The Faithful Heart (12 page)

“Aw, they’re alright.” Jack grinned as he
steered Madeline over to the small fire burning merrily in the main
hall’s fireplace.

“My lord,” Simon wore his most focused look,
“we are not prepared to have guests. It may take some time to ready
one of the spare rooms.”

“Nah!” Jack waved the idea off. “MP can sleep
in my room.” Madeline’s eyes snapped wide and Simon’s narrowed as
he watched the interplay. Jack blinked as his words registered.
“No, no, I mean you can sleep up there and I’ll,” he shrugged, “I
dunno, I’ll sleep somewhere else. Seems I never sleep in my own bed
anyhow.” Madeline colored even more. “I mean I been stayin’ at the
castle so much, is all.” He wondered how else he could make a fool
of himself.

“That’s very generous of you, Jack, but-”

“Nah, I insist.” He brushed off her concerns
and pushed away from the fireplace. “Oy! You want a tour of the
place?”

Madeline’s heart leapt in her chest before
she could control it. “Yes please!” She clapped her hands together
and touched them to her mouth, scolding herself for sounding too
eager. The shining smile in Jack’s eyes made reserve next to
impossible.

“Right. Mind gettin’ a little wet?” He
stepped forward and took her arm.

As she leaned close and breathed in his rich,
masculine scent a whole different interpretation of his words came
to mind. “Not at all,” she squeaked. Dear Lord, she was as bad as
that witch Lydia.

Thoughts of her rival were just what she
needed to cool her mood. She looped her arm around Jack’s, refusing
to let the moment be destroyed by someone who wasn’t even
there.

Jack whisked her outside and escorted her
through the soggy village so fast that she almost had to run to
keep up with him. He chattered about the villagers and their
business as if he had learned it all from the local farmer’s wife.
He knew every detail about the men and women who had been put under
his charge and he spoke about them as if they were friends and not
vassals. She found herself as wrapped up in the stories as Jack was
while he rattled them off.

But her attention was scattered when he
dropped her arm and took her hand, running with her into a row of
fragrant, blossoming heaven. Even in the rain the orchard radiated
beauty. Damp white petals fluttered to the ground as they mingled
with cold, teasing raindrops. Jack brushed against a branch that
hung too low, plastering delicate petals and raindrops across his
head and shoulders.

“This is my favorite bit,” he grinned, coming
to a stop and swinging her into an embrace.

Madeline caught her breath, opening her mouth
to make the appropriate reply. He didn’t wait for her words. His
mouth pressed down over hers. She gasped at the taste of his tongue
as it brushed against hers, seeking more. He pulled her closer and
she melted against him with a sigh, standing on her toes and
circling her arms around his damp shoulders, threading her fingers
through his hair. Her enthusiasm encouraged him and his kiss became
more ardent. He nipped at her lower lip, grazing his teeth along
her swollen flesh. She caught her breath.

He was the only man she had ever kissed, and
that only once with Sister Bernadette looming behind them. Yet he
made her feel as if she made kissing a habit. His arms were like
heaven around her and she could feel the thumping of his heart as
her chest pressed against his. No wonder these sorts of miracles
had only been whispered about at the convent. He slid a hand from
her back to her side, pausing just wide of her breast. God help her
but she wanted him to touch her.

Cursing herself for a wanton fool, unable to
suppress the sensation that Mother Superior, or worse, her father,
would discover her in his arms, she stepped back.

For a moment Jack gawked at her, eyelids
heavy. Raindrops spattered in his face, forcing him to blink and
come back to himself. “Ah, sorry.” A deep flush came to his
face.

She shook her head and rushed to take his
arm. “It’s not you, it’s just….” Her face burned with her feeble
explanation. The rain intensified, it’s cool soak a relief. “Can
you show me the house?” She looked up at the sodden skies.

“Oh, right,” he answered her with a grin and
a cocked eyebrow, grabbing her hand and running towards the house
with her as though they were children caught out. A clap of thunder
sounded in the distance. He cut through the rows of trees, darting
into the drenching rain at the back of the house and entering
through the servant’s door. She laughed as he swept her inside and
shook his head to brush off the rain and petals, splattering the
shelves of stores around them. Dark patches of damp spread across
the floor under them.

“Oy! This is the pantry.” He gestured to the
well-stocked shelves as though he were dressed for an audience with
the king.

“It’s lovely,” she replied with the same mock
formality.

He took her hand again and lead her through a
tight hall. “That’s Simon’s room.” He nodded to a small door
halfway down the hall. “The main hall here you’ve already
seen.”

“Quite magnificent.” She giggled as he pulled
her towards the wide, carved staircase leading to a small gallery
and the hallway to the second floor rooms.

The second floor wasn’t much more than a
tightly-packed collection of four rooms. “Simon’s got stuff stored
in most of these,” he opened the door to the one at the top of the
hall. She took the opportunity to glance past him into the packed,
dusty room and to lean closer to him. His arm slid around her waist
and he turned her to the door across the hall. “This is my room.”
He pushed open the door on a modest bedchamber.

She stepped away from him and entered the
room, letting the fluttering in her heart swirl its way lower into
her core. “It’s very nice.” She cursed her breathless drivel. Her
eyes focused on the large curtained bed. It was decades out of
fashion with curtains that had been pocked by moths and age. The
coverlet was clean and cozy and an inordinate amount of pillows
were stacked at the head. “Very nice.”

“Yeah, it came with the house.” His voice was
thick and coarse, and when she turned to face him he pulled her
back into his arms before she could reply.

His mouth was on hers again, more urgent than
ever. Her hands were back in his wet hair, spreading across the hot
flesh at the base of his neck before she could think about what she
was doing. She opened her mouth hungrily to him, a moan of pleasure
catching in her throat as his tongue danced along hers. Yes, she
wanted this, wanted him. No matter how she would be punished if
they were found out.

She didn’t realize she was moving backwards
until her thighs bumped against the side of his bed. His body fit
against hers while his hands dropped to her sides. This time he
didn’t hesitate. His palm pressed against the tight mound of her
breast through the thick cloth of her kirtle. She sucked in a
breath, gripping his shoulder, and felt something hot and hard rub
against her abdomen. A gasp of realization caught in her throat as
she lost her balance and fell flat on her back on his bed.

He sank to the mattress on top of her,
laughing with joy as his mouth left her lips and his tongue traced
the ridge of her jaw. He breathed against her damp skin, sending
shivers straight through to the throbbing heat between her legs.
She could feel the subtle pressure of his most secret part rubbing
against her through layers of cloth. Her body wanted to do
everything and nothing at once and she squirmed under him in
response, fingers digging into the muscles that flexed in his back.
He sighed and kissed her with a passion that took her breath away.
She didn’t know what to do. All she could think was that that witch
Lydia would know exactly how to please him.

Panic began to overtake pleasure as his mouth
caressed her neck, trailed heat across her collarbone as he sucked
the rain from her burning skin. It all felt so good, so forbidden.
Her heart pounded as she felt a tug on her skirts. He was pulling
them up from the hem with his left hand. She could feel the
crucifix of her rosary and his fingers inching up her leg, higher
and higher until she cried out in pleasure and in fear. Yes, she
wanted this, but no, no, it was wrong. His mouth closed over the
soaked fabric atop her hardened nipple as his fingers slid along
the damp cleft between her legs. It was bliss. It was too much. The
pleasure was too overpowering, the emotion too intense.

“Jack!” she shuddered and shouted as his
finger came close to slipping inside of her.

He pulled away with a gasp. The cold metal of
the rosary’s crucifix burning for an instant into her thigh before
he stumbled and righted himself. He crouched over her, hands braced
on either side of her trembling body, not touching her. When his
eyes met hers, so full of questioning and hurt, she couldn’t stand
it. She scrambled away, tears stinging her eyes.

“God I’m sorry, Madeline!” He sank to his
knees beside the bed for a moment, clutching the rosary and bowing
his head to the mattress.

“It’s alright, Jack, it’s me that’s-”

He stood abruptly, scrubbing a hand through
his wet hair. “Don’t hate me. Please don’t hate me.”

She blinked. “I could never hate you, Jack!
I… I….”

“Yeah, well.” He paced away from the bed. Her
eyes dropped to the bulge under his tunic. She flushed and turned
away. “I’m sorry,” he pleaded again before turning and rushing out
of the room.

As soon as the door shut behind him Madeline
burst into tears. Her body was furious for denying herself what she
wanted like it wanted air. She scooted to the end of the bed and
dropped to her knees on the floor. Tears flowing, she crossed
herself, clasped her hands, and began a long penance through
clenched teeth.

Jack charged down the stairs, stunned and
aching from his own stupidity. What the hell had he been thinking
to assault Madeline like that? She was a lady, his guest, his
responsibility, and he had jumped her like she was a common tavern
wench. Like she was Lydia. He punched the wall at the bottom of the
stairs, leaving a deep dent in the plaster and sending a spasm of
pain through his hand and arm. It was pain he deserved.

“My lord?” Simon’s even voice snapped his
back straight and whipped him around.

Something about the steady, knowing glint in
his steward’s cold blue eyes broke through whatever reserve Jack
had left. “Eleven months, three weeks, and five days since I’ve had
a woman and I have to throw myself at an angel like some bloody
animal!”

Simon stared back, face impassive, hands
clasped behind his back. Jack cooled, his muscles relaxed. The one
thing that was not chiseled into his man’s face was judgment. “She
is a fine woman, my lord.” Their eyes met. The understanding he saw
there put him at ease.

It dawned on Jack that he knew nothing at all
about his most faithful servant. “She’s everything to me, mate,”
his voice cracked as he confided.

“I know,” Simon nodded, deep, almost painful
understanding making his eyes go sad.

“An’ I don’t deserve her.” The truth spilled
out of him. “A useless, lucky wanker like me doesn’t deserve a
beautiful, innocent woman like her.”

He watched his man, clutched the rosary
around his wrist, waiting for an answer, waiting to be told he was
wrong. Simon stared right back at him without expression, lips
sealed.

It was the answer he should have
expected.

“’Scuse me while I go stand out in the cold
rain ‘til supper.”

It was sunny again by morning. Madeline awoke
to a homely peasant woman shaking out the kirtle she had brought to
change into. A fire had been lit and Jack’s bedroom was cozy and
cheerful again.

“Oh dear. It’s not too late is it?” She
scrambled out of bed in her nightdress, scrubbing her fingers
through her hair.

“Too late for what, my lady?” the woman
smiled at her. She was missing a tooth.

“Is everyone up already?” She dipped her
hands into the basin of water on a table next to the bed and rubbed
her face. “Is Jack, I mean, Lord John up?”

“I reckon he was never down.” When Madeline
blinked at her she explained, “Lord John and Simon were up half the
night discussing estate business and such.”

“Oh.”

After the embarrassing encounter in the
afternoon Jack had forced cheer at supper and she had gone to bed
early. She tried to imagine Jack up all night dealing with
business. It was hard to do. The woman helped her out of her
nightdress and into clean clothes. She was still contemplating a
busy, industrious Jack as she stepped to the window and peered out
at his manor.

The sight took her breath away. The sun was
bright and fresh in the sky but everything was still wet from the
rain which had lasted into the night. Glistening droplets hung off
of the eaves of the houses. The orchard sparkled as if diamonds
hung from the pure white blossoming boughs. Jack came striding out
through the midst of it, dressed in black, his ginger hair touched
with sunlight. He wore a dark frown that was the antithesis of
everything around him.

“Jack!” she called down to him, his shining
manor making her forget any awkwardness between them.

He glanced up and when their eyes met his
frown melted into a grin. That was the Jack she knew and loved.
“Oy! MP!” He doubled his pace towards the house.

“Stay right there, I’ll come down,” she
called back to him.

She whirled around and dashed across the room
as the peasant woman waiting on her laughed and shook her head.
Simon was instructing one of the pages on how to repair a hole in
the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He spared a nod for her as
she tore past and out into the yard in front of the house. Jack was
waiting for her by the kitchen garden.