The Faithful Heart

by Merry Farmer

  “If you say so,” she sighed and took his arm with both of her hands. Before he could start down the hallway to the Great Hall she leaned close and kissed his cheek.

  “Oy! What’s that for?”

  “For giving me the dress.” She sent him a dazzling smile. “For coming to my rescue.”

  “What, that?” He brushed her off and blew out a breath. “That were nothing.”

  Again he thought her smile faltered, but she was bright again before he could decide for sure. She tilted her head to his shoulder and tightened her fingers around his arm. “Will you introduce me to the Countess?”

  “Of course I will. Aubrey’s a good friend of mine.” She stood so close to his side as they walked down the hall that it sent shivers of … of something he didn’t want to think about down his spine.

  “You’re so sweet to me, my lord.” She hugged his arms as they walked down the last few stairs and into the hall.

  Madeline had never been more out of place than in the swirl of color and laughter of the Great Hall. How Aubrey could smile and talk utter nonsense to the endless stream of nobles who climbed up the gallery stairs to greet her and Crispin was a mystery. She never would have been able to do it. Then again, she never would have pegged herself as the type to flee the convent in the dead of night without so much as a handkerchief either. Necessity made people do the strangest things. Necessity and love.

  She glanced out over the floor of the Great Hall, her eyes searching for a glimpse of ginger hair.

  “Didn’t you say Jack would be at the banquet?” She leaned closer to Aubrey as a portly old noble and his frail wife bowed and took their leave of her.

  “He should be,” Aubrey answered but was distracted before she could say more. “Lady Wyndham,” she cooed to the woman who had climbed to the gallery to greet her, “How nice of you to come.”

  Madeline sighed and leaned over the gallery railing to get a better look at the crowd.

  “How could anyone pass up an invitation to one of your celebrations, Countess,” Lady Wyndham’s voice dripped with irony. She turned to Madeline and glanced down her slender nose. “Who is your charming friend?”

  “This is Lady Madeline of Matlock.”

  Madeline swallowed and snapped straight as Aubrey presented her to the haughty woman.

  “Matlock?” Lady Wyndham raised a thin eyebrow and tilted her head back to look even further down her nose. “I know the Matlock girls but I have never met you.”

  Madeline stiffened and met the woman’s eyes with serenity. “I have been away at the Abbey of St. Mary in Coventry.”

  A smirk twitched at the corner of Lady Wyndham’s wide mouth. “Oh, that Matlock girl.” Her glance turned mocking. “You’re the girl that had to be pulled out of our well.”

  Madeline fought not to wither under the comment. “That was twelve years ago. I was seven.”

  “Yes, your sister is a friend of mine. She told me something about your father dragging you off the roof where you’d hidden after that incident and beating you silly.” Madeline could do nothing but stand there and swallow her pride as the woman spoke to her like she was still a wild and willful child who deserved what she got. “I didn’t think they ever let your sort out of convents once you’d been shipped off.”

  Her cheeks stung pink with anger and shame. “The Countess has invited me to stay with her.”

  “Madeline is my best friend,” Aubrey confirmed with a smile designed to flatten Lady Wyndham.

  “It’s a good thing that she has friends,” Lady Wyndham smirked and turned her back on Madeline and Aubrey, facing Crispin. “My lord,” she made a bare curtsy before launching into a complaint, “I find it most distressing that our party would be attacked on the road through the Derbywood while on our way to the castle. Really, these outlaws are completely out of hand.”

  “Every effort is being made to control the problem,” Crispin growled at being addressed like an errant schoolboy.

  “Is it?” Lady Wyndham pursed her lips. “We shall see about that. My husband has the ear of many important ministers in London who would-”

  “Good for him.” Crispin nodded once to her then stormed off as he asked Aubrey, “A drink?”

  Aubrey didn’t hear him. She was too busy looking down into the Great Hall, a wide smile lit her face. “There!” She grabbed Madeline’s arm and steered her to the edge of the balcony.

  Jack swept into the room below dressed in a fine tunic with a huge grin on his face. Madeline’s heart soared into her throat for half a second of joy before plummeting into the pit of her stomach. The woman from the courtyard was hanging off his arm. She glowed as she strode into the room. Every eye turned towards her and she stood straight and tall, smiling back.

  “This was a terrible mistake,” Madeline sighed, pulling away from Aubrey and the balcony.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Aubrey stopped her from fleeing. “You’re not going anywhere until we find out what this is all about. Jack!”

  Madeline’s heart dropped like a rock into her stomach as Aubrey shouted. The assembly of nobles turned their attention away from the beautiful woman and onto Aubrey as she waved to Jack. Madeline had no time to worry about the garishness of the gesture. Her eyes met Jack’s.

  His jaw went slack in surprise and his eyes flew wide. “Oy! MP!” he shouted, face flushed, bursting with laughter. He dropped the beautiful woman’s arm and pushed through the confused nobles, mounting the stairs to the gallery two at a time.

  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, flushin
g, 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.