by Merry Farmer
“We?”
“Did you find anything?” Toby avoided her question by asking one of his own.
Tom shook his head. “They aren’t at the hollow. At least not right now.”
Madeline’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got inside information!” She didn’t know whether to rejoice or give the two of them a tongue-lashing.
Tom kicked the dirt and Toby wrung his hands with a guilty grimace. “Not exactly, my lady. But Ethan and I, and Tom too really, know the forest well having lived in it for the last year. We know most of the hiding places.”
She blinked as the implication hit her. “So you know about the money then? About Jack agreeing to marry Lydia?”
“Yes.” Toby couldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m very sorry about that.”
“So you can help! You and Ethan can help us search!”
“Well,” Toby scratched his head, his face coloring, “not exactly, my lady. Ethan has a broken foot. And … and he’s not too pleased that so many people are laying claim to … to his money.”
She pursed her lips. “It’s not Ethan’s money. It’s not Lydia’s money either. It’s Derbyshire’s money and it should be used to help the people of Derbyshire.”
“Yes, well,” Toby shifted uneasily, “it doesn’t do any of us much good if we don’t know where it is.”
He had a point. She sighed. “How is Ethan holding up? You said he had a broken foot?”
“He’s well enough,” Toby mumbled his answer. It had the feeling of a lie.
She didn’t have time to worry about it. “Wish him well for me. And let him know that we could use his help as soon as he’s recovered.”
“I will, my lady,” Toby’s answer was as uncertain as the weather. He nodded to her and turned to go.
Madeline exchanged a glance with Tom. “Something you forgot to tell me?”
Tom let out a breath. “You don’t know what Ethan’s been like these last few weeks. Joanna is on the verge of murdering him.”
“Joanna knows about this?”
He glanced down, unable to meet her eyes. “I’ll go talk to him and see if I can’t figure out any other places we could search.” Without meeting her eyes Tom dashed after Toby.
She watched him go, chewing her lip. If Ethan claimed that the money was his her problems had a whole new angle to them. But if Ethan was willing to help them perhaps they could beat Lydia at her own game after all. It seemed a long-shot, given what she knew of Ethan’s opinion of Jack.
She sighed and headed back to the courtyard. Maybe she should be the one to talk to Simon as she’d advised Tom. It would almost feel like talking to a father. He may have seemed cold on the outside but there was another side to Simon McFarland that no one else was seeing. She pulled off her riding gloves and bunched them in a fist. If she wanted to talk to Simon she would have to go to Kedleridge. And if she went to Kedleridge she would run into Lydia. Everything in her life circled back around to that witch.
“Oy! Stop right there!”
Jack’s shout made her gasp and spin to see who he was shouting at. Her heart dropped like a rock to her stomach when she found him charging down the castle’s front stairs toward her. A sharp twist of longing pulsed through her until she recognized the look of fury in his eyes.
She took a step back as he rushed the last few yards to her, scanning the area for a way to escape. One of the burly guards she’d seen at the camp jogged down the stairs after him. He stumbled down the last step and doubled over, muttering a curse. She didn’t have time to question what he was doing there.
“Jack!” she started.
Jack noticed the guard hopping on one foot and leaning against the low wall at the bottom of the stairs. The guard was more interested in his injury than them. Jack’s reaction was instant. He grabbed her arm and ran with her towards one of the guard rooms built into the castle gate. She didn’t have time to argue or protest and wasn’t inclined to when he swept her off in his arms. As soon as they were safe inside the cramped room Jack peeked out of the door to spy on the man from the camp.
“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed with a laugh. “I gave him the slip!” He spun around to rest his back against the wall, shoulders dropping in relief. “A sodding month and I finally gave that bastard the slip!”
Madeline wasn’t sure whether to laugh with him or scold him for his language. Either way, it was such a joy to see any kind of smile on his face that tears stung her eyes.
Jack’s relief was short-lived. He opened his eyes and fixed them on her. “I have half a mind to turn you over my knee and give you a bloody good thrashing, MP!”
She yelped in protest, planting her fists on her hips. “That’s a fine way to say hello when I haven’t spoken to you in ages, Jack Tanner!”
His eyes popped wide and he straightened. The myriad of emotions that washed across his face in the dim light of the guard room, humor, despair, relief, pain, love, sent a hard lump of longing to her throat.
“I need to talk to you,” his frown returned. He took another peek into the courtyard then spun back to grab her hand. A narrow stairway curved up from the cramped room. He tugged her with him onto the ramparts. Keeping to the outside of the wall, he dashed away from the front gate towards the side of the castle. Madeline could just see the guard who had been following Jack turning his head this way and that in search of him. Jack noticed as well and ducked as they rushed out of his sight.
When they reached the second thick tower in the wall he straightened, but he didn’t slow his flight until they had circled all the way around to the back tower. The entire castle stood between them and the guard. A few of the castle sentries lounged there but with one glance from Jack they jumped up and made themselves scarce. Still cautious, Jack toted her up another narrow staircase to the parapets. The gray skies began to give way to rain, but he ignored it.
“Right,” he took a deep breath and faced her as though she was an executioner. “What did you do with the priests?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, face flushing bright pink.
He knew she was lying. “We don’t have time for this, MP,” he shook his head, the dark circles under his eyes standing out as rain flattened his hair to his head. “I don’t have time for this.”
“They’ve gone on holiday,” she fumbled for an excuse.
“Priests don’t go on holiday,” he crossed his arms then added, “Do they?”
“Yes, they do,” she committed to her story. “All the time. It’s for, um, the Feast of St. Ignatius.”
“You’re joking.” The barest hint of a sparkle lit his eyes.
“No I’m not! We used to go on trips to, um, the seashore all the time for the Feast of St. Ignatius. It’s very popular in the Church.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes!” She brightened. “There’s nothing like fresh sea air to, uh, carry prayers straight to God’s ears. And … and there’s the devotional sand sculpture contest.”
He cracked into a grin that turned into a chuckle. “You are the worst liar in the history of England, MP.” He shook his head. His laughter twisted to something so close to torture on his pale face that her throat closed up.
“No really,” she poured her heart into saying something, anything that would make him smile again. “We went every year. And I … two years ago I won the ribbon for my sand sculpture depicting Mary Magdalene at the tomb. It was-”
His arms closed around her and his mouth stopped her blathering before she could finish her thought. A heartbeat of surprise was all it took before she kissed him back with passion that welled up from the center of her soul. She locked her arms around him, digging her fingers into the muscles of his back through his wet tunic. He grunted in what might have been pain but she never wanted to let go. His lips were warm on hers, his tongue teasing and tempting her as it played with hers. She squeezed her eyes closed, feeling him, tasting him, her heart wanting to meld with his.
His passion ebbed. His arms
loosened around her. He brushed his hand across her cheek, laying his warm palm on the side of her face, wiping the raindrops from her skin with his thumb. He broke his kiss but couldn’t stay away, dipping back for another and another, each lighter and sweeter than the one before.
“I love you, Madeline,” his whisper was a cry of desperation. He tried to pull away but she tightened her grip. He let out a breath and kissed her once more, kissed her lips, sucked the rain from the tip of her nose, kissed her cheeks and jaw and then her lips again. She threaded her fingers into his wet hair. “I love you so much I can’t breathe.”
“I love you too, Jack,” she pressed up to take a kiss from him whether he wanted to give it or not.
His arms circled her and he lifted her off her feet. She clamped her legs around his waist as he backed her into the wall, holding her there so that he could take every last breath and heartbeat from her. His hand moved without apology to cradle her breast, squeezing just enough to leave her gasping for more. She nipped at his lip. He let out a growl that left her quivering and glad he was supporting her. His mouth pulled away from hers and he traced kisses down her neck, lapping up the water that trickled across her hot face. She wanted to feel the contrast of his soft lips and coarse goatee on so much more than her throat.
As fast as he’d started, Jack stopped kissing her. He sucked in a breath and stood straight, still holding her but turning his face up to the cooling rain, eyes shut tight in a painful wince.
“Don’t stop, Jack,” she panted, sliding her fingers into his wet hair. “Please don’t stop.”
He laughed in agony, lowering his head to kiss her again.
“We can’t do this,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. She couldn’t tell if his face was splashed with raindrops or tears. “I love you more than anything, Madeline, but we can’t do this.”
“Yes we can!” she insisted, laying a hand over his heart.
He used the gesture to push away from her, forcing her to put her feet on the ground, to stand on her own.
“You don’t understand.” Frustration poured back into his face. “If it were just about me and you then I would move heaven and earth to be with you, MP,” he pleaded with her. “But we need that money. Derbyshire needs that money. England needs that money.”
“Since when did you care about England or even Derbyshire for that matter!” she balled her fists, ready to pound him where moments ago she had wanted to give him everything.
“Since it became my business to care about them!” he shouted, throwing his hands out. “Oy, if someone had told me a year ago that bein’ a nob was more than having a big, soft bed and people bowin’ to you on the streets I would have laughed in their face. The thing is, it is more than that, Madeline. I gotta take care of people. People I don’t even know are dependin’ on me.”
“And what about the people you do know?” she choked, furious with herself for being so close to crying when what she really wanted to do was talk sense into him. “What about us? How will marrying that whore Lydia help me?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “We need the money!”
“And that’s why we’re scouring the forest to find it! We’ll let the priests go as soon as we find it!”
His eyes widened. She bit her lip over her slip.
“We don’t have time for any bloody scavenger hunts in the woods,” Jack told her. “Pennington arrived at the castle the other day and he’s already packed up most of Derby’s money to ship off to London. When he leaves we’ll be broke. Do you know what that means? Do you know what it means to be hungry? To break the news to staff that you don’t have their wages? That their children will go without?”
“We can think of something, I know we can.”
“I have thought of something, Madeline! Lydia will hand over the whole hoard as soon as I marry her.”
“And you believe her?”
“Yes, God help me, I do! She’s more interested in gettin’ a bloody title and orderin’ Simon around than counting coins.” She opened her mouth to argue the point but he overrode her with, “All she really wants is to play queen. She doesn’t give a fuck about the money or about me.” Madeline flinched at his curse. “Surprised that it’s not me she’s after?” he misunderstood her reaction. “Well I’m not! It’s no bloody wonder. What woman in her right mind would want me for a husband if I didn’t come with a bleedin’ title and estate?”
“Me!” she shouted, grabbing his arm as he tried to turn away. “I want you, Jack! I wanted you long before you were Lord John of Kedleridge! I ran away from the convent to be with Jack Tanner, not Lord John of Kedleridge!”
Her words had the opposite effect than what she’d planned. Jack’s face contorted in misery. “I know!” he rounded on her. “I think of that every second of the day, every step of the way. It’s killing me, Madeline! Because as much as I want to ditch the whole bloody lot of ’em, Simon helped me to see that I owe ’em!”
“Simon?”
“The people of Derbyshire look up to me and I can’t let them down.”
“Simon told you that?”
“Yes, and bless him, it’s true!” He turned away from her, wiping the rain from his face, clutching the sides of his head as if he would go mad. She reached for him but before she could touch him he blew out a breath and whipped back to her. “And you know the ruddy worst of it is that Simon is the one who should really be the lord of Kedleridge.”
“Simon?” she blinked.
“Yeah! Simon! He’s the bastard son of the last lord, the one Roderick offed. And that’s the bloody irony of the thing. I’m just a sodding peasant pretendin’ to be a nob while the real lord practically wipes my bum in the morning.”
Somewhere through the shock of what he’d just told her a flash of hope cut through her despair. “Jack Tanner, you’re the most noble man I’ve ever met,” she faced him with enough determination in her eyes to redirect the course of the world.
He laughed, shaking his head. “And like I said, you’re the worst liar in England.”
“No I’m not.” With every heartbeat she saw the situation more clearly. “You are willing to sacrifice love for duty. You’re willing to do the last thing on earth that you want to do because you know it will save people. Well I won’t let you.”
His face contorted in pain. “You have to, MP. Please. Where are the priests?”
“I’m not telling you. I’m going to get you out of this, Jack.”
She turned to leave the parapet. He caught her by the arm.
“I love you, Madeline, but we don’t have time for whatever you’re planning.”
“No?”
“No!” She arched an eyebrow at him. He blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine. You don’t believe me? Believe this.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out the rosary. “Here. Take it back. I don’t want it anymore.” He grabbed her hand and pried it open and thrust the rosary into her palm, closing her hand over it. “Take it and go away.” His voice cracked as he spoke.
“No, Jack, I won’t!” She held it out to him again. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands in his armpits and glancing off over the city. “Take it!”
“No.”
She wasn’t going to win the argument. With a sigh she lowered her hand. “Do you know what kept me going through the winter, Jack? It wasn’t my faith in God or the Church or Mother Mary or any of the saints. It was my faith in you, Jack.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “I had faith that you would come for me one day. But I couldn’t wait, so I came for you. So now it’s your turn. You need to have faith in me, Jack.” He bowed his head, gaze trained on his feet. “You need to have faith that I can save you from the trap that witch lead you into.”
“I don’t have time for faith,” he muttered.
“Jack, you don’t have time for anything but faith.” She squeezed her hand around the rosary. “So I suggest the two of you become better acquainted.”
He continued to stare at the
ground, his face pale and hopeless. Everything in her wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him into believing everything would work out. Instead she turned and stormed down the stairs and towards the courtyard. She prayed her horse was still saddled and waiting. Jack was right, they didn’t have time to search for Lydia’s stolen treasure. They only had time for one desperate gamble. Simon.
Chapter Eighteen
“What do you mean you don’t like pears?” Joanna’s shout echoed along the dungeon hallway.
“I mean I don’t like them!” Ethan shouted back. Even from the other end of the hall Toby could hear the teasing in his master’s voice. He sent Tom a wary sideways glance and picked up his pace.
“Well pears is what you’re going to eat or you’ll eat nothing at all!” Joanna snapped back. Toby and Tom rounded the corner into the tiny room in time to watch Joanna plunk a plate full of sliced pears with a bowl of some sort of sauce on the table next to Ethan’s chair. Ethan sat with his bandaged foot up on a padded stool, a grin on his face. Joanna raged on. “You don’t know the trouble I had to go through to get some of that carob sauce for you, you ungrateful wastrel!”
“That’s My Lord Ungrateful Wastrel to you!”
Toby groaned. Joanna huffed in frustration. She noticed Tom and Toby and jerked away from the table and Ethan.
“Thank God in heaven above you’re back!”
“Hello, Joanna,” Tom mumbled. Toby stepped over to kiss his sister’s cheeks. They were as hot as August.
“What, no hello for me?” Ethan raised his eyebrows at Tom.
“You don’t deserve a hello,” Joanna rounded on him. “Only a goodbye!” She whipped back to Toby. “Would you kindly tell your master that since he’s living on charity he should eat what he’s served and be grateful for it?”
“My lord,” Toby sighed, “You should really-”
“And will you please tell him that I am here out of the kindness of my heart and that I am most certainly not his personal serving girl?”
Toby squeezed his eyes shut as he began, “My lord, Joanna is-”