The Faithful Heart (22 page)

Connor shuffled his feet. “Don’t know, my
lady. Gus and Pete ain’t come back yet.”

“Well let me know when they do,” she tilted
her head up and swished past him.

“Yes, my lady,” Connor scraped a bow as she
passed.

Madeline ground her teeth as Lydia walked
away, hips swaying, shoulders thrown back as if she owned the
place. If there had been time she would have found something to do
to the witch to wipe the smug grin off her face.

Her glance tripped across one of the bigger
tents several yards in from the edge of the camp. It was easily the
size of a house and was guarded by four men that she could see. Her
heart-rate doubled. Jack had to be in that tent. She sank deeper
into the shadows and pulled the hood of her cloak closer over her
head, tightening her grip on her dagger. She scanned the area
between her and the tent. Other than the guards, a group of women
sat around a fire, drinking from a fat jug and laughing. She could
get around them, take the long way, but she would have to distract
at least one of the guards to slip inside the tent.

There was no time to come up with a perfect
plan. Taking a deep breath she left the safety of the dark and
skittered down the gentle slope. She paused when she reached the
half-light, listening for any sign that she’d been heard. The women
continued to cackle at their drunken conversation. She moved around
the far side of the tent, eyes scanning the space between it and
the next one before jumping through a patch of firelight to the
next shadow. She crouched and listened. Still nothing.

She continued on that way, dodging from
shadow to shadow, dagger out, eyes sharp, watching for any sign of
disturbance. Noises came from some of the tents, snoring, soft
talking, grunts that she didn’t want to think about. By the time
she reached the shadows beside the large, guarded tent she felt as
though she had walked through a slice of a busy village. People
were everywhere, separated from discovering her by nothing more
than a length of canvas. And a length of canvas was all that
separated her from Jack.

The guard stationed at the side of the tent
closest to her stood with his arms crossed, his head lowered and
eyes closed. If she was lucky he was asleep standing up. She didn’t
think she was that lucky.

Thinking fast, she felt the ground around
her, looking for a stone. She bumped one, picked it up, and with a
swallowed prayer threw it over the tent. It landed with a clatter
on the other side of the path. The guard didn’t even flinch.

She let out an exasperated breath, biting her
lip. Her hand found another stone. This time she lobbed it right at
the guard. It bounced off his shin. He snorted and grumbled,
standing straighter and dropping his arms. He’d been asleep after
all and she’d missed her chance. She searched for another stone,
found one, and threw it down the path with the first one. The guard
turned his head towards the noise it made as it landed but thought
no more about it.

“Will you cut it out over there?” a grumbling
voice came from the other side of the tent.

“I didn’t do nothin’,” the guard hollered
back.

Madeline signed and slumped into the
darkness. She glanced around for another idea, finding the dagger
in her hand. Her face flushed as she realized what she could do.
She stood straighter, twisting her head around to see if anyone was
nearby. This section of the camp was quiet enough. Breathing to
steady herself she retreated a few steps, creeping around to the
tent where she’d heard the grunting. She crossed herself then
stabbed the dagger into the canvas and pulled.

“Hey!” a man shouted as his companion
shrieked.

Madeline jumped back, dashing into the
shadows again. The man continued to shout and moments later he was
out in the open, pulling on a pair of drawers.

“What’s all this then?” the guard took the
bait and marched away from his post to see what was wrong. He
wasn’t the only one. Two other tent flaps opened and in seconds the
commotion had spread.

Madeline didn’t wait to see what they would
do. She shot towards the large tent. The guard had left his post.
She dove for the bottom of the canvas. It had been staked to the
ground but she was able to wriggle under it. She rolled her legs
under the wall as hurried footfalls thumped past.

“What’s going on?” another voice demanded and
was joined by more.

She ignored them, twisting to squat inside
the tent. “Jack!” she whispered, pulling the cloth down from her
mouth.

Her jaw dropped. Jack wasn’t there. What was
there were tables stacked with jewelry, chests so full of coin
purses that they wouldn’t close, and even a few gilt and
gem-encrusted swords and shields. She fell to her backside as if
the wind had been knocked out of her. There was enough treasure in
the tent to buy Derbyshire ten times over.

“Hail Madeline, full of grace, blessed art
thou among women and blessed is each freckle on your face.”

“My lord.”

“Holy Madeline, never a nun, pray for us
sinners now and at the hour of our death.”

“My lord.”

“Hail Madeline, full of grace, blessed art
thou among women-”

“MY LORD.”

“-and blessed is each freckle on your
face.”

“My lord you really need to stop.”

“Holy Madeline, never a nun, pray for us
sinners now and at the hour of our death.”

“Please stop, my lord.”

“Hail Madeline, full of grace-”

“Jack! Shut up!”

Jack’s head jerked forward. He sucked in a
breath and lifted it, looking around in the blackness but seeing
nothing, even when he blinked. “Huh?”

“You were muttering,” Simon informed him, his
voice tight and hoarse.

“Was I?” He made a move to turn towards Simon
but the ropes stung against his chafed skin. He was too weak to
twist more than a few inches anyhow. “God I need a drink!”

“Be patient. She won’t let us die like
this.”

“Yeah? You think so?” Jack panted, “’cuz I’m
not so sure, mate.” He swallowed, coughing at his dry throat.

“She needs us alive.”

“She needs a lot of things if you ask me,” he
grumbled, thumping his head against the tent post and staring up at
the canvas ceiling. The tent was pitch black but for a few spots of
light shining through tears like a starry sky. It was getting
bloody cold too as they sat in little more than the skin God gave
them.

Jack blinked as the gears in his mind finally
turned. “Oy, no offense, mate, but what’s Lydia need you for?”

Simon heaved a sigh that jolted the ropes.
“It’s a long story.”

“Don’t know if you noticed,” Jack drawled,
“but we got time for long stories.”

“I would rather not talk about it.”

“Bloody hell, Simon! Give us a break here!
We’re tied together to this ruddy tent post, we’re both starvin’
and thirsty, neither of us are goin’ anywhere and you’re keepin’
secrets? What’s so God-awful that you can’t spill it, mate?”

“I would rather not say, my lord.”

“Wanker!” He flexed into the ropes and was
only slightly satisfied when Simon grunted in pain. It caused him
just as much pain to inflict it.

A deep silence fell. Outside the forest folks
were tucking in for the night. Jack could hear voices here and
there, the sound of a flute and clapping at the edge of his
hearing. He’d heard Lydia’s voice once or twice during the long day
giving orders to the guards whose shadows he had been able to see
along all four sides of the tent when there was still light. He
wasn’t sure if all of those guards were still in place now or if
they even needed to be. Tom had come by hours ago and was roughed
up and sent away with a black eye by the sound of things. He’d
earned one himself for shouting out to his brother. No one had
entered the tent or so much as raised their voice around it
since.

“I wanna go home,” Jack indulged in the most
pitiful complaint he could think of. His head ached and he was so
hungry even thinking about food made him want to cry, so he saw no
shame in it.

“Do you see Kedleridge as your home?”

“’Course I do,” he sighed, flexing his back
and squeezing his hand around the crucifix still dangling there.
“Kedleridge is the best place ever, mate. The orchard is heaven
right now, the people are all so crackin’. They’ve all been so kind
to me, total cock-up that I am at being a lord. I’ve never loved
anything so much at first sight. ’Cept Madeline.” He closed his
eyes and conjured the image of her as she’d looked the morning he
ran with her through the orchard in the rain.

“You are a total cock-up as a noble.” Simon’s
pert reply burst his thoughts.

“Oy, thanks for the show of support, mate,”
he laughed. He was too light-headed not to laugh.

“But you don’t have to be.”

“You figure?” He twisted as carefully as he
could, only managing to see the outline of Simon’s shoulder in the
dark.

“You are clever, Jack. I’ve seen you make
good decisions about the estate without the experience to know what
you’re doing. I’ve heard people talk about you as Bailiff of Derby,
common people, not nobles. They admire you, look up to you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You were one of them who was raised up.
You could have abused that position but instead you have used it to
bring order and improve the lives of the common man.”

“That was Crispin too.” A wash of modesty
passed through him. “I follow his orders is all.”

Simon shook his head. “That’s not what I
hear. The people of Derby and the surrounding manors know that the
earl delegates authority to you and that many of the changes in the
last several months were your idea.”

Jack let out a breath, staring forward at
nothing. “I’m just doin’ my job, mate.”

“Exactly. Too many men in positions of
authority do not do their jobs. You are an utter failure as a noble
that way.”

Simon’s words settled heavily in his gut.
“Yeah, but there’s some nobles who aren’t as bad as all that.
Crispin for one. And Aubrey’s brother Geoffrey was alright. An’
there was this bloke, Lord Jarvis, who stood up for me at the
council.”

“I’m not denying that there are good men out
there, my lord. It’s just that Derbyshire has seen so few of them
in the last ten years.”

Simon didn’t elaborate. He’d given Jack too
much to chew on anyhow. Here he’d spent all this time worried about
fitting in with the nobs when all he should have been worried about
was doing his job.

“I been thinkin’, Simon,” he turned his head
as best he could. “What you said earlier. Your ma was the
housekeeper at Kedleridge. You never mentioned anything about your
dad.” Simon’s back went tense. “It was Lord Hugh, wasn’t it.”

It took a long time for Simon to admit, “It
was.”

“So d’ya think that if Prince John hadn’t
given me Kedleridge … it would’ve gone to you?”

“I am a bastard. My mother was a
peasant.”

“Yeah, but did Lord Hugh have any other
kids?” The silence that followed was all the answer Jack needed.
“Shit, mate. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing any of us can do about it
now,” Simon sighed.

Jack was ready to argue the point when voices
were raised outside. “My lady,” the guards called out. One of their
backsides brushed against the tent as he bowed.

“Have they been keeping quiet?” Lydia
asked.

“Yes, my lady.”

A moment later the tent flap parted and Lydia
ducked into the darkness, a lantern in her hand. “Oof!” She
wrinkled her nose and fanned a hand in front of her face. “It
stinks in here.”

“Now it does,” Jack growled.

“Jack, don’t,” Simon muttered.

Jack nodded.

“I’ve come to see if you’ve thought more
about my proposal,” Lydia smiled, the lamp in her hand casting
sharp shadows across her face.

Jack didn’t answer. He stared straight
forward as Simon was.

Lydia’s smile faltered. “I came to see if you
wanted to come with me.” She sidled closer to Jack, bending to
slide a hand along his shoulder. “I have a bath waiting for you, a
lovely roast chicken, some potatoes and vegetables. A tall jug of
ice cool water just brought up from the stream.” He clenched his
jaw to fight off the temptation. “Some lovely, soft cushions. You
lost heart for it the other night, but I’m sure I can convince you
you’ll have a good time in my bed.”

Jack clenched the crucifix in his palm,
reciting Hail Madeline, full of grace, in his mind to block out her
words.

“I see.” She straightened with a huff.
“You’ve been listening to him, haven’t you. Well he’s a liar.” She
crossed her arms. “Don’t let him fool you. He was just as willing
as I was.”

It was all Jack could do to keep his face
blank. The pieces of Simon’s life were as big a puzzle as he ever
wanted to encounter.

“What? He didn’t tell you we were lovers?”
Lydia went on.

“We were no such thing,” Simon’s will to stay
silent faltered.

She ignored his protest. “We could have been
so much more if you’d just-”

She snapped her mouth closed, grimacing over
whatever memory had turned her sour. Jack hoped Simon had done
something particularly nasty to her.

Lydia shook the past off and bent close to
Jack again. “Of course, the longer you hold out the harder it will
be for you,” she smiled. “And I’m very good at making things hard.”
Her throaty laugh sent a chill down his back. She straightened and
turned to walk away. “By the way,” she turned back. “I saw your
precious Madeline in the forest this morning.” Jack’s heart leapt
and he whipped to face her in spite of himself. “With your brother.
I’d say he’s quite smitten.” She smiled one last time and left the
tent.

Jack snapped his eyes forward, panting as his
heart dropped to his feet.

Chapter Twelve

“Hey! Boy! Get away from there!”