by Merry Farmer
“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.
“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 sk
ipped 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.
“Never let your guard down,” Crispin admonished him, a grin in his eyes but not on his face. “Keep your focus at all times.”
“Oy! Not fair!” Jack wheezed, working hard to pull in a breath.
“Tell that to Ethan and his outlaws,” Crispin panted, brushing back the damp hair that had fallen into his face. He turned to Aubrey, only to find her staring at him with hunger in her eyes, biting her lower lip. He returned her glance with a smoldering look.
With a wink to Madeline, Jack smacked Crispin with the flat of his right-hand sword. Crispin was too busy ogling Aubrey to protect himself. “Oy!” Jack mocked when Crispin jumped and whipped around, scowling, “Never let your guard down, mate.”
Crispin glared at Jack for a moment then shook his head, face as grim as ever. Jack wasn’t fooled. Crispin was in as good a mood as he ever was these days. He glanced to Madeline. She tried to send him a disapproving stare but couldn’t hide her wicked grin. He straightened and tried to make himself look impressive. She whispered something behind her hand to Aubrey and the two women giggled.
His eyes traveled past her to where Lydia had just stepped out of the castle’s kitchen with a tankard on a tray. Her smile sent a now familiar jolt of un
comfortable warmth straight through his groin. He flickered a guilty glance to Madeline to see if she’d noticed.
“Don’t stop on our account,” Aubrey spoke to Crispin, drawing attention away from him. “I was just getting into it.”
“Aubrey,” Crispin lowered his head and his voice, sending a scorching warning look across the practice square to her. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Resting?” She crossed her arms over her bulging belly.
Crispin nodded to Jack. “That’s enough practice for one day.”
“Nonsense.” Aubrey strode forward, snatching one of Jack’s swords as he headed over to Madeline. “Some of us haven’t had a chance to practice at all yet.”
“Aubrey,” Crispin shook his head, unable to hide the spark in his eyes. “Aren’t you feeling unwell?”
“Never better,” she shrugged him off.
Lydia reached Jack and offered the tankard to him with a curtsy. “Some refreshment, my lord.” She lowered her lashes and sent a smug look past him to Madeline. There suddenly wasn’t enough air in the courtyard. Jack cleared his throat and swiped the tankard of ale from the tray, downing a long swig. “Watch this.” He nodded to the practice yard where Crispin and Aubrey circled each other. “You’ll never believe your eyes.”
“I’ve heard about it, but I’ve never actually seen it.” Madeline slid closer to his side. The smile dropped from her face as she glanced past him to Lydia. Jack’s back prickled in warning as his eyes flicked between the two women.
Crispin had been training Aubrey in armed combat since they had both recovered from the injuries they had sustained last Fall. The corners of Jack’s mouth twitched at the way Crispin faced his wife as if she were any old opponent out for his blood. He held his sword at the ready, keeping his eyes locked on her, and when she began her first lunging attack he swung into action and defended without reservation. He deflected her blow and swung around to return the attack with just as much ferocity. Aubrey directed every last ounce of her energy into speed and precision. She spun and slashed at his leg, was deflected, and changed her position, twisting the blade and trying to slash at his chest. He smacked her blow away with a loud thump that would have seen sparks if their blades hadn’t been padded for practice.