The Loyal Heart Page 3

  “Besides, Windale was a thorn in my side before he left.” Buxton waved his hand and walked to his hutch. “Always pestering me about his father. Who knows what kind of trouble he would get into if I let him have what was rightfully his.” He glanced up to Crispin with a sinister twinkle in his eyes.

  Crispin lowered his gaze. “He will challenge your authority, my lord.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about Windale if I were you,” he sniffed away the problem. “He’s probably tired and war-weary. His only friend is that cripple Morley and what can he do?”

  Crispin’s only answer was to nod. The fire that he had seen in the man’s eyes the night before wouldn’t let him believe for a second that he would slink off and disappear. “My lord, if I may take my leave.” He let his hands fall to his sides. “The gallows need to be prepared for this evening’s entertainment.”

  “Oh yes!” Buxton gasped like a child. “I love a good hanging. How many do we have today?”

  “Just two, my lord,” Crispin muttered through clenched jaw.

  “Guilty of?”

  “Stealing horses.”

  “How charming,” Buxton sighed. “Carry on.”

  Crispin bowed and rushed to leave. He clutched the handle of his dagger and reminded himself of the low hills and swaying fields of Windale as he strode across the hall and started down the long, winding stairs. The land that was now his was worth the price he’d paid for it.

  He descended into the wide front hallway of the castle, dodging busy servants as he fled through the castle’s front door. Buxton was hosting a display far grander than a simple hanging that evening and he was the one who had to organize it. He stopped at the top of the long stone stairway leading to the courtyard and glared at the assortment of merchants delivering their wares and the craftsmen constructing the gallows.

  His heart stopped and his tension melted at the sight of Lady Aubrey riding through the front gate. She sat astride her chestnut horse wearing a flowing green kirtle with a vermillion under-dress. Its wide neckline set off her pale skin and her long neck. She wore her wavy brown hair loose, brushing her shoulders. He could feel her smile across the courtyard. It spread through his chest and filled him with warmth to the pit of his stomach. And lower. She was beautiful.

  For a flicker of a moment he wore a hint of a smile and his blue eyes filled with regret. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted her, or when she had shown the least sign of returning those feelings. Swallowing his heart, he started down the stairs towards her. It wasn’t until he was halfway across the courtyard that he realized with a jolt who the man dismounting next to her was. Windale. His face reverted into its darkest scowl.

  “Lady Aubrey,” he greeted her, his voice rougher than he wanted it to be. He moved to help her dismount, but before she could so much as glance at him Windale was by her side, reaching up to take her around the waist.

  “Sir Crispin.” Aubrey smiled as tingles raced through her body where Ethan put his hands on her. Under normal circumstances she would have had a good, sound whack for any man who dared to help her off her horse, but for Ethan she would put up with it. She lingered longer in his arms than she should have once her feet were on the ground, glancing to him with a coy smile. “Thanks.” She turned to face Crispin. The dangerous smoldering in his eyes made her blink. It was just her luck that they had come across him in a mood. “You remember Sir Ethan, don’t you.” She batted her eyes as if the night before had never happened, splitting her glance between the two men.

  “Windale.” Crispin pulled himself to his full height and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

  “Huntingdon.” Ethan echoed the stance.

  They stared at each other as if their eyes would grow swords and strike each other down.

  “Sir Ethan has just returned from the Crusades,” Aubrey informed Crispin as if making an introduction at a party.

  “So I’ve heard,” Crispin growled, eyes glued to Ethan.

  Sizzling silence followed. Aubrey’s mouth twitched as she hid her amusement. “Sir Crispin was made Bailiff of Derbyshire while you were away,” she added to Ethan.

  “Among other things,” Ethan fumed.

  Crispin arched an eyebrow. “Unlike some people, I welcome responsibility.”

  Ethan’s face colored, and he leaned forward to seethe, “I have been shouldering the responsibility of fighting for the king, proving my loyalty to England.”

  “Nobly fighting a war in a foreign land on behalf of the Pope,” Crispin finished his sentence.

  “Nobly indeed.” Ethan took half a step forward, shoulders first. Both men’s hands twitched towards their sword belts and Aubrey’s eyes dropped to the dagger tucked against Crispin’s side.

  She opened her mouth to say something to cool them off, but Toby’s breathless scurrying broke the tension. “My lord, that is the last time I let you gallop all the way to Derby!” He marched towards them, his face somewhere between pale and green, his mousy hair sticking up at odd angles. “That ride just about finished me!” He glanced up and saw Crispin, flinched, and took two tumbling steps backwards, eyes big as saucers.

  Aubrey said a silent prayer of thanks as Toby backed into Ethan, knocking him off balance and forcing him to turn away from Crispin. Crispin’s mouth twitched but his eyes betrayed no mirth. He ignored Ethan and Toby and addressed Aubrey. “If you’ve come for the feast and the entertainment, you’re early. If you’d like, I could show you-”

  “Ethan was hoping to have a word with Buxton before the rest of the nobles arrived,” she interrupted, wishing he wouldn’t stare at her with such kindness. It twisted her gut with guilt.

  Crispin’s shoulders dropped. “Buxton won’t see anyone.”

  “What entertainment?” Ethan inserted himself into their conversation as he set Toby upright.

  Crispin clenched his jaw and flicked a glance to the gallows at the other end of the courtyard. Ethan followed the glance and grimaced, turning his disgust on Crispin as if he were a mad dog.

  Aubrey was left to do the talking again. “Who’s he hanging this time?” she sighed.

  Ethan’s eyes popped wider. “You mean he’s hung people for entertainment before?”

  Aubrey shook her head and corrected him. “Buxton feels that public execution discourages criminal activity.”

  “That’s barbaric!”

  “I’m sorry if justice offends you,” Crispin sneered. He cut off Ethan’s retort by answering Aubrey. “Horse thieves. They were caught with half a dozen horses between them. Brothers.”

  “How quaint,” Aubrey cringed. “And where did they come from this time?”

  “Shropshire.”

  “What, can’t even execute your own criminals?” Ethan snapped.

  “I defy you to find one serious criminal in all of Derbyshire,” Crispin shot back.

  “I’m looking at one right now.” Ethan stared straight into Crispin’s eyes.

  “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

  “Oh, I think you know.”

  The hair on the back of Aubrey’s neck stood up. “Come on, Ethan.” Her words rang in the silence. She took his arm. “Let me show you what they’ve done to the garden in the cloister.” She pulled on Ethan’s arm as hard as she could and was surprised when he broke eye-contact with Crispin to follow her. She rushed him across the courtyard, glancing over her shoulder to see Crispin marching towards the gallows.

  “Wait!” Toby found his voice with an ear-splitting shriek. Ethan and Aubrey and Crispin all stopped and turned to him. He faced Crispin, dancing with agitation. “My… my sister,” he squeeze out. “How … how is she?”

  Crispin scowled at the man as if he were mad. “How should I know?” he thundered and stormed on to the gallows.

  Aubrey’s heart went out to Toby as he deflated and scurried to catch up with them as they passed through the archway into the cloister. The muscles in Ethan’s arm corded with anger as she ushered him to a long ben
ch against the protective walkway’s wall, but she wasn’t sure if he had a right to that anger. She took a seat next to him and sighed, glancing out to the fountain bubbling in the middle of the sunny garden. Toby slumped to sit on the stone floor against the wall. Not even the pinks and purples and yellows of the Spring blooms could break the tension that gripped them.

  Aubrey’s eyes fixed on the door leading into the castle across the garden on the other side of the promenade. She balled her hand into a fist on her skirt as she worked out what she wanted to say to him. She took a deep breath and started with, “Ethan, Crispin was-”

  “Hangings as entertainment?” he interrupted her.

  Aubrey blinked, not sure if he’d heard what she had been about to say. “That’s Buxton for you,” she mumbled.

  He let out a sharp breath. “How can you tolerate this?”

  “It’s not like I can do anything about it.” Her back snapped straight.

  “Has anybody said anything? Anybody at all?”

  “Of course!” She matched his irritated energy. “A letter was sent to London asking for royal authority to step in.”

  “And?”

  “And the answer was that Buxton was the Sheriff and that he has the authority to dispense justice in any way that he sees fit.”

  “You’re kidding!” Ethan jumped to his feet and started pacing.

  Aubrey’s face hardened. She had hoped to spend the day getting closer to him, not wanting to smack him. “Yes, well, if the crime rate in a shire drops the last thing that any sane ruler would do is put a stop to the man who caused it to happen.”

  Ethan rounded on her as she stood to face him. “Even if it’s inhumane.”

  “Plenty of things in this world are inhumane, Ethan.” She tried not to lose her temper. He always had had a way of latching onto something and not letting go. “You of all people should know that, great crusader that you are.” She sighed and reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “Look, you’re obviously upset, and I don’t blame you. But you can’t do anything about it right now.” When he began to protest she cut him off with, “Even though I know you want to.”

  In the pause that followed her words, Ethan lay his hand on top of hers. Tickles of energy raced up her arm and spread through her chest. She caught her breath and turned her flushed face to his. But his eyes stared into the space over her shoulder. Her heart tightened with disappointment. It made her bold. “You can’t go around accusing Crispin of murder, you know.”

  Ethan’s focus flew back to her. He dropped her hand and leapt up to pace the promenade. “Why not if it’s true?”

  “Crispin is many things,” she rolled her eyes in frustration, “but he is not a murderer. Believe me. I know. He-”

  “He killed my father!”

  “There was no evidence!” Aubrey threw up her hands.

  “He stole my land!” It was pointless to argue with him. “I have to get Windale back.” He ignored her ire.

  “I know.” She crossed her arms. “But you’re not going to do it by chewing up the cloister.” Her small mouth flickered to a grin. He bore a striking resemblance to a caged lion as he paced, sunlight shining in his over-long hair. “Why don’t you let it go for a bit and sit here with me.” She reclined against the bench and patted the seat next to her when he paused to meet her eyes. “You can tell me all about the Holy Land,” she cooed and took his arm when he sat beside her. “The blazing hot sand, the crazed Turks. Ooo!” She pretended to tremble.

  He puffed out a sigh that might had been a laugh and she felt him relax a hair. Her smile widened. This was more like it.

  Crispin stood at the edge of the gallery overlooking a sea of nobles mingling in the Great Hall, his face set in a dark mask. For the last half hour he had watched Ethan engage one noble after another in conversation. Most of them had the good sense to put him off. What made Crispin’s stomach tie in knots was the way Aubrey held Ethan’s arm and let him lead her around like a common ornament. It infuriated him to see her simper and smile at the man. She was so strong, so fiery, so bull-headed. The sound of her laughter drifted up from the hall. His thigh-length tunic was suddenly too hot and too tight. He watched her bright eyes, fixed on Ethan. His heart crushed in his chest.

  “What are you staring at, Crispy?” Buxton stepped up behind him and clapped him hard on the back. Crispin bristled as Buxton leaned forward over the banister, his rat-like gaze searched for what had caught his attention. He spied Aubrey clinging to Ethan’s arm and a let out a brutal chuckle. “Crispy’s got competition,” he snickered, letting his hand slither down Crispin’s back and lower before pulling it around to rest on the banister.

  “I’m not worried,” he lied as Aubrey laughed at the fat noble who addressed her. Her glittering eyes flickered up to meet his and her smile died as her face flushed pink. Crispin swallowed and dropped his head, glancing sidelong at Buxton standing too close at his side.

  “Women are snakes,” Buxton grimaced. He glanced across the assembled nobles, spread his arms, and announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to Derby Castle!”

  The scattered conversations hushed and noblemen and women turned expectant faces to the gallery, applauding. Crispin watched Aubrey clap twice without smiling and drop her hands to her sides. She glanced at Ethan who hadn’t clapped at all.

  Buxton continued. “I greet you all from every end of Derbyshire, from Barnsley to Sheffield. Derbyshire! Land of hills and forests, land of the strong and the proud! Greatest shire in all of England!” The assembled nobles burst into shouts of pride and approval. Buxton stood with his hands outstretched, soaking in the enthusiasm as if he had single-handedly created all of it. “We are the shire of peace, the shire of productivity. My bailiff informs me that this year we have planted thirty percent more in out village fields than last year.” He nodded to Crispin who fixed his eyes at the floor. “With the yield expected this Autumn we will be able to make improvements to our villages and manors. Why, already at Windale Sir Crispin has installed the very latest in waterwheel technology to drive his mill, increasing productivity tenfold and filling his treasury. This could be you too!”

  Crispin glanced at Aubrey to gauge her opinion of his hard work. Ethan was muttering into her ear, his face contorted in rage. Aubrey patted his arm. Crispin forced his attention to Buxton’s sycophantic speech to keep from charging down to the hall and wringing Ethan’s neck.

  “Furthermore,” Buxton droned on, “Prince John himself has noticed our efforts! He has sent a special gift to the people of Derbyshire in gratitude for their continued support.” An excited murmur went up from the crowd as a table was brought forward with a cloth-draped object on it that was heavy enough to tax the two burly servants carrying it. They set their burden at the edge of the gallery before backing off.

  Buxton grinned like a child about to open a present as he stepped over to the table and put a hand on the cloth. He pulled it, then stopped and winked to the nobles below. They laughed in anticipation as he toyed with them the way he would play with one of his mice. Crispin shifted his weight and rolled his eyes. Finally Buxton grabbed the cloth with both hands and whipped it off, revealing a wooden statue of the Madonna and Child. It stood about three feet high and was painted with rich blues and reds and gilded. The nobles below hummed and cooed their appreciation of the sculpture.

  “Isn’t that precious,” Buxton played into their admiration. “From Prince John!” he declared and was rewarded with a rich round of applause.

  Aubrey was surprised by the beauty and elegance of the sculpture. She craned her neck to get a better look, like everyone else in the room save Crispin and Ethan. Her brow knit in frustrated concern at the sight of Crispin lurking like a shadow behind Buxton. She didn’t have time to wonder what caused his grim expression. Ethan surged forward beside her, pushing his way to the front of the crowd below the gallery.

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

  Aubrey paled and took half a s
tep 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.