by Merry Farmer
“You!” he seethed. “That one’s mine!” he called to the guards before lunging at Aubrey.
It was a trap. Aubrey raised her sword to deflect the blow that came crashing down on her. She didn’t have time to be afraid of the murder in Crispin’s eyes. She swung his attack away and brought her sword around to slice at his left side. He parried the blow as if it were nothing and rounded on her again.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tom rush into the room to tackle the two other guards at once. She’d never seen him so much as lift a weapon before.
Concern for him dropped aside as Crispin sliced his blade at her. She dodged and pivoted to slash her sword at him again. Sparks flew as they grappled. She couldn’t let herself think. All she could do was react. She parried his blow and swung at his chest. Her attack was deflected and she tried again, then again, being defended with hardly any effort each time. His face was a mask of merciless concentration. He thrust at her, pushing her nearer to the wall as she tried to defend herself. She knew that her life depended on the struggle.
Jack smashed open the door to the South Room and jumped in, short sword held at the ready.
“Oy! This is a rescue!”
His words were drowned under Madeline’s piercing shriek.
“Bloody hell, MP!” He clapped his free hand to his ear, unable to hide the grin that twinkled in his eyes.
“Jack!” she shouted and rushed forward, ignoring Sister Bernadette’s admonishing frown as she threw herself into his arms.
“Oof! Yeah, it’s me.” He squeezed her tight. The moment could last forever as far as he was concerned. Only his mission had a whole other part to it. “Come on!” He jerked his head for the door. “We got one other lady to rescue.”
He grasped Madeline’s hand and raised his eyebrows at Sister Bernadette. The older woman rewarded him with a grin.
“Can you move?” he asked her, dashing to the bed to help her up.
“Better than you think I can,” she answered.
“I love nuns,” Jack smiled.
They dashed into the hall. Madeline gasped at the clashing battle going on in their old room but Jack didn’t give her time to investigate. They tore down the stairs on their way to the chapel.
Aubrey’s strength was failing her. Crispin had her backed up against the wall. Part of her wanted to say something or pull off her mask to reveal her true identity in the hopes that it would save her. She prayed for a bit of good luck and was surprised that it came her way. Tom kicked one of the guards and he stumbled into Crispin’s path.
Crispin’s face contorted in rage as he pushed the man aside and thrust at her. She caught the hilt of his blade with her sword and twisted, his expression changed to shock as his weapon went flying across the room, hit the wall, and clattered to the floor.
She punched him in the face with the hand that held her sword, crushing her hand in the process. The blow served its purpose and Crispin reeled backwards. Behind him she saw Tom dash to the room’s blazing fireplace. He grabbed a log from the fire and swirled around to shove it at the nearest guard. The guard’s uniform ignited. Tom tossed the flaming log on the bed and lunged for another. The old bedclothes were quick to catch fire.
The distraction was enough to allow Crispin to recover and charge her. She gasped as he grabbed her wrist, fighting to wrench her sword from her grasp. They grappled for a few desperate moments, but Crispin was far stronger than her. He tore her sword from her hand and shifted it into his own. He lunged at her and she wasn’t able to dodge in time. His downward slashing blow tore through her left side.
She fought not to cry out through pain like nothing she’d ever experienced, not to reveal herself as she stumbled backwards, pressing her hand over the gaping wound. She could feel the blood seeping over her skin, see it soaking through the cloth of her shirt and tunic. Numb with horror, she barely registered Crispin advancing on her, ready to finish the job he’d started. He was intercepted by Tom shoving past Crispin towards her and the shouts of “Fire! Fire!” from the guards.
Aubrey tumbled into the hallway, falling over a bench, and hit the floor with a hard thump that knocked the wind out of her. Everything went black.
When she blinked away the blackness Tom was leaning over her, face lined with worry. “Can you move, my lady?” he whispered.
She nodded and scrambled to her feet. Somehow during the time she had blacked out she had been dragged to the opposite end of the hall. The fire still raged in the North Room. Crispin and the guards fought it instead of them. It took all of her effort to get to her feet, Tom helping her.
“It’s a bad cut, my lady. You really shouldn’t move, but under the circumstances….”
She nodded and summoned every last ounce of strength she possessed to struggle towards the stairs, leaning on Tom as he took the steps one at a time. Their descent was a hard one, but with every step she heard the sounds of fire and shouting grow fainter and fainter until the only sounds were their shuffling footsteps and her heavy breathing. They made it as far as the main floor hallway before she was too dizzy to continue. She opened her mouth to let Tom know, but blackness overtook her.
Jack skittered around the final corner and hurried down the aisle in the chapel, still gripping Madeline’s hand. Sister Bernadette held her own as promised and the three of them reached the chancel, red-faced and out of breath in the thick silence.
“We made it!” Madeline panted, clasping a hand to her chest.
“We made it alright.” Jack frowned. He dropped her hand and marched up to the statue, nudging it as if it could have lost weight in the months since he’d last bothered to think about it. He glanced back to the door. “Oy, where’s Tom?”
“Tom?” Madeline repeated.
“Yeah. He’s supposed to be here to help lift this bloody thing.” He sighed and turned to Sister Bernadette. “Look, we tried, mate, but there’s no way I’m gonna be able to carry this out to the cart on my own.”
Sister Bernadette strode up beside him and nodded. “Then the time has come for drastic measures.”
His open mouth dropped into a gape as Sister Bernadette shoved the statue with all of her might. It tumbled off of its pedestal and spilled to the floor with a splintering crash, cracking down the back. The base of the statue popped off in a neat circle and a cascade of gold coins and gemstones, some as fat as acorns, spilled onto the chancel. Sister Bernadette dropped to her knees and began scooping great fistfuls of gold and jewels out of the hollow statue. Madeline rushed to do the same.
“Oy!” Jack laughed and grabbed the sides of his head. “This is why I love nuns!”
“Help us Jack!” Madeline implored over her shoulder.
He glanced around, eyes lighting on the stuffed cushions at the front of the altar. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword and he rushed to them, slicing the end off of the closest one. He scooped it up and shook the wool out of the casing, then tossed it to Madeline before slicing at another cushion. Madeline and Sister Bernadette worked to fill the makeshift sack as Jack spilled wool on the floor. He joined them as they raced to pack up the treasure. By the time they had all three sacks full distant sounds of movement and alarm were drifting towards them from the heart of the castle.
“That’s gotta be good enough.” Jack scraped one last handful of gold into his sack and stood, pulling Madeline up with him. “Time’s up.”
He was surprised that they agreed. The sacks clinked with their bounty as they lugged them back up the aisle and out through the cloister into the night.
Crispin was certain he’d wounded the Bandit, but when he’d been forced to turn his attention to the fire the man had disappeared. The Bandit’s sword still lay on the ground near the door where he’d tossed it before grabbing a rug to beat the flames out, but he hadn’t seen where the thief had gone.
“Go after them!” he ordered the ash-covered guards, who jumped to do his bidding as fast as their exhausted bodies would move.
Crispin
stood panting, catching his breath as he surveyed the scene. The North Room’s bed was destroyed but the room itself wasn’t damaged. It was little consolation. The Bandit had gotten away. Jack had implied Windale would be staging the rescue, not the Bandit. If he had known he would have had five times as many guards with him. Jack had some explaining to do. He let out a growl of frustration, and punched the wall.
The sight of the open door to the South Room refocused him. He darted into the room. It was empty. Jack had succeeded. A new sense of dread rose in his gut. The nuns were gone. His heart squeezed the breath out of him. The one reason Aubrey had agreed to marry him was gone.
He left the room, stomach already roiling at the thought of explaining all this to Buxton. He stopped when he saw the Bandit’s sword laying in the doorway of the North Room.
Teeth bared, he lunged to pick up the weapon, holding it in front of him and turning it over in his hand. The sword was familiar. It had few markings, although he could make out something written in Arabic. It was the kind of sword crusaders brought back from the Holy Land as gifts. He only knew two men who had gone to fight with King Richard. Windale was one, but he hadn’t been there. Morley was the other. But Morley’s fighting days were over and there were few people to whom he would give such a gift.
“Aubrey.” He whispered her name as a plea, a prayer, a curse. Rage warred with pain as he charged into the hallway. It couldn’t be.
He tore down the stairs, stumbling at one point and crashing against the wall only to ignore his bruises. He reached the main hall and sprinted across to the stairs leading up to the Short Tower. As he reached the hallway with her room he forced himself to be calm and breathe. Crusaders were returning every day. The Bandit could have bought or stolen the sword from one of them. Perhaps he had even fought himself. Aubrey couldn’t be the Bandit. His heart couldn’t take the betrayal.
He stood outside of her door for several painful moments, looking up to the ceiling and praying. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked again, louder. “Aubrey!”
He hesitated for only a moment before turning the handle and pushing it open. She lay in bed, linens pulled up to her shoulders. Prickles of relief spilled over him and his stomach clenched in shame. He stood staring at her for a moment, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest under the bedclothes. Her face was flushed but beautiful. Her trunk was open and a few items of clothes spilled out. A robe and a couple of dresses were strewn across the bed as if she had been packing to move to Windale and had gone to bed in the middle of it. His hand shook as he pushed a damp lock of hair out of his face with the back of his bruised and sooty hand. Retreating into the hall he cursed himself for his suspicion.
Tom pressed himself flat to the floor under Aubrey’s bed, trying not to move or breathe. He waited until the sound of Crispin’s footsteps disappeared at the end of the hall. Then he slid out from under the bed and circled around to check Aubrey.
He pulled her clothes and robe off of the large bloodstain that had been left on the covers when he’d tucked her into bed. He’d managed to carry her to her room after she passed out and had done a rudimentary job of cleaning and stitching her gash with a sewing kit in the room. Patching Jack up after countless fights had taught him a thing or two, but he was no doctor. He pulled back the bedclothes to check his work, hoping that it would hold, then set to work finishing a bandage with pieces of sheets.
When he was sure that the wound was clean and would hold together, that the bandage was secure, and that she would at least make it through the night he tucked the covers back over her and went to sit in the chair by her cold fireplace. He would stay there all night, as long as he had to, to make sure she was safe and well.
Jack sighed and sagged in his saddle as his horse rose beside the cart that held Madeline, Sister Bernadette, and more treasure than he wanted to think about. Dawn was beginning to cast colors in the sky in front of them, washing Madeline’s sleeping face in hints of pinks and peaches. A wistful smile danced in his eyes. She and Sister Bernadette were riding in the back of the cart while Toby drove. Ethan rode his horse in sullen silence on the far side of the cart. He hadn’t been willing to fight to rescue them but he’d been more than happy to play the hero by borrowing a cart and escorting them.
Jack didn’t have room to resent Ethan. He had watched Madeline as she settled into her place, closed her eyes, dropped her head, and passed out from exhaustion. He considered it a great injustice that he had gone to so much trouble to rescue her only to let her go. He’d known a lot of women in his days but not one of them had ever made his heart flip in his chest like MP. It wasn’t bloody fair.
When they reached the spot where the road split to the east and north Jack wasn’t sure if he was relieved or miserable. Toby stopped the cart and he reined in his horse beside it, hopping down, every muscle in his body, particularly his heart, aching. He let the horse stand and went over to the side of the cart to wake Madeline.
“Oy, MP.” He reached over the side of the cart and rested a hand on her shoulder. His fingers brushed the side of her face. “Time to get up.”
Toby twisted in his seat and shook Sister Bernadette to wake her. Madeline was slower to let go of the peace she had found in dreams. Only when she realized Jack was shaking her did she blink herself awake and turn to stare drowsily up at him.
“Hello,” she smiled.
“Hi.” His chest tightened, his throat closed up. “We’re at the crossroads.”
“Oh.” She sat up and got her bearings. “I guess we are.”
“Let me help you.” Jack held out his arms as she pushed herself to her feet. She rested her hands on his shoulders and he held her around her slim waist and lifted her out of the cart. For a moment they stood half in each other’s arms, sad eyes locked. He glanced across the cart to Ethan, who deliberately turned his horse away, to Sister Bernadette who was being helped out of the carriage by Toby.
He pulled Madeline against him, stealing a kiss from her surprised, parted lips. She hesitated for only a moment before melting into his ardent embrace and kissing him back. He breathed her in, memorizing her soft scent, his face contorted in despair as his hungry mouth devoured hers. It was the most wonderful, painful kiss he had ever experienced and it ended too soon. Madeline pulled away, her face wet with tears.
“I’m not a nun because I want to be, Jack,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I was sent to the convent when I was ten. It was not my choice. My father has seven children, five girls. He couldn’t afford dowries for all of us and I’m the youngest so….” She shrugged and glanced down the road.
Toby cleared his throat and drew Jack’s attention. He separated from Madeline as Sister Bernadette turned to mount the seat of the cart. Then he glanced back to her. “Some of us don’t care a fig for dowries,” his voice was thick. He kept his hands to himself but bent close to her ear and whispered, “You were never a nun to me.”
She caught his hand as he moved to walk past her and squeezed it. He shut his eyes to block out the tear in his soul. When she let go and walked on to the front of the cart he felt something pressed in his hand. He took a few unsteady steps forward and glanced down, opening his hand to find her rose quartz rosary curled in his palm. It’s beads sparkled like teardrops in the moonlight.
“’Scuse me,” he grunted, walking past Ethan and towards the edge of the forest.
Nothing could have prepared him for the pain that tore at him with the sound of the cart lumbering on along the road as he made for the line of trees. He had prided himself on never giving his heart to a woman and was devastated that one had taken it in so little time. One he could never have. He refused to believe that God deserved her more than him. He closed his fist over the rosary and brought it to his lips to kiss it. Then he wound the beads around his wrist, tucking the crucifix against his skin to hold it in place. She had his heart, he had her soul. Someday he would have all of her.
Chapter Twelve
When s
he first woke Aubrey wasn’t sure what had happened. The sunlight streaming in through her window was too bright for early morning. Her side burned like lightning. She groaned but as she tried to move gentle hands on her shoulders held her still.
“Easy, my lady.”
She blinked at the sight of Tom’s worry-clouded smile above her. “What happened?”
“You were injured.” He pulled his hands away and stood.
Aubrey closed her eyes and forced her thoughts to the night before. Memories of Crispin’s rage as he fought the Bandit, intending to kill, washed over her. She raised a trembling hand to her wound. “How bad is it?”
Tom shifted, his expression far from encouraging. “May I?” He peeled back the bedclothes.
She nodded, surprised to find that she was dressed in her nightgown. Tom hitched the hem up, covering her lower body with the edge of the coverlet, concentrating as he unwrapped her bandage. The wound had been stitched up but had bled some during the night.
“Not bad, my lady.”
She winced. “If you say so.” He set to work redressing the wound. The pain of his ministrations caused her head to swim. “Have you been here all night?”
“I have.”
She frowned. “Did the servant come this morning?”
“She did. I hid under your bed again.”
“Again?” Dread shot down her spine.
Tom’s eyes flickered to her. “Sir Crispin came to your room last night. He had your sword with him.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything. He was relieved that you were in bed, asleep.”
Aubrey didn’t want to think about the alternative. “You saved my life, Tom.”
He only smiled and continued to work. That was where the resemblance to his brother ended. Jack would have talked her blue.
