

Two guards stepped forward from their posts against the wall and seized Ethan before he could react. They yanked him towards the small side door that the servants used as the crowd of nobles parted. “You can’t do this, Buxton!” Ethan kicked and fought every step.

“Mmm, actually I can.” Buxton smiled at him as they passed under the gallery. “Bye-bye!”

Aubrey tried to step forward as Ethan was dragged towards the door, but the pandemonium of the nobles jostled her to the side. Ethan shouted a protest until one of the guards pounded him hard in the stomach, doubling him over. She shouted with wordless anger and tried to push her way through the crowd after him as he was dragged from the room. She got as far as the stairs before turning in time to see Crispin descending. Sucking in a hopeful breath she changed tactics and flew up the stairs to meet him.

“Aubrey,” he blinked as she rushed him.

“Crispin.” She managed his name only before having to clutch a hand to her chest and catch her breath.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that unfortunate display.” Crispin reached for her arm and ushered her back to the floor of the hall.

She swallowed her incredulity and turned imploring eyes to him. Guilt over what she was about to do tightened her chest. She stepped in closer to him, tilting her head up and pressing herself against his side. She felt the warmth of his body lean towards her. “Crispin, I need your help.” She batted her eyelashes. “Can you take me to the dungeon?”

She could see instantly she’d said the wrong thing. He stepped away and refused to meet her eyes. “Why would you want to go there?”

Aubrey let out a breath. Damn him for making her feel like a heel. “They can’t just take Ethan like that and lock him up. He’s a nobleman.”

“A dispossessed nobleman has few rights.” Crispin’s eyes snapped to meet hers. “Believe me. I know. Windale has spoken treason.”

She bit her lip and grasped his arm with both hands. “But Ethan is not a traitor. He is loyal to the king. That’s all.”

Sharp color splashed his pale face. “You may not want to hear this, Aubrey, but being loyal to an absent king is not a good thing.”

The full emotion in her eyes shifted from fretful to irritated at his words. She dropped his arm and her charade. “Loyalty to the true king is always a good thing, Sir Crispin,” she scolded. “A fact you seem to have forgotten.”

She could see the stinging impact of her words as his head whipped away. “I am loyal, Aubrey.”

“Oh? To what? To Buxton? I know he pays you well for your loyalty.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew she had gone too far. Crispin’s shoulders hardened as if she had slapped his face. She let out a sharp breath. Why did he have to provoke her like this and fill her with such frustration and pity and dig up old wounds. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.” She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her fists at her side. “Look, I just want to go home.” He still wouldn’t look at her. She was furious with herself for wanting him to look at her.

“I’ll escort you to the stables,” he offered, voice hoarse.

“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t bother.”

She turned and stormed off, hoping that he wouldn’t follow. She glanced over her shoulder at him anyhow. He had started back up to the gallery where Buxton was accepting congratulations from the nobles. She sighed in frustration. Instead of trying to muscle her way across the room to the door Ethan had been dragged out of she marched towards the main entrance.

The energy of the Great Hall spilled out into the hallway where one or two groups of gossips tried to engage her in their buzzing. She shrugged her way through them and glared at the cold stone floor as she headed towards a quieter hallway. Once well away from any prying eyes she turned a corner into a narrow stairway and pummeled the wall with her clenched fist.

“Men!” She sat hard on the dim, chilly stairs and planted her head in her hands, elbows on her knees. The last place Ethan needed to be was the dungeon. The last place Geoffrey needed to be was sulking at home. And the last place Crispin needed to be was tied to Buxton’s hip. Her back itched to pry them all out of the tangles they’d gotten themselves into. But the thought of being the only one to take decisive action made her ache with exhaustion.

“Lady Aubrey? Oh thank heavens! There you are!” Aubrey was jolted out of her thoughts as Toby rushed around the corner. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Huntingdon said you went home but your horse is still in the stable.” He paused and hunched over a stitch in his side as she dragged herself to stand. “My master is in the dungeon?” His question turned into an exclamation and he couldn’t stand still as he waited for her to answer.

“Yes.” Aubrey pressed her hands to her eyes. “He couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

“He never could,” Toby exhaled and winced. “Never. At the pub, in the camp. Any time someone says something he doesn’t agree with he has to make himself heard. If I’ve told him once I’ve told him every day, ‘My lord, sometimes you just need to hold your tongue’. But does he listen to me? No.”

As Toby babbled Aubrey smiled in spite of herself. “You do a good job, Toby.”

“I do not!” he argued with her. Her eyebrows shot up. “I let him be wounded in the Holy Land. I let him run off in the first place! I never should have let him do that. And now I leave him alone in Derby Castle for five minutes and he’s gone and gotten himself thrown in the dungeon.” He shook his head and paced in front of her, rubbing his forehead. “I can’t believe I let this happen.”

“It’s not your fault, Toby!” Aubrey didn’t know whether to laugh at him or shake sense into him. “Ethan has always been….”

“I know!” Toby puffed out a sigh. “And now look!”

“Well, there’s nothing for it. We’ll just have to spring him.”

“Right, we’ll just have to –
what
?”

She grinned at her snap plan, energy renewed. “We’ll have to get him out of the dungeon. Right now.”

Ethan ground his teeth as he was dragged from the Great Hall and along dingy passages to the dungeon. The fist in his gut had proven to him that it was pointless to resist. For now. He would go quietly, but if they expected him to stay quiet they had another thing coming.

The guards shoved him around a corner and into a low-ceilinged alcove carved into the bedrock of the castle’s foundation. Flickering torches provided the only light and two sentries stood looking bored and menacing.

As one of his guards stepped ahead to the last cell, unlocking it and swinging open the heavy door, an energetic voice with a common accent echoed, “Oy! It can’t be sundown already! We just ate lunch, mate!”

“Shut up!” the guard growled and shoved the ginger-haired man who had spoken, knocking him on his backside before tossing Ethan into the cell with him. He slammed the door shut, turned the lock with an ominous click, and laughed, “Enjoy your new accommodations, Sir Ethan.”

Ethan lunged at the door and slammed his first against the splintering wood in time to see the guards disappear around the corner.

“
Sir
Ethan?” The ginger-haired man rose to his feet and brushed off his filthy shirt. “Oy, did that guard call you a sir, mate?”

Ethan turned to the man and glared. “Yes,” he snapped. “You have a problem with that?”

“Nope.” The man’s gray eyes twinkled. “I’m just glad they weren’t coming to drag us out to the gallows, you know?” He nodded to the cell’s other inhabitant, a dark-haired man sitting against the far wall with his arms clutching his knees and his head down. “Not ‘til sundown.”

Ethan sized up the man. The last thing he needed distracting him was a peasant who didn’t know his place. The man’s moustache and pointed goatee were growing wild and his clothes stank, but he stood as though he smelled of roses and had all the time in the world to enjoy it. Ethan’s gaze traveled past him to the man on the floor. He bore a distinct resemblance to the cocky peasant but with darker hair and long, slender hands. “What happens at sundown?”

“We hang,” the ginger-haired man shrugged.

Ethan sighed and turned to grip the bars on the door, shaking them to test their solidity. “You seem uncommonly at ease for a man about to hang.”

“Can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it.” He pushed himself away from the wall and took a step towards Ethan, hand outstretched. “Jack Tanner,” he introduced himself, “Condemned man.” He nodded over his shoulder to the corner. “My brother Tom.”

Ethan turned and stared at Jack’s hand before taking it. Jack had a confident grip. He nodded to Tom, who had glanced up when his name was mentioned. “Ethan of Windale.” He hesitated as the conversation with Aubrey and Huntingdon came back to him. “So you’re the horse thieves from Shropshire?”

“One in the same,” Jack tilted his head in acknowledgement. The humor in his eyes was mingled with sharp offence. “Though if you ask me it hardly counts as thievin’ when you’re takin’ back what’s yours to begin with.”

Ethan reassessed the peasant. He carried an air of casual indifference but underneath the façade was solid, serious bitterness. “So if you’re not a horse thief what are you?”

“Jack
Tanner
, mate.” He shook his head at Ethan and sniffed. “Tanner. What do you think we do? Gah!” He turned and strode to the far wall, leaning against it and drawling to his brother, “Oy, he may have land ‘n all but he’s never very clever.”

Ethan bristled and opened his mouth to put Jack in his place but was stopped when Tom lunged to his feet. “I’m sorry, sir.” His voice was deeper than his brother’s and his manner more respectful. “He didn’t mean it.”

“’Course I meant it,” Jack muttered, but his stance relaxed when his brother sprang to life. He shot a quick look to Ethan.

Ethan caught the concern in the hot-tempered man’s eyes. He hesitated, then said, “No offense taken, Tom,” meeting Jack’s eyes again to show he was clever enough to understand what he was up to. Jack wasn’t impressed.

Tom worked up the courage to continue. “We’re from Wellington, sir. Our father was the village tanner. We were apprenticed to him. Until he died. Times got hard and when we couldn’t pay the taxes they took our horse.”