The Faithful Heart (8 page)

A heartbeat later he was there, in the
gallery, face to face with her.

“Jack!” she exclaimed as he ran to her and
pulled her into his arms and off her feet. He spun her around,
laughter ringing in her ears as his familiar, masculine scent
filled her at last. When he set her down she had to cling to him to
keep from falling over in relief.

“What are you doing here?” He held her at
arm’s length so that he could take her in. His eyes swept from her
poky hair to her fancy green kirtle to the gold slippers that poked
out from the hem. That look alone made her feel beautiful and she
smiled, confident warmth spreading through her chest. “Aren’t you
supposed to be in Coventry in some stuffy old convent?”

She laughed and raised her hands to her
mouth, rocking back to stand on her own. “I ran away!” Her eyes
shimmered with mischief and tears of joy. Any thought of going back
or going home vanished.

“Never!” His gray eyes flashed in approval.
“When’d’ja do that?”

“A fortnight ago. I came straight here.”

He crushed her in his embrace again. “I told
you that you were never a nun.” He set her back again and reached
out to touch one of the bright gems in her cropped hair. “I love
the hair! It’s all sparkly ‘n all.”

“Joanna did it.” She patted the arrangement,
a tear dripping onto her cheek.

“Oy! None of that, MP,” he scolded, her,
brushing the drop away with his thumb. His hand cradled her jaw and
he stared into her eyes far, far longer than was appropriate in
such a public gathering. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed
you,” he whispered, voice choking. He moved to hug her again.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your
friend, Lord John?” the deep, silky voice of the beautiful woman
stopped him.

Madeline’s back snapped straight and she
stepped away, eyes wide and jaw tense. She blinked when the woman’s
words registered. “Lord John?”

“Yeah.” Jack puffed out his chest and stroked
his goatee. “I’m a nob now! Can you believe that? Prince John done
it back at New Year’s when he was visiting. Gave me the village of
Kedleridge, he did. And oy! MP, it’s the most beautiful place you
ever seen! The orchard is a slice of heaven.”

“Oh Jack, that’s wonderful! I never would
have imagined-”

The woman cleared her throat. “Who is this,
my lord?” She took a step closer and grabbed Jack’s arm with both
hands.

Jack pulled his eyes away from Madeline’s as
if startled anyone else could exist. He shook himself, flushing,
and said, “Sorry, Lydia.” He cleared his throat. “Madeline, this is
Lydia. She’s from Kedleridge, or at least used to be. Found her in
the forest this mornin’. She’d been robbed by Ethan and his lot,”
he told Aubrey. “Lydia, this is … this is Madeline.” He spoke with
so much pride no other words were necessary.

“She was robbed … by Ethan?” Madeline frowned
and studied the woman. She didn’t look like she had just endured a
harrowing robbery in the forest.

“Yeah,” Jack brushed on, all smiles. “Oy,
there’s so much I have to tell you!” He tried to drop Lydia’s arm.
Her fingers dug in.

“He was so gallant,” she interrupted,
lowering her eyes and leaning on him. “After the terrible attack my
horse was lame. Lord John offered to bring me here to the
castle.”

A thousand different warning bells went off
in Madeline’s mind. She stared past Lydia’s beautiful dress and
soft, flowing hair to her too low neckline and too red lips. She
needed to say something, to call her out for what she suspected the
woman was, but she had no idea where to start. She glanced to
Aubrey, but her friend swept past them as Crispin reached the top
of the stairs.

“Let’s get this over with,” he growled before
moving on to the front of the balcony and booming, “My lords and
ladies, please take your seats. The feast will be served.”

Crispin marched away from the balcony as
Aubrey gave him a sympathetic, “Good job.” She took his arm as they
walked down to the tables lining the Great Hall. A band of
minstrels began to play as servants appeared in the door from the
kitchen laden with trays of food.

“Brilliant!” Jack heaved a sigh of relief.
“I’m starving, mate.” He offered his arm to Madeline, forgetting
that Lydia still held his other arm fast.

Madeline caught a scathing glance from Lydia
as she took the offered arm. A quiver of anxiety shot down her
spine and she had to fight to keep from stumbling as Jack shrugged
and escorted both of them down the stairs to the table at the head
of the room.

Aubrey and Crispin had taken the seats of
honor on the raised dais at the center of the highest table. Half a
dozen nobles and their wives or companions tried to slide their way
into the seats closest to them as the servants set trenchers at
each place. They shuffled and postured to one another, teeth bared
in looks that could have been smiles or sneers.

“Aubrey says everyone is trying to jockey for
position now that Sir Crispin is Earl of Derby,” Madeline confided
in Jack. She had to lift to her tip-toes to speak close to his ear
but couldn’t keep Lydia from hearing her.

“Is that so?” Jack bent towards her,
narrowing his eyes at the crush near the head table. One by one the
nobles were settling on seats in order of precedence.

“Aubrey says most of them can’t stand her
anyhow,” she went on.

“Oy, the feeling’s mutual, mate,” he
grumbled.

The three of them skirted their way around
the lower tables to the high table. Jack walked easily along to the
seats closest to Crispin’s right-hand side. A gray-haired noble and
his wife and son were already seated and watching the servants
bring the platters closer with eager eyes.

“Oy!” Jack snapped at them. “You’re in my
spot, mate!”

The gray-haired noble turned to goggle at
Jack. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in my spot. Move!”

The gray-haired noble sputtered and fussed,
his jowls waving until Crispin intervened. “If you would, Lord
Robert, I do usually reserve these seats for Lord John, and his
guests.”

Crispin sent Jack a sharp look of disapproval
as Lord Robert and his family hemmed and hawed and left the prized
seats to find others. Jack sniffed at them as they left then
dropped Madeline and Lydia’s arms to yank out the chairs on either
side of the one he planned to sit in.

“Ladies,” he invited them to sit with a
satisfied grin.

Madeline pursed her lips, glancing furtively
around at the assembly of offended nobles who had witnessed Lord
Robert’s ousting as she sat. When Jack took a seat beside her she
leaned closer and said, “Jack, you should be careful who-”

“It’s not wise to offend them, my lord,”
Lydia stole the words from her lips in a louder voice. She shot
Madeline a sly look before turning a winning smile and fluttering
lashes to the angry nobles watching them. “If they think you don’t
belong with them they will eat you alive.”

Jack shifted in his chair like a petulant
child. “Oy, you’d think being made a lord by Prince John would
bloody well show them I belong.” He picked up a knife and jammed it
into a roast chicken breast as the servants laid a platter in front
of them.

Madeline cleared her throat and sent a
sideways glance to Jack as she served herself a portion of the same
chicken using the utensils and table manners learned at the
convent. Lydia caught the gentle correction and repeated the
gesture, brushing Jack’s hand as he reached for a tankard of ale
from a tray presented by a servant.

“Oops, sorry, my lord.” Lydia lowered her
lashed and pinned him with a look that turned the food to ash in
Madeline’s mouth.

She set down her fork and took a tankard of
ale herself. She was going to need it.

The restlessness that had kept Jack tied in
knots all day began to subside once he had some food in his belly,
but the sense of being caught in a dream was as strong as ever.
Madeline was there, right there by his side.

“Oy, you want some of these vegetables?” he
asked, scooping a heaping spoonful from the bowl in front of him.
“Only they’re not as good as a turnip mash, if you ask me,” he
confided in her with a wink.

She laughed and blushed up to the tips of her
ears. “Yes, please.” His heart plopped straight down to his
nethers.

“I’ll have some too.” Lydia pushed her
trencher towards him, bumping his arm as she did.

“Right. Here you go,” he served her with a
smile.

Madeline’s smile had faded when he glanced
back to her. “What’s wrong, MP?” His chest tightened. “You don’t
like them?”

“It’s not that.” Her voice was hardly a
whisper.

A commotion at the far end of the room pulled
his attention. A noble decked out in red and green wearing a thick
chain around his neck and an empty sword belt strode into the room.
He was flanked on either side by short, slight men who must have
been his sons. Something about them looked familiar.

“Bloody hell,” he heard Crispin grumble as
the men marched closer. He glanced to his friend with raised
eyebrows as Crispin stood and cleared his throat. “Matlock.” He
nodded to the older man, his face set with the same stony
expression he had always worn when Buxton was giving him a hard
time.

The name clicked in Jack’s mind. Matlock. He
glanced to Madeline only to find her white as a ghost and cowering
in her seat. That alone was enough for him to push his chair back
and stand with a scowl to face the new guests.

“Huntingdon,” Matlock nodded.

“I am honored by your presence.” Crispin’s
voice was cold and hard as steel.

“It is my pleasure,” Matlock replied as if it
were anything but.

Every nob in the room watched the
conversation holding their breath. Jack stole a glance at the high
and mighty faces that filled with fearful admiration as they
watched Matlock. He narrowed his eyes at the man, studying him.

“Please, join us for the feast.” Crispin
gestured for the seats on the other side of Aubrey to his left.

The lords who had been sitting there jumped
up and scurried away without question. Jack’s jaw hardened. Lydia
sat straighter.

“I have not come for entertainment, my lord,”
Matlock raised his voice so that everyone could hear him. “I have
come for answers.”

Crispin stiffened, staring down at the man
from the dais without flinching. “What answers do you seek?”

“The king has been given by Leopold of
Austria to Henry, the Holy Roman Emperor,” Matlock spilled the
beans. A chorus of gasps and whispers rose up from the assembly. “I
understand he is to be ransomed and that Derbyshire is to bear part
of the burden.”

“You are correct, Lord Stephen.” Crispin
radiated fury. Matlock had stolen his thunder by making the
announcement before Crispin could. Jack glanced back and forth
between the two men, flexing his hand and making a fist that wanted
to find a home in Matlock’s face.

“I wish to know what you plan to do about
it,” Matlock pressed on. “I wish to know what you plan to do about
the king’s ransom when you can’t even control a band of outlaws in
the forest.”

Another murmur swirled up from the feasting
nobles. Bloody hell.

“There will be a Council of Nobles,” Crispin
dealt with the threat to his power by addressing the room as if
everything was his idea. “In a fortnight. We will discuss both
issues then.”

“At last. Action from the Earl of Derby. And
here I thought you would carry on with Buxton’s habit of throwing
parties when work needs to be done.” He glanced around at the
tables piled with food and the minstrels with an exaggerated look
of surprise. As he turned back to Crispin that look melted into a
grin of satisfaction at one-upping Crispin in front of their
peers.

“I don’t recall you ever missing one of
Buxton’s entertainments, Lord Stephen,” Crispin volleyed the
insult. “You were quite close, weren’t you?”

Matlock’s grin slipped.

Jack swayed forward, eyes narrowed in hatred.
Matlock turned to him with a sneer as if someone had let a mangy
dog into the Great Hall. His attempt at intimidation stopped short
when he saw Madeline shrinking in the chair next to him.

“I told you to go back to St. Mary’s girl!”
he shouted at her.

Madeline squeaked and lowered her head.

“Oy! Where do you get off talking to her like
that, mate!” Something in Jack snapped. He would have lunged at the
man if the table hadn’t been between them.

Matlock stared fury at him. “How dare you
address me like that, peasant!”

“I’m no peasant, I’m Lord John of
Kedleridge!”

Matlock laughed in his face.

“Jack, don’t!” Madeline stood and grabbed his
arm, trying to pull him to sit.

“Oh I see.” Matlock narrowed his eyes, his
laugh becoming a disgusted sneer as he glanced between Jack and his
daughter. “You’re an ambitious little peasant, but you’re still a
peasant.”

“Madeline will stay where she likes.” Jack
met the man’s eyes with a fierceness that wouldn’t be
dismissed.

“Sister Mary Peter will be returned to the
Abbey of St. Mary’s,” Matlock scoffed. “If for no other reason than
to protect her from the lusts of presumptuous filth like you.”

Before Jack could counterattack Matlock
turned and marched through the tables of gawking nobles and out of
the room.

“Oy!” Jack shouted after him. “I’m not done
with you!”

“Jack!” Crispin warned him. “Enough.”

“But mate!”

“We lost the battle,” his friend’s voice
dropped to a bass growl. “We can’t afford to lose the war.”

“That bloody, fucking wanker!” Jack vented
his frustration a little too loudly. The whole room was buzzing and
all eyes were on him. And Madeline.

“I think I need to go lie down.” Madeline
folded her hands over her stomach as if she was on her way to
prayers.