The Faithful Heart (9 page)

“You don’t have to listen to a word he says.”
Frustration poured off of Jack as he reached to pull her into an
embrace. “And you don’t have to go anywhere.”

She shrugged away from him, glancing around
at their audience. “No, really Jack, I think it’s for the
best.”

“Aw, but there’s gonna be dancing ‘n all.” He
struggled to contain the swell of panic that pushed through him as
the anger left. He’d made a serious mistake.

Madeline glanced down, her freckled face
flushing. “I don’t know how to dance, Jack.”

“Aw, don’t be upset, mate.” He pushed his
chair away, bumping into Lydia’s without noticing. “Let me walk you
back to your room at least?” He didn’t know what else he could do.
She nodded, trying to bring herself to smile, but couldn’t. “Right
then,” he forced cheer and certainty into his voice. He held out
his arm for her and she slipped her tiny hand into it. “You just
show me where to go and I’ll take you there. You don’t even have to
say nothing if you don’t want.”

A hint of a smile spread across her face at
last, but she kept her eyes on the floor as he put his free hand
over hers and escorted her around the tables of nosy nobs and out
of the room.

Tension drained from his shoulders as soon as
they left the noise and heat of the Great Hall behind them. He
still didn’t know what to say. Crispin was right, they’d lost the
battle. But he still had Madeline right there, holding his arm. He
supported her as they walked, but she led, slipping through the
halls and to the stairway leading up to the High Tower. Jack’s itch
to say something grew with each step as they mounted until he
couldn’t keep words from spilling out.

“Any chance he’ll come around?” She shook her
head. “Aw, that’s too bad then. His loss.” He glanced sideways to
her when she didn’t reply. “Still, it’s not like you’re all alone
in the world or nothin’.”

She sucked in a breath and he was certain she
would cry until she whispered, “Thanks, Jack.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He grinned,
wanting nothing more than to lift her spirits. “Oy! I think I
outrank him now, what with being a lord and bailiff and all.” He
laughed at his own realization. “Imagine that.”

A tiny grin graced her beautiful face and she
glanced up to him. “Hereditary title outweighs granted titles,
Jack. And our family goes back to before the Conqueror. He still
outranks you.”

“Never!” he exclaimed in mock alarm.

She laughed in spite of herself. His grin
widened and he snuggled closer to her as they continued up the
stairs in silence.

“Where are we going anyhow?” Jack kept up the
conversation as they rounded the corner to the top of the High
Tower.

“Aubrey has me staying in the North Room.”
She raised a tired eyebrow at Jack.

“Oy! You’re right next door to me then, you
know?” He laughed. “See.” He let go of her arm and strode across
the empty hall to the door of what had once been Buxton’s room,
pushing it open. “Does your father outrank the grandest bedroom in
the castle?”

Madeline laughed and her eyes lit with sudden
curiosity. She bit her lip. A bolt of fire cascaded through him,
making him want to bite her lip for her. “It doesn’t outrank his
bedroom until you have tapestries on every wall, mahogany carved
furniture, and velvet bed curtains,” she informed him with haughty
grace.

“Right,” Jack stepped away from the door,
leaving it open. “Tapestries, mahogany, velvet. I’ll get right on
it.”

He swaggered back to her, stopping to stare
at her beautiful, freckled face. She glanced down, the curve of her
cheekbones, the point of her chin, the fullness of her lips driving
him to distraction. He swallowed and reached out to take her hands
that were once again folded in front of her like a prayer. “I am so
happy you’re here.”

She blinked when she saw her rosary wrapped
around his left wrist. Then her eyes fluttered up to his. “Did you
get the note I wrote to you?”

“I had it earlier.” He glanced to his belt as
if it would still be there, patting his tunic in search for it. The
truth was, he hadn’t given it a second thought since Aubrey handed
it to him. He hadn’t known who it was from. “I don’t read things
very well, neither,” he confessed, dropping his arms.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have known-”

“But Crispin is teaching me,” he added.

She glanced up again with a bright smile. “I
could help you with that too.”

“Yeah?” His heart soared. He broke out in a
bright grin. “Oy, and I can teach you to dance.” She laughed. It
filled him with warmth and courage. He went out on a limb. “You
wanna go back down and start learnin’ now?”

She shook her head, smile melting. “No.”

Her answer was final but he didn’t want to
leave her just yet. He glanced over to the open door to his room.
“Wanna come in and teach me to read?” His mouth curved into a warm
grin.

Madeline’s eyes widened and she giggled.
“No.” She knew what he was thinking, bless her. “I really do want
to go to bed.”

“Well so do I,” his voice dropped to a wicked
growl. His words had the exact opposite effect of what he’d hoped.
She turned bright red and her eyes snapped down to the floor as she
pulled her hands out of his. “Sorry,” he mumbled, confused.

“No, it’s alright.” She backed up, turning to
grab the handle of her door. “I’m just tired is all. I’ll see you
in the morning.”

“Right,” he nodded, kicking himself. She
opened the door and stepped inside, turning to wave at him. He
wanted to take her in his arms for a good-night kiss. But all of a
sudden he didn’t have permission to touch her. It was a horrible
loss. He could only smile and wave back before she shut the door
with a light tap. He dropped his hand and his grin dropped with
it.

Lydia waited until Crispin and Aubrey were
distracted before slipping out of the Great Hall and scurrying
after Jack and Madeline. She caught up to them as they started up
the stairs to the High Tower and gathered her skirts to follow.
Hidden around the corner, she overheard their entire
conversation.

She’d been wrong when she decided that Jack
was an easy target. He had seemed so simple, so easily played. But
from the moment he had looked at that spiky-haired snippet, Lydia
knew that she had a major challenge on her hands. The newly created
Lord John of Kedleridge may have been a moron, but he was a moron
in love. It was decidedly inconvenient.

Then to her delight the ugly little woman
gave her the ammunition she needed. Madeline was fresh from the
convent. The second Jack turned up the heat she pulled back. Well,
Lydia thought with a sly smirk, she was anything but fresh from a
convent and that was a decided advantage where Jack was concerned.
She hadn’t missed the way he’d stared down the front of her kirtle
when she’d given him something to look at. The way to Jack’s heart
was through his other head.

She skipped back down the stairs the moment
Madeline’s door shut. Maybe it would be easy after all. She would
let the awkward little nun whip Jack into a frenzy and then she
would move in for the kill.

She rounded a corner and stopped with a gasp
as Lord Stephen of Matlock came inches from smacking into her. He
wavered only slightly at the near collision while his two sons
stumbled over their feet not to walk into his back.

Matlock’s glare of offense narrowed into a
sly grin of appreciation as his eyes scanned her body. “Who are
you?”

Lydia’s racing heart didn’t slow as the shock
wore off. She’d just watched this man set down the Earl of Derby.
“Lydia Branch, my lord,” she curtsied low, glancing up at him under
her long lashes and lifting her hand to slide her fingertips along
the scooping neckline of her kirtle. “At your service.”

The flash in Matlock’s eyes made her hot with
anticipation. “I haven’t seen you at the castle before. Where are
you from?”

“From Kedleridge, my lord, but I’ve been away
for many years.”

Matlock grinned. “Leave us,” he snapped to
his sons, gaze still fixed on Lydia’s lips.

“But father,” one of them started.

“I said go away!” The two men squirmed in
their places. Matlock pivoted to growl at them, “Do not defy
me!”

Both of the men had to be at least thirty,
but they scrambled to leave the hall as though they were children
threatened with the rod. Lydia sucked in a breath, body tingling in
all the best places.

Matlock turned back to her, scowling. “I’m
surrounded by idiots,” he grumbled. “Every one of them a weakling.
Only one of my children showed so much as a hint of a backbone, but
I took care of her!” His momentary look of triumph crumbled to a
violent grimace.

The scene at the banquet rushed back to
Lydia. He meant Madeline. “Never mind about that, my lord,” she
hummed, daring to slide closer to him, lifting a hand and fondling
the thick gold chain around his neck. “I doubt anyone could resist
your power for long.” Power was exactly what she needed.

Matlock’s grin was full of arrogance. “I have
wine in my room.”

Lydia ached at the thought of such a powerful
man using her as Matlock surely would. “You have a room here in the
castle?”

“Of course I do,” he growled, sliding an arm
around her back and sweeping her down the hall. “My family is of
the purest lineage. The castle has been open to us for a hundred
years and more. Buxton, the former sheriff, was a friend of mine.”
His expression hardened. “Until he got himself killed. I am
surrounded by idiots,” he repeated in a growl.

They reached a door at the end of the hall.
He pushed it open and showed Lydia inside, shutting the door behind
her. She opened her mouth to comment on the room’s decorations but
before she could get a word out Matlock threw her against the door,
pinning her with his body and crushing his mouth over hers. She
moaned with pleasure, reaching for the bulge beneath his tunic. He
growled his appreciation, grabbing her hands and slamming them
against the door above her.

She cried out with pain and pleasure. “My
lord, what if someone hears us?” she panted.

“Let them.” He moved one hand to tear at the
laces of her bodice. “This should be my castle. This should all be
mine.”

“It will all be yours,” she mewled, no idea
what he was talking about.

“Buxton promised it all to me,” he vented his
fury in his words and in savage kisses down her neck. “Years I
worked for that sick bastard, indulging his madness.” He clamped a
hand over her breast and squeezed until she sighed at the pain.
“And for what? So his lap dog could steal the prize?”

“Oh my lord!” she groaned, she tilted her
head back as he tore her dress away from her breasts.

“And what does that mongrel Huntingdon do but
disgrace every man of noble blood in this shire by appointing a
filthy peasant as his second!” His teeth punished her heavy breast.
She lifted a leg over his hip, urging him along. “He won’t get away
with it! He doesn’t know who he’s messing with! Huntingdon, that
peasant dog, and my disgrace of a daughter will pay!”

“Yes! Make them pay!” she echoed him, yanking
away her bodice to expose more of her chest.

Matlock grabbed her around the waist, lifting
her and moving to throw her across the room’s large bed. He worked
his chausses loose as he prowled towards her.

“They think they can defy me?” he said, “They
don’t know what’s coming! No one slaps me in the face and gets away
with it, no one!” He crawled over top of her, throwing her skirt
up. “I have friends they don’t even know about. One way or another,
I’ll take what belongs to me!”

“Oh God, take me, my lord, take me!” Lydia
squirmed in anticipation.

“One way or another, I will make them
pay!”

Chapter Five

Crispin brought his padded practice sword up
with a sweep, meeting the sudden attack from Jack’s right-hand
sword, then spun and twisted his wrists as he brought it down again
to block the attack from his left-hand sword. Jack’s arm tightened
as the blow taxed his exhausted muscles but managed to hold off the
worst with a grimace. He dodged Crispin’s well-timed thrust at his
shoulder and ducked to the side, spinning around to swipe with his
right-hand sword, ready to back it up with his left if he needed
to.

Both men wore piercing stares of
concentration and sweat soaked their shirts as they sparred. They
had picked up their swords to push aside the mountain of problems
that threatened to fall on top of them. The hastily called Council
of Nobles was only days away and even though they had worked from
dawn ’til dusk every day since the banquet preparing for it, it
seemed like they were getting nowhere. Jack grit his teeth as he
dodged a thrust powered by Crispin’s frustration, knowing that any
solution to the king’s ransom they came up with would be a hard
sell. Worse still, he knew why.

He raised both swords and crossed them to
block an overhead blow, then tossed Crispin’s sword to the side in
a sweeping gesture that jerked his friend off-balance. He then took
a step back, spinning his swords with nimble wrists as he circled
Crispin, trying to assess his weaknesses. The problem was the man
had so bloody few of them. Only when it came to dealing with the
nobs of Derby Jack knew he was his friend’s worst weakness.

He feinted to the right then thrust with his
left-hand sword. Crispin followed his eyes and anticipated the
attack, bringing his sword down and twisting in an attempt to
disarm him. Jack eased into the motion, pulling away before his
sword flew out of his hand, sweat beading on his brow with the
effort.

His concentration faltered when he caught
sight of Madeline strolling into the practice yard with Aubrey and
Joanna. At the flash of her smile he stood straighter and grinned,
only to have the tip of Crispin’s padded sword hammer into his gut.
He doubled over with a grunt.