by Merry Farmer
She opened her mouth, hoping that something would come out, and when nothing did she sighed. “He’s only a bit further. He’ll be happy to see you. You have no idea.”
She tried to walk on.
He grasped her arm, holding her still. “What’s going on?”
She lowered her eyes to his hand on her arm. Through the cloth of her shirt her skin tingled. She took a few deep breaths to steady herself before raising her eyes to meet his. “Windale isn’t yours anymore.”
“It isn’t … what?” He dropped her arm and gaped.
“Look, Geoffrey will explain.” She rushed on before he could protest. “Do you have horses? Should we go get them?”
“No.” Ethan shook his head.
“Alright,” she nodded, “Then don’t just stand there looking daft. Come on.” The two men watched as she marched past them. She squeezed her eyes shut before stopping and turning to face them. It was Toby’s expression that broke her heart. “Toby?”
He glanced up at her, mouth pressed in a worried line. “My sister. Joanna. Is she … is she still at Windale?”
“Yes, as far as I know she still is.”
He inched forward as if he would say more, then thought better of it and closed his mouth. He started after her. Aubrey began walking again, glancing over her shoulder to Ethan. His frown was more set than ever, but he jogged to catch up with them.
When they reached the small clearing where Geoffrey waited Aubrey’s heart dropped to her stomach. Her brother was sprawled at the base of a thick oak with a flask in his hand, his head drooped over his chest. His peg leg shot out at an odd angle to his whole leg. Ethan stopped dead at the sight.
“Geoffrey!” she forced cheer into her voice as she rushed to his side. “Victory, Geoffrey!” She rattled the purses at her belt as he shook himself and struggled to sit up straight. “And you’ll never guess who I found.”
“Who you found?” Geoffrey slurred. He muscled himself to stand, using the tree for support as Aubrey swiped the flask from his limp hand. His whole face lit up in surprise when he saw Ethan and Toby. “My god, Ethan!” He blinked and swayed, brushing his wrinkled tunic with sudden self-consciousness. Ethan shuffled towards him, his tumultuous expression speaking more than words ever could. Geoffrey fought the wave of color that made its way to his face, the shame and the joy.
“Geoff!” Ethan exclaimed, not looking at his friend’s missing leg. He took Geoffrey in his arms, thumped him hard on the back and was pounded in return. “What a sight!” He released his friend and Aubrey swallowed as Ethan realized that if he let go Geoffrey would fall. He waited until the man had his balance before backing off. Aubrey glanced to Toby to avoid the pain in both men’s faces. Toby watched his master with protective sorrow.
“Back from the war in one piece, eh?” Geoffrey teased, eyes dull and tired. “Lucky devil.”
“Did you forget something in Cyprus?” Ethan joked in return.
Geoffrey’s laughter was hollow. Aubrey escaped to her horse and shoved Geoffrey’s half empty flask and the pouches of coins into her saddlebag. “Toby, do you want to put those packs on the horses?”
“No thank you, my lady,” Toby answered with an impatient nod. “I’d like to find out what has happened to my sister.” He frowned at Ethan.
Ethan’s face fell and he kicked the dirt. “Aubrey tells me I’ve been dispossessed.”
Geoffrey let out a heavy sigh. “She told you, did she?”
“Is she right?” Geoffrey didn’t answer and Aubrey couldn’t look at him. “Well?”
“You left Windale without a lord, without leadership,” Geoffrey explained. “Buxton said that it was a blatant abandonment of the manor and the village. He said that without a lord the manor would collapse.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Ethan hissed. “The people of Windale are strong and industrious.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “Buxton saw nothing but a manor without a firm hand to rule it. He awarded your land to the care of … of someone else.”
Ethan shook his head, not sure he’d heard right. “He awarded my land to someone else? He doesn’t have the right to do that!”
“Actually he does. He’s the Sheriff. He has the right to administrate the shire, and he felt as though Windale needed administration.” He rubbed his drawn face.
Ethan pushed a hand through his sun-blond hair and searched the forest for answers. He blinked and his expression darkened. “Who did he award Windale to?”
“Huntingdon.”
Ethan’s body hardened and his eyes burned with fury, but it was Toby who spoke. “Wait.” He held out a hand, face scrunched into a confused frown. “Are you saying that Huntingdon is the new lord of Windale? Huntingdon?” Geoffrey nodded. Toby’s shoulders went slack and the packs plunked to the ground with a loud thump. “Sir Crispin of Huntingdon is in charge of my sister? Is anybody dead yet?”
“No!” Aubrey huffed. “No one is dead. Everything at Windale is pretty much the same as it was before.”
“Except that a black-hearted murderer holds their lives in his hands,” Ethan growled. He launched into pacing the short distance of the clearing. “Were you here when this happened?”
“No,” Geoffrey snapped.
“I was.” Aubrey crossed her arms and scowled at Ethan. “And there was nothing that anyone would have been able to do about it, so don’t you dare use that tone of voice with my brother.”
Ethan blinked several times as he stared at her. The smile that played at the edges of his mouth burned Aubrey’s cheeks bright pink with anger … and something else that was inconvenient when she was trying to be angry with him. She was almost relieved when his expression darkened. “Well how did you manage to hold onto Morley, huh? A lone woman with your brother gone off to war. Didn’t Buxton think Morley needed administration?”
“For your information he did.” She tilted her chin up. “As long as father was alive Buxton didn’t dare look our way. When he died I came very near to being married off so that he could control Morley. Geoffrey’s return was the only thing that stopped that. So don’t you think for a second-”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered a quick apology.
Aubrey blew out a breath and sucked in another one. “It’s alright.” She let her arms drop to her sides and her back relax. “You’re upset. I understand. I would be too.” Something about the strong, square lines of his face, the way his broad shoulders stooped as he fretted made it impossible to stay angry with him.
He resumed pacing. “This is not the homecoming I expected,” he mumbled.
“Certainly not,” Toby echoed, pacing himself in imitation of his master.
“Well you’re welcome to stay with us at Morley as long as you’d like while you…” Geoffrey searched for the right words, “while you figure things out.”
“Figure things out,” Toby huffed and kicked at the dirt.
“Figure out how to get Windale back you mean,” Ethan answered them both with sudden energy. “I’m not going to sit by and let Buxton and Huntingdon steal my land. Windale is mine by right of blood. I’ve done nothing to warrant losing it, nothing except serving my country.”
Aubrey shrugged. “I’m sure if you bargain with Buxton-”
“I am not bargaining with that traitor!” Ethan spat.
Aubrey let out an exasperated breath. “Well maybe you can buy it back from him. He’s always hoarding money.”
“I don’t have any money,” Ethan answered in a glum voice. “Everything I own is at Windale.”
The four of them fell into silence. Aubrey felt more helpless than she had since before Geoffrey returned. She stared at the purses tied to her belt. “Here.” She began to untie them. “Take these.”
“I will not!” He planted his hands on his hips.
“But they could help.”
“I’m not taking anything from you.”
“I see the Turk didn’t beat the stubbornness out of you,” Geoffrey scoffed.
Ethan let out a breath,
his shoulders dropping. “I’m not a charity case. I’m a lord. I only want what’s mine.”
“In that case I think Aubrey’s right,” Geoffrey shrugged.
“Thanks, Geoff.” Aubrey turned her self-satisfied smile on Ethan.
“The only way you’re going to have your lands restored to you is by convincing Buxton to restore them. I know you don’t want to,” he raised his voice as Ethan opened his mouth to protest, “but if there’s one thing we’ve all learned from Buxton’s tenure as Sheriff it’s that if you want anything you have to fawn over Buxton to get it. He loves the attention.”
“Come to Derby with me tomorrow,” Aubrey fed into the growing plan. “There’s a feast at the castle in the evening. Everyone is invited.”
“A feast at the castle?” Ethan glanced at her. “You’re joking.”
“Buxton is always throwing a party or hosting games and the like,” Geoffrey nodded. “He thinks his duties as Sheriff are best fulfilled by keeping the nobles of Derbyshire happy, fat, and entertained. He figures that way they won’t bother him about petty things, like rights or taxes.” He smirked. “Most of the nobles just love him.”
Ethan dropped his shoulders. “Buxton. Most of the nobles love Buxton.”
“Yeah, and most of the nobles are idiots,” Aubrey added. “You know that. As long as they’re comfortable they’re happy.”
“It’s worth a try at least,” Geoffrey finished.
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this.” Ethan swayed in agitation. “What happened to all of you while I was away? Don’t you remember who Buxton is? How he got to be Sheriff in the first place?”
“Not this again.” Aubrey threw up her arms even as her skin itched with uncertainty.
“Buxton won his appointment fair and square, Ethan,” Geoffrey turned serious. “There was no evidence linking him to your father’s murder.”
“And now he’s the most popular man in the shire?” Ethan brushed over their doubt.
“Well, we’re not going to solve old mysteries tonight,” Toby broke into the debate, his tone brisk and businesslike. “My lord,” he stepped across to Ethan and laid a hand on his arm, “you need your rest. Sir Geoffrey, may we retire to Morley?”
“Sure Toby.” Geoffrey pushed away from the tree and hobbled towards his horse. “You two look like you could use a nice hot meal and a warm bed, no matter what Buxton’s up to.”
Toby’s large brown eyes wavered from Geoffrey to Ethan. His expression melted into a hopeful, devoted smile. Ethan rewarded him with a tired grin, patting his hand then stepping towards Aubrey. Certain that things were as taken care of as they could be at the moment, Toby hurried to Geoffrey’s side. “My lord, would you like assistance?”
Geoffrey’s expression was pure misery as he turned to the mousy man with a weak smile. “Thanks.”
Ethan couldn’t watch Geoffrey struggle onto his horse. Instead he glanced to Aubrey. Face flushed, she concentrated on untying the pouches from her belt and securing them in her saddlebag. As Ethan joined her, standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body, she became aware of every inch of her tight chausses. Her cinching vest squeezed the breath out of her. When she turned her blue-green eyes to him and caught his gaze a warm twinge spread through her gut.
“Do you go out like this often?”
Heat rose to Aubrey’s face. Her heart raced in her chest, but she did her best to hide it with a careless shrug. “Every once in a while. Enough to make an impression.”
“You’ve certainly made an impression on me,” Ethan grinned.
A thrill of danger, like the one she’d felt when she battled Sir Crispin, raced down to her toes. She turned to raise an eyebrow at him. “Have I?”
“A sight like you battling Huntingdon makes coming home worthwhile.”
“I’ve got a price on my head, you know.”
“Really?” He leaned towards her. “How much?”
“Twenty pounds.”
“You don’t say,” he hummed. “And how much do you bring in on average?”
She grinned, face less than a foot from his. “At least that much and more.”
He purred. “I could use a friend like you.”
“Oh?” Aubrey cursed her voice for trembling. She could smell his rich, masculine scent and wanted to reach out and touch him. She was mere inches from kissing him.
“Oh yes.” His expression turned mercenary. “To help get my land back.”
It was as if ice water had been thrown on her. Aubrey stood straight and busied herself with the pouches of coins to hide her flaming red cheeks.
“There has to be a way to get Windale back that doesn’t involve licking Buxton’s boots,” Ethan went on. “I can’t just let my people suffer under Huntingdon’s iron grip.”
“Well they’re not exactly suffering,” Aubrey snapped, refusing to look at him. “I can’t say if Huntingdon is good to them, I haven’t been to Windale in ages, but they prosper as much as any other village.”
“It’s my land and I want it back.”
“So get it back,” she hissed and threw the last pouch into the saddlebag. “Swallow your pride and appeal to Buxton directly. You never know unless you try. He can’t be entirely unreasonable.”
“You don’t know Buxton like I do,” Ethan snarled.
“Oh, and you know him?”
“Well enough. And Huntingdon,” he spat the name.
“Don’t start that again.” Aubrey narrowed her eyes. Every time Crispin’s name was mentioned Ethan started hurling accusations. Granted, Crispin wasn’t the most charming or cheerful man she knew, but the worst that could be said about him was that he was Buxton’s lackey. He was no murderer. She knew him well enough to know that. She knew him better than Ethan thought she did.
“Well don’t just stand there looking like a lost sheep.” She grasped her saddle and pulled herself to mount. Once settled she asked, “Wanna ride with me?”
Ethan pulled himself out of his dark thoughts long enough to give Aubrey a warm smile. “Thanks, but I’ll walk.” Aubrey fought not to let her grin fade. Ethan glanced ahead to where Geoffrey had finally made it to his mount’s back. Toby leaned against the beast panting with effort. “And I think I will come with you to the castle tomorrow.”
Chapter Two
Sir Crispin of Huntingdon stormed up the curving staircase leading to the High Tower of Derby Castle, his jaw tight and his stomach in a painful twist. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed the sleepless night he’d endured after the attack in the forest. It was nothing to the misery that awaited him. He reached the High Tower’s top floor and marched to the door at the end of the hall with grim determination. The guards let him pass without hesitation.
“My lord.” He bowed his head as he entered.
Lord Alfred of Buxton stood at the far end of the room on the other side of a long, narrow table on which sat a wire mesh hutch. His sharp eyes flickered to Crispin as his hands caressed a ball of gray fur. “Ah, Crispy,” he cooed at the whiskered face in his hands. He held the tiny mouse up to his mouth and made kissing noises, wiggling his own pointed nose at it before tossing it back in the hutch with two dozen others. “How’d it go?” He wore a false smile as he sauntered around the table, rich robe trailing on the stones behind him.
Crispin kept his face impassive. “We were attacked by the Derbywood Bandit, my lord,” he confessed, stomach rolling.
Buxton’s crooked smile grew as he came toe to toe with Crispin. “I’m sorry,” he coaxed, “What was that?”
Crispin cleared his throat, hunched his shoulders. “We were halfway through the forest when the Bandit attacked us.”
“What!” Buxton snapped to fury before Crispin could blink.
“We only lost thirty-five pounds-”
“Thirty-five pounds?” Buxton choked.
“-but the two guards who came with the shipment were injured. They are in the infirmary now.”
“I don’t care if they are in Hell now
!” Buxton’s wrath erupted. “Do you know how much thirty-five pounds is, Huntingdon? Thirty-five pounds will feed an army of mercenaries for a week! Thirty-five pounds will arm a man for battle. Thirty-five pounds is not some trifle that you can just toss away to a lunatic in the forest!” He grabbed a fistful of Crispin’s tunic. “And you’re telling me that one skinny little outlaw bested two of my guards and you?”
“My lord, I almost had him.”
“Almost?” Buxton yanked Crispin’s tunic hard enough to force him to bow.
The burning in Crispin’s stomach flared. “I was inches from unmasking him and killing him when…”
“When?”
“When he was saved.” He soured into a bitter frown at the memory. Buxton’s mouth hung open in mad suspense. He released Crispin before shouting, “Saved? By who?”
“Ethan of Windale.” Crispin’s voice dropped several registers. His hand closed over the wolf-head dagger in his belt.
Buxton’s face twisted. Then he erupted into laughter. “No!” He clutched his chest as his body shook with mirth. “You don’t say? Windale! Back from the Crusades at last.” Crispin shifted and glanced up at the ceiling with raw irritation. “Sir Ethan of Windale. The same Windale where-”
“-I am lord now,” Crispin finished for him, lowering his cold blue eyes to meet Buxton’s.
Buxton held his breath for a heartbeat then burst into a belly laugh. “What a dilemma,” he teased. “Do you think Windale will ask for his land back?”
“My lord,” Crispin fought down the bile in his throat, “I have had possession of Windale for almost two years. I have made numerous improvements to the land. The waterwheel has just been finished. The profit I have made, that I will make-”
“Oh relax, Crispy.” Buxton nudged Crispin’s chest with his stubby fingers. “It’s not like I’d actually give it back to him anyhow.” Crispin let his body unclench a fraction. “It would be cruel to take away your land after you worked so very hard for it.”
“Thank you, my lord,” he swallowed his offence. He had indeed worked too hard, done too much for what had been given to him to lose it over something as inconsequential as his sense of decency.
