The Faithful Heart (41 page)

“Then all we need to do is bring two or three
new carts to Windale,” Tom surprised Jack by stepping into the
conversation. “We can load the treasure and transport it here by
sunset.”

Crispin shook his head. “All of the carts at
Windale that aren’t being used by the farmers were loaned to
Kedleridge to help with the construction.”

“They’re just over the hill then.” Jack set
to work on the problem. “We can unload ‘em, store the supplies an’
all, and drive ‘em over the hill.”

“It will be quicker than finding new carts,”
Tom agreed.

“But it will still take time,” Crispin
wavered.

“How fast is Ethan gonna be able to act?”
Jack shrugged. “He’s got a broken foot, right?”

“It’s on the mend,” Toby answered.

Jack nodded. “It takes, what, half a day to
ride to Matlock?”

“Four hours and twenty minutes,” Madeline
informed him with grim certainty. “At a run, that is.”

Jack swallowed the urge to laugh. “Oy,
someday you’re gonna have to tell me the rest of that story, MP.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “You both got a lot of explainin’ to
do,” he smirked at Crispin.

“So she told you?” Crispin grinned in
return.

“That I’m still Lord John of Kedleridge?
Yeah, she told me alright.” He threw an arm around her and kissed
her.

“When was Simon planning on telling Lydia?”
Tom distracted himself from the show of affection by asking.

“I don’t know,” Madeline shrugged, holding
Jack around the waist.

“Will she cause trouble when she finds out?”
Crispin arched an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Jack, Madeline, and Tom answered in
unison.

“Then we should leave for Kedleridge as soon
as possible,” he finished.

“I’m coming with you,” Aubrey pushed herself
out of her chair.

Crispin tried to force her back with a dark
scowl. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

She pulled her back as straight as she could
and walked to stand toe-to-toe with him. “I haven’t seen you in
more than a month, Crispin. I am not going to lay around the castle
while everyone else does their part to secure the king’s
ransom!”

“I will not have you endanger the health of
our child.”

“The baby isn’t due for another month!” She
argued back. “I’m going with you and you can’t stop me.”

“Aubrey,” he scowled at her with the voice
that sent everyone cowering. Everyone but Aubrey, that is.

“I’m going with you,” she replied with a
ferocity to match his. The air fizzled between them for a moment
before she took a breath and said, “Joanna can come with me to
chaperone.”

“I can help as well.” Toby rose, pale and
shaking. “I have to do something,” he pleaded when the others
stared at him. His lip quivered. “I haven’t left Ethan’s side in
twenty years. I won’t know what to do with myself if I’m left
alone.”

The women’s expressions melted to pained
empathy. Blast it, but Jack felt a lump in his throat at the mousy
man’s comment as well. “Right,” he nodded, “We’ll find you
somethin’ to do, mate. I’m sure the castle’s got a spare carriage
or cart somewhere. Aubrey can ride an’ we’ll use that cart to help
us transport the money.”

Crispin nodded, sending Aubrey a final
frustrated glance before marching past her towards the stairs
leading to the gallery. “Come on then,” he spoke over his shoulder
as Jack and Tom rushed to catch up with him. “We should get this
taken care of as quickly as possible.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lydia refused to allow herself one moment of
doubt. Madeline and Jack would pay for what they’d done to her. She
would kill them with her bare hands if she had to. Simon she would
save for something worse than death. She didn’t pause for one
moment as she rode the horse she’d stolen from Kedleridge’s stables
around the bend into Matlock. When she saw the scattering of tough,
armed men chatting amongst themselves on the green, pestering
Matlock’s villagers, the vengeance that had been simmering in her
gut burst into a smile. This was exactly what she was looking
for.

She pulled her horse to a stop in front of
the impressive manor house. The men closest watched her with hungry
curiosity as she dismounted and dashed towards the great front
door. She noticed a carriage draped with Plantagenet colors parked
by the side of the road but didn’t give it a second thought.

“Let me in!” she demanded of the sentries at
the front door. “I need to speak to Lord Stephen immediately.”

The sentries exchanged wary looks. “What’s
with half the shire showin’ up on our doorstep demandin’ to see
Lord Stephen these days?” one asked the other.

“Somethin’ going on that we don’t know
about?” the other replied.

The first one shrugged. “Isn’t there
always?”

The two men chuckled. Lydia huffed with
impatience. “If you’re not going to let me in then move aside so I
can let myself in!”

“We need raises,” the first sentry continued
to chuckle.

“Yeah, this goes above and beyond the call of
duty.”

“I dunno,” the first one smirked. “She’s a
hell of a lot prettier than the other two.”

“Let me in!” Lydia shouted, ready to wring
both of their necks.

She was spared the inconvenience as the door
opened. A lady dressed in fine brocade, in her middle years but
looking old and wan, glared at all three of them. “What is the
meaning of all this racket?”

The lady bore a distinct resemblance to a
certain nasty, prickle-haired ex-nun. “My lady,” Lydia curtsied
deep, swallowing the bile that rose to her throat at the gesture.
“Please, my lady, I need to speak with Lord Stephen at once. It’s a
matter of life and death.” She hoped the expression she summoned up
was close enough to desperation to move the sour old woman.

“Lord Stephen is busy,” Lady Matlock mumbled,
lowering her eyes. “He is entertaining an emissary from
London.”

“But that is what I’ve come about,” Lydia
bluffed. “I’ve come with news that Lord Stephen and the emissary
must hear. It’s about the king’s ransom.”

Lady Matlock sent an anxious glance over her
shoulder, holding her breath as she made up her mind. Worry and
fear lined her face. At length she gave up and said, “Come
inside.”

Lydia all but burst through the door into the
main hall. The hall was empty but she could hear voices and see the
glow of a fire coming from one of the side rooms. And to her great
surprise, Ethan sat on a bench outside of the door, his foot
propped on a stool.

“What are you doing here?” She ignored Lady
Matlock and charged across the hall.

“I could say the same about you.” He wasn’t
remotely happy to see her. “What did you do with my money?”

“Sir Crispin has it,” she spat at him,
speaking loud in the hopes that Lord Stephen and the emissary from
London would overhear.

The effect on Ethan was instantaneous. His
back shot as straight and hard as it could with his foot up.
“Huntingdon?”

She tried to keep the light of triumph from
showing in her eyes. With emotion that strong at the mere mention
of Sir Crispin’s name Ethan would be easy to manipulate. “Yes!” she
shouted as though she shared his hatred. “And he has his army
guarding it!”

“What is going on out there?” Matlock’s voice
boomed from the side room. Lydia breathed a sigh of relief, her
pulse racing as he opened the door and stepped into the hall with
them. His eyes shot to his wife’s. “I told you we were not to be
disturbed!”

Lady Matlock shrank back, mumbling, “She says
she’s come on a matter of life or death.”

Matlock’s fierce eyes snapped to Lydia. “What
matter of life or death?” He followed with a sharp order to his
wife. “Get out!”

Lydia felt no pity as the woman rushed out of
the hall. “I’ve been tricked,” she revealed and moved on. “I was in
possession of a small fortune, enough to pay Derbyshire’s portion
of the king’s ransom with some to spare. I turned the money over to
Lord John of Kedleridge and he gave it to the Earl of Derby. They
have it all at Windale right now.”

Matlock stared at her with a suspicious
frown. “How can I believe you?”

“I’ve seen it,” Ethan joined the
conversation, struggling to stand. “She’s telling the truth, but
the money is mine. My men gathered it in the forest. She stole it
from me.”

“The outlaws?” Matlock glanced between the
two. “How much money are we talking about here?”

“Six or seven thousand marks at least.”

The clang of someone dropping something was
followed by a man’s voice exclaiming, “Seven thousand marks?” A
moment later a man with a fine tunic stretched over a portly belly
squeezed into the doorway with Matlock. He had an oiled mustache
and goatee and piggy eyes. Lydia recognized him from the banquet at
Derby Castle ages ago. Pennington, the emissary of the crown.

“The earl is holding your money hostage,” she
guessed at the man’s motivations. “He plans to send it to London
himself, completely bypassing you.” Maybe it was true.

“It’s my money!” Ethan insisted.

“How dare he!” Pennington took the bait,
disregarding Ethan.

“It’s all Lord John, or should I say that
peasant Jack Tanner’s idea,” she snapped her eyes back to Matlock.
She could already see the knives being sharpened in his eyes. He
wouldn’t need much pushing at all. “He tricked me into
relinquishing the money. And then he married your daughter.”

“He what?” The fury in Matlock’s eyes was all
the proof she needed that vengeance was about to rain down.

“Your daughter Madeline has married Jack
Tanner. You have a peasant for a son-in-law,” she drove the dagger
in deeper.

“Jack and Madeline were married?” Ethan
blinked at her.

“The insolent dog!” Matlock growled.

“Yesterday,” Lydia fed into the story. She
could taste victory.

“Then they will be buried tomorrow!” Matlock
balled a fist, his face and neck red.

“Yes, but what about the money?” Pennington
was far less passionate.

“I have men,” Lydia worked her way around to
the plot she and Roderick had formed. “Outlaws from the forest.
There are almost two dozen of them. With the mercenaries you have
outside we could form an army.”

“If you capture or kill Huntington in the
process then I can regain Windale,” Ethan joined in with
enthusiasm.

“Oh, he will be killed,” Matlock seethed.
“They all will. And Windale will be razed to the ground!”

Ethan took a step back, stumbling as his
wounded foot took too much weight. “You can’t destroy Windale!”

“Oh no?” Matlock arched an eyebrow at him.
“Watch me.”

“No!” Ethan did his best to face the man but
was unable to stand straight. Lydia shared some of his anger. It
wasn’t Windale she wanted destroyed. “I came here to seek your help
in reclaiming Windale. For months, since my return, you have said
you would lend your support to my cause. To go back on that
now-”

“Who are you?” Matlock sneered.

“I am Lord Ethan of-”

“Of what, exactly?” He stood towering over
Ethan. “You are the pauper son of a father who got himself killed
by a drunk peasant.”

“Huntington killed my father!”

“And how does that change things? You have
nothing. You are no one. You’re just a beggar looking for a
handout. There’s no difference between you and a man sitting in the
gutter asking for bread.”

Ethan stood as straight as he could. “I am a
knight of England! I rallied to King Richard’s call and fought for
him, for my country, and for God in the Holy Land!”

“What good does that do any of us now?”

“I risked my life, was wounded at Jaffa, so
that men like you could enjoy prosperity and the blessings of the
Holy Father!”

“Who cares? You’re nothing now. You don’t
even have that silly little fag of a manservant anymore.”

“Toby is the best-”

“I don’t know why I’ve tolerated your
blatherings as long as I have,” Matlock cut short any further
argument. “Your father was a friend, but you, Ethan, have done
nothing but waste my time. You promised me men and support and you
show up on my doorstep with a broken foot and a sob story. I don’t
have time for your delusions of grandeur anymore.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide. A part of
Lydia felt sorry for him. He had potential, but in the end he was
nothing more than a pretty face. She brushed him off when he
glanced to her for help. She was more interested in getting Matlock
back on track for her revenge.

“I don’t think even that lot is stupid enough
to keep that much money anywhere but in the castle treasury,” she
pushed on with her plan. “But if you want to attack someone-”

“They may try to send the money directly to
London rather than storing it at all,” Pennington spoke over
her.

“We’ll have to work fast then,” Matlock stuck
to his plan. “We attack Windale at first light. We show no mercy.
They’ll regret the day they turned against me!”

“No! No you can’t!” Ethan backed away from
them, face pale, eyes wide and wild. He turned and limped through
the hall towards the front door as fast as he could.

“My men are waiting along the Derby road
where it meets the river,” Lydia ignored his flight. “But first
things first.”

The front door slammed shut. Ethan was
gone.

“Um, shouldn’t someone go after him?”
Pennington scratched at his goatee. “I mean, if he’s as obsessed
with this Windale place as he sounds surely he’ll warn them.”

“Let him try,” Matlock thundered. “But I’ll
send someone to silence him. He won’t be able to get far in that
condition.” He started away from them towards the door.

“No wait!” Lydia hadn’t come all this way to
serve someone else’s goal. “You’re missing the point.”

Matlock rounded on her. “I have no time to
listen to a whore like you either.”

She forced herself to swallow the insult.
“What do you want to do, Lord Stephen?” she gambled everything. “Do
you want to spend your energy attacking the earl’s manor over a few
pieces of gold? Is it money you want or is it revenge?” He narrowed
his eyes at her. “Don’t you want to cut the upstart peasant Jack
Tanner down?”