The Loyal Heart Read online

  He blinked and let out the breath he’d been holding as he set her on her feet. “Lady Aubrey.” He nodded and rushed on, eager to be anywhere else but the castle.

  Aubrey blinked as she watched Crispin flee.

  “Oy! What’s got into him?” Jack whispered from under the hood of his disguise.

  “I have no idea.” Aubrey shook her head and continued to stare. For a moment she’d thought he was going to tell her something. For a moment she’d thought he was going to kiss her.

  She swallowed the idea. Crispin wasn’t the one she wanted kissing her, Ethan was.

  Ethan. He was furious with her for coming to the castle. Their parting hadn’t been what she dreamed it would be. Emotional, yes, but not in the good way.

  “Come on,” she shook herself and continued leading the small party along the hall.

  The chapel was deserted. Aubrey doubted it was used with Buxton in residence. The altar stood at the far end of the room underneath a modest stained-glass window, the Madonna and Child statue resting on its pedestal behind it. Aubrey lead them up to a long cushion in front of the chancel, genuflected, and knelt as if praying. The sisters did the same, muttering an actual prayer. Jack glanced at Madeline to see what she was doing and attempted to do the same. The four of them knelt in silence for several minutes, Aubrey and Jack glancing at the two praying women between them and at each other.

  Finally Sister Bernadette glanced up at the statue, crossed herself, and said in her tranquil tone, “That is our treasure.”

  Aubrey grinned and glanced to Jack who wore the same expression of excitement. “Treasure, eh?” He took a closer look at the work of art. “Looks like a lady with a baby to me.”

  Madeline tried in vain not to giggle. Sister Bernadette hummed, “You do not know what you are looking at.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He lost his grin and lowered his voice. “I’m looking at a bloody big hunk of wood.”

  Aubrey reassessed the statue. It was imposing. She remembered the damage it had done to Crispin when he and two others moved it. She frowned. “I think we have a problem.” Sister Bernadette turned her head to raise an eyebrow at her while Madeline leaned forward and blinked. “Well, you intend to take it back to Coventry, right?”

  “That is correct,” Sister Bernadette nodded.

  “What are you going to do if Buxton won’t give it back?”

  “If he will not willingly part with it we shall have to take it by force.”

  “Oy, I was afraid she’d say that.” Jack drooped.

  Aubrey frowned at the statue, the new thorn in her side. “So. Do you want to try asking Buxton to give her back or do we just assume that we’ll be taking her by force?”

  Silence. Aubrey wondered if anyone had heard her. She glanced to Sister Bernadette but the woman’s expression betrayed nothing. It wasn’t until she was ready to ask the question again that the sister replied, “One should always ask nicely first … but prepare for an answer that is not acceptable.”

  “Right,” Jack muttered. He glanced to Madeline and winked. Madeline’s mouth twitched before she could school her expression into reverence.

  “When do you want to confront Buxton?” Aubrey itched to get right to the part where they figured out how to sneak a bulky three-foot wooden statue out of a heavily guarded castle without being caught.

  Sister Bernadette surprised her by saying, “Buxton will come to us.”

  Aubrey blinked, not sure that she had heard correctly. Her plan had been more along the lines of marching up to his room in the tower and demanding an audience with him. “Are you sure?”

  Sister Bernadette bowed her head in prayer. Aubrey sighed and crossed herself before standing. Jack jumped to his feet and waved a hand randomly over his face. Madeline began to move but Sister Bernadette took her arm and held her in place. “We will stay here and perform our devotions, Sister Mary Peter.”

  Madeline sighed and shot a longing glance to Jack. Aubrey waited for more to be said and when it wasn’t she nodded for Jack to follow her out to the hall. Once they had turned the corner and passed into the cloister she turned to him. “What do you think?”

  “I think Sister MP shouldn’t be a nun.”

  Aubrey rolled her eyes. “You and your nuns. No, I mean about the statue.”

  Jack pulled at the collar of his rough cloak. “From what I’ve heard it’s a waste of time talkin’ to Buxton.”

  “I agree. We should just go ahead and take it back, sooner rather than later.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but we’re never gonna be able to just pick it up, toss it in a sack, and carry it to Coventry without so much fuss.”

  “No we will not.” Aubrey bit her lip.

  Jack stroked his goatee. “We’d better go tell Ethan.”

  Aubrey raised her eyebrows in surprise. “What’s this I hear? Is this a bit of loyalty for your leader?”

  “He’s never my leader,” Jack corrected her with a sharp scowl.

  “Sure.” Aubrey walked past him with a wink.

  “He’s not!” Jack protested, catching up with her as they strode out into the courtyard and away from the castle.

  Aubrey and Jack wound their way through the streets of Derby to a modest inn off the beaten path called The Fox’s Den. It was clean and sturdy, but being so far from the main thoroughfare of the city it served as a retreat for those who didn’t want to be seen or couldn’t afford to be. Ethan was a little of both. Aubrey wasn’t surprised to find him, Toby, and Tom biding their time waiting for their report at a table laden with half-empty mugs in a shady corner.

  As she and Jack told their story Aubrey stared at the mugs, frustrated with men and their drink. Once again she had been the one to go out on a limb while the men lay around. They had probably swapped stories about the size of their swords while they were at it. Worst of all, Ethan hadn’t seemed at all impressed with her plans for recovering the statue. The only time he rewarded her with one of his charming grins was when the barmaid plunked a mug of ale in front of her.

  “Will you stop looking at me like I’m a child with a toy sword?” she exploded, sloshing ale as she shoved the mug across the table to him. “I’m trying to come up with a plan to steal this statue and you’re no help.” He opened his mouth to retort but she went on. “Now I saw two men lift it before, but they were-”

  “Aubrey, I don’t have time to help the nuns steal their statue.”

  His words made her stop mid-thought. “What?” she snapped and was echoed with equal ferocity by Jack’s “Oy!”

  He shrugged, scratching an old stain on the table. “I’m going to Matlock.”

  “What?” she repeated, voice rising an octave.

  “Lord Stephen of Matlock is one of the strongest men in the shire,” he continued, eyes blazing with purpose. “If I can win him to my side then I can regain Windale in weeks, maybe even days.”

  Aubrey blinked. “You’re going to leave your friends hanging to go lick some noble’s boots?”

  Ethan bristled. “Aubrey, you don’t understand-”

  “Oh, I understand.” She stood and pushed her chair back so quickly it fell over with a clatter. “I understand that once again I am the only one willing to stand up and do something. I understand that you … you men can’t think of anything but your own comfort. You expect me to run things single-handedly while you go off and stroke your vanity, and when you come home you’ll expect me to give it all back again as if I was never capable of handling anything important in the first place!”

  She stopped as the shocked faces around the table brought home the meat of her outburst. Only Jack looked as though she had a point. The other three stared at their mugs, embarrassed by her show of emotion. Ethan flicked anxious eyes to her before clearing his throat. “Aubrey-”

  “You know what? Never mind. You go do what you want to do.” She waved him off and turned to storm out of the inn.

  She marched through the door and down the stairs into the courtyard
, then turned and crossed her arms. She waited for him to come after her, waited for him to rush to apologize. He didn’t come.

  She bit her lip and spun to storm back up to the castle. Damn him for making her embarrass herself like that.

  By the time she stormed up a narrow alley deep in the city her temper had swollen to the point of tears. She froze in her tracks when she spotted Crispin crossing the street ahead. He saw her and stopped, face flushing with anger that matched her own. Good. She was in the mood for a fight.

  “Aubrey, what are you doing out here?”

  “I went for a walk.” She surged towards him, meeting him in the middle of the intersection with an urge to punch him.

  “This is not a part of the city you should be wandering in.” His hands flexed at his sides and his eyes dropped to the heaving neckline of her kirtle.

  “Well what are you doing here?” she challenged him, his intensity feeding hers.

  “Scouting recruits for Buxton’s guard.”

  She sent him a flat stare as she walked past him along the road to the castle. Her anger began to dissolve.

  He chased after her and defended himself with, “He wants security tightened while the murderer remain uncaught.”

  “And of course we must give Buxton everything he wants.”

  She froze when she realized Crispin had stopped. When she turned around he was glaring at her with fire in his piercing blue eyes that made her want to melt into a puddle at his feet.

  “I do not give Buxton everything he wants!”

  She was in no mood to put up with his temper or her own weakness. “Yes, Crispin, you do.” She whipped away and marched on to the castle.

  He was at her side in a heartbeat. They marched through the castle gate side-by-side. She could feel the fury dripping off of him in waves, knew he wanted to speak, to chastise her or defend himself or both, but he remained stiff and silent. Her own temper had coalesced into a hot, throbbing ball in her stomach.

  “If you have something to say you might as well just say it.” She spun to him and snapped when they ducked into the cloister.

  His smoldering eyes delved into her. “Aubrey, promise me you will not do anything foolish, like going out into the city again without protection.” She huffed a sigh and crossed her arms. “Aubrey,” he repeated her name. “Do I need to remind you there is a murderer on the loose?”

  “No, thank you.” She gave him a tight smile.

  She marched through the cloister and darted into the dim hallway of the castle. But he still followed her. When she realized that he wasn’t going to let her be she turned to him, planted her fists on her hips, and began, “Crispin-”

  “What in God’s name are you talking about!” Buxton’s furious bellow came from the chapel at the end of the hall.

  Aubrey and Crispin stood fixed to the spot for a moment, then doubled their pace as they hurried along the hall and around the corner to the chapel. Four of Buxton’s elite guards stood in the hallway outside of the chapel with swords drawn. Crispin pushed them aside as he and Aubrey ran into the room. The sight that met them was enough to make Aubrey stop for a heartbeat in the doorway before sprinting forward in a rage. Buxton stood at the front near the chancel holding a fist full of Sister Bernadette’s habit as he lifted her half off her feet looking like he was going to pummel her.

  “My lord, stop!” Crispin lunged forward to catch Aubrey before she could do anything rash. He lifted her aside as he strode down the aisle and held a hand out to calm Buxton.

  Buxton let go of the nun. She collapsed with a cry of pain. Buxton kicked her aside and turned his fury on his man.

  “Do you know what she said to me, Huntingdon?” A jolt of dread shot down Crispin’s back. Buxton glared at Sister Bernadette as Madeline lunged to help the injured nun to her feet. “She said that my statue belongs to her! My statue! The one that was a gift from Prince John!”

  “It is no reason to kill her, my lord.” Crispin kept his voice low, hoping Aubrey wouldn’t hear. She had rushed over to the sisters and glared at both Buxton and at him.

  “She needs to be silenced!” Buxton seethed, teeth clenched.

  Crispin held his breath and glanced to Sister Bernadette, who stood clutching her side, and on to Aubrey, his stomach twisting. There was no guarantee that the nuns knew the statue was stolen. “Aubrey, get out.”

  “No!” she snapped, red faced, shielding the nuns behind her.

  His eyes met her defiant ones, begging for her trust in vain. “Lock that door!” he ordered the guards at the back of the room, then marched past Buxton, who watched him with sharp scrutiny and unconcealed rage, over to the women.

  “You say this statue belongs to you.” Crispin drew himself up to his full, intimidating height and addressed Sister Bernadette in a low, emotionless voice. He fought to ignore the way Aubrey was ready to tear him limb from limb.

  “It was stolen from the Abbey of St. Mary in Coventry.” Sister Bernadette forced herself to stand straight, her serenity turned into stone-hard resolve.

  She was speaking the truth. “How can you prove this?”

  “It has the mark of the artist on the reverse,” she told him, wincing and doubling again as Madeline caught her. “A triple cross.”

  Buxton dashed over to the statue and pressed himself against the wall to check for the mark. Crispin didn’t need to look. He probably still had the triple cross imprinted on his chest. “And what do you plan to do?”

  Sister Bernadette gazed up at him. “We will return the Madonna to her rightful place in our abbey.”

  Crispin admired her resolve. It softened his tone as he said, “And you will not speak a word of where the statue has been while absent?”

  Sister Bernadette smiled and tried to stand straight again. “I have no need to, sir.”

  Crispin nodded. “Find a physician to attend to her.”

  Aubrey’s eyes darted between him and Sister Bernadette. Madeline watched the whole proceeding with mouth half opened in surprise and fear.

  “No!” Buxton exploded into the silence that had fallen. “Absolutely not!” He left the statue and stormed across to where the others stood, pushing Crispin away from Sister Bernadette so hard that he stumbled. “You will not take my statue anywhere!”

  “My lord.” Crispin recovered his balance and attempted to stand between them.

  “It is not your statue,” Sister Bernadette addressed Buxton.

  “Well it is now. Guards! Seize them!” Buxton shouted. The guards rushed forward and knocked Aubrey out of the way, each grabbing one of the helpless women. Sister Bernadette cried in pain. “Kill them!”

  Aubrey shouted as the guards fumbled to draw their long swords while holding the women.

  “Hold your swords!” Crispin’s voice boomed like thunder. His eyes blazed defiance. The room fell to total silence. Crispin stared at Aubrey. The spark in her eyes as she watched him gave him the courage to defy his master. “My lord, you cannot do this!”

  Buxton gaped in stunned outrage, gripping his fists until his knuckles went white. “I can do whatever I want, whenever I want! If I want them silenced then they will be silenced!”

  “And if you kill them you condemn yourself.” The air between Crispin and Buxton crackled with murder. Buxton’s eyes blazed with shock and hurt, but Crispin’s words began to have their desired effect. Buxton leaned back. “They have been seen in the castle, my lord. They are known to be here. If they are killed it will be discovered how and why.” Every nerve in his body screamed. He wanted to glance to Aubrey, to know what she thought of his suicidal defiance.

  Buxton quivered with rage. He took a step towards the women. Madeline jumped back against the guard who held her. “Then cut out their tongues!” he ordered. Madeline went white. “They will not talk!”

  “My lord, you cannot cut out their tongues either.” Crispin could feel the sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  Buxton whipped around to him, teeth bared in a sneer of frustra
tion. “Then what do you propose we do? Take them on a picnic?”

  “Lock them in one of the tower rooms. If they are in the High Tower they will be out of sight, guarded, and kept in luxury. Send them home in a month when people have forgotten about the statue.”

  “Are you suggesting,” Buxton growled, “That we give them back the statue?”

  “I see no other choice.” Crispin met the man’s eyes.

  Buxton held Crispin’s gaze, beady eyes swirling with both anger and a new emotion, fear. Crispin’s heart raced. He glanced sideways at the nuns. Madeline was still as pale as a sheet while Sister Bernadette was only upright because of the guard who held her. His eyes darted to Aubrey. She watched him, expression unreadable. His face softened and his heart leapt when the corner of her mouth twitched.

  When he looked to Buxton there was no mistaking the connection his master had just made as his eyes flickered from Crispin to Aubrey. Buxton bared his teeth at her. Crispin’s stomach twisted in pain.

  “Put them in the north room,” Buxton seethed. “I want eight guards stationed in the tower hallway now, not six. Swords and maces. No one goes up except for me and Crispy.”

  “The elderly one needs a physician-”

  “No one!”

  Crispin squeezed his eyes shut and let out a breath. “They have a manservant with them, my lord.”

  “He has been sent on an errand,” Sister Bernadette informed them.

  Crispin frowned. “When he returns, bring him to me.” Aubrey opened her mouth to protest but snapped it shut, eyes wide with panic. He nodded to the guards. “Take them to the tower.”

  “If they make so much as a peep I want them killed, do you understand?” Buxton fumed. “No excuses!” He jerked around to Crispin. “I have not raised you to the position you hold now because you show mercy.” He spoke the word as if it were an obscenity. “I have put you where you are, given you the power that you have, because you are a useful tool, a knife in the dark! I have given you power. I have given you position. Never forget that I can take it away like that.” He snapped his fingers under Crispin’s nose, standing toe-to-toe with him for several edgy seconds, staring into his eyes with such malice that Crispin glanced down. Then with a rumbling chuckle he narrowed his eyes at Aubrey and swept out of the room behind the guards.