by Merry Farmer
With one last warning glance to Jack, Crispin walked over to the table and sat against the edge, lowering himself enough so that when Aubrey reached him she could dip her finger into the mixture and spread some on Crispin’s worst cuts without reaching up. Crispin tried not to flinch when she touched his skin.
Jack grinned at the scene that played out in front of him. Aubrey didn’t look hurt or unhappy or trapped or anything. In fact, she looked like she was enjoying patching Crispin up. The sight filled him with a burst of indignant anger as much as it made him want to crack a joke. Ethan had spun whopping stories of Crispin’s cruelty towards Aubrey and here she was, happier and more comfortable than the lot of them. That settled it. Ethan was a liar who deserved what he got.
“Aubrey, we have a guest.” Crispin nodded to Jack as he spoke and Jack returned the gesture with conviction.
“A what?” She lowered her hand and the pestle and turned. When she saw Jack standing there, looking back at her with a fond grin, her face flushed. “Jack! What are you doing here?”
“Oy, I been kicked out,” he answered with feigned cheer in spite of Crispin’s warning not to speak. When he saw that Crispin wasn’t going to scold him, he went on. “Yeah, Ethan kicked me out of the forest. Like he has any right to say who can and can’t bum around some bloody forest. So I came here, lookin’ for a job you might say.”
“Kicked you out?” Aubrey stammered, trying to catch up. “A job?” She turned to Crispin for an answer.
“Jack is my man,” he answered her.
“Why would Ethan kick you out of the forest?” Aubrey spun back to Jack, still holding the pestle and her sticky fingers up.
“Because he was spying on them,” Crispin answered, “for me.”
Jack was surprised to hear Crispin admit that, and to Aubrey. It added a tiny morsel to his respect for the man.
“For you?” Aubrey whipped her head back to Crispin. Her look darkened and she blinked at the pestle, putting it on the table and wiping her hand on her black skirt. “And just why were you spying on Ethan?”
He crossed his arms and fixed her with a flat stare. “I was protecting my interests.”
“And by interests you mean…?” She planted her hands on her hips, making it clear that she thought he was referring to her.
“My trade.” His voice grew louder still. “Shipments of cash and merchandise through the forest.” She rolled her eyes and fixed him with a flat stare. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, Aubrey, but your friend has a nasty habit of interrupting honest commerce.”
“Honest commerce?” She arched an eyebrow.
“What about it is dishonest?” He stood to his full height and crossed his arms, raising his own eyebrow. “Or should we ask the Bandit?”
Jack would have laughed aloud if he didn’t think one or both of them would flay him alive for it. Aubrey worked her jaw as she tried to come up with something to snap at Crispin. She lost the battle and exhaled a loud, frustrated breath. “Is your spy staying for supper?”
Crispin glanced to Jack, who hid his amusement under a deadpan stare. “Why not.”
Aubrey nodded to Jack then stormed out of the room, muttering and giving the pestle a few more mashes to vent her frustration. Jack let himself laugh as soon as he thought it was safe. He glanced up to Crispin to find him watching the doorway Aubrey had just disappeared through with a self-satisfied if somewhat moony smile. “I hate to break it to you, mate, but you two fight like an old married couple.”
Crispin lost all traces of mirth. “We are a married couple.”
“Right, right.” Jack felt bolder. He walked forward from his post near the wall and slapped Crispin on the back like a friend. “It’s just not what I expected to see is all, mate.”
The cold flare in Crispin’s eyes made Jack cringe. “And what did you expect to see? Aubrey tied to a chair dressed in rags and covered in bruises?”
“Well, yeah, something like that.”
The exhaustion in Crispin’s sigh tipped Jack off-guard. Sparring with Aubrey was one thing, but it was obvious that Crispin cared for her. Poor man. He nodded his head towards a narrow hallway as he continued. “Get your things and come with me. I want you to stay in the castle, but as long as you’re here I’ll make sure there’s a room for you.”
Jack couldn’t believe his good luck, really couldn’t believe it. Outside the October afternoon was turning cold, but here he was in Windale Manor, roof over his head and the promise of a hot meal in just a few short hours. Crispin was going to employ him and yeah, it sounded dangerous, but he was no stranger to danger. He had risked his life and limb for a lot less. Sure, the room he was given was hardly big enough to turn ‘round in but it was better than sleeping out in the forest, no matter how clever they had been at making tents. Crispin even had one of the Windale servants scare up a good black tunic with a silver wolf’s head on the collar and chausses to make him look the part.
By the time he’d gotten himself settled and returned to the main hall for supper Crispin was already sitting at one end of the table and with Aubrey at the other and a place with a steaming plate set for him in the middle. Aubrey blinked and sat up straighter when Jack strolled into the room, which made him feel just a little more smug than he was sure was good for him. Crispin jerked his head to the table, telling him to sit. Jack lunged for his chair and dove into the food placed in front of him.
“Nice outfit,” Aubrey teased.
“Aw, yeah, eh?” He grinned from ear to ear, his mouth full of roast chicken.
“I didn’t think black was your color.” She tweaked an eyebrow.
“’S not my color, it’s his.” Jack motioned to Crispin as he chomped on a buttered potato at the end of his fork. “You gotta keep up with these things, let people know who you belong to ‘n all.”
Aubrey stopped dead, her fork halfway to her mouth, her smile dissolving. She glanced at her own black dress, pressing a hand to her chest. Then her gaze flicked across the table to Crispin. And Jack saw something he’d never seen before. Crispin was laughing.
“I was wondering when you would figure that one out.” The man’s face was actually turning pink. Pink! Jack couldn’t help but laugh along.
For a moment there was silence. Aubrey’s lips quivered as she battled to stop herself from laughing. She lost that battle tremendously. The laugh burst out of her in a snort and she slapped a hand to her mouth, eyes dancing across the table to Crispin. Jack glanced between them, eyes growing larger by the second as they laughed at each other laughing. They couldn’t have been any more obvious if they carried banners. He shook his head, feeling warm down to his toes. Ethan was in for one mighty rude awakening if he ever tried to separate these two.
There wasn’t much to say during the rest of the meal, although every time the three of them looked at each other they would break down again. The remainder of the meal became an exercise in eating without choking. For Crispin it was far and away the most pleasant meal he could remember. Oddly enough, Jack’s presence added to the enjoyment instead of killing it. He was disappointed when it was over.
The servants came to fetch their dirty plates and he nodded for Jack to go about his own business. He sat back in his chair and watched as Aubrey stood and tried to gather the plates and balance them before handing them off to a servant. The poor girl who stood receiving them was shocked and dismayed that her mistress was getting her hands dirty. When she had exhausted her ability to get in the way of the staff she stood back and watched them carry everything off. Then they were alone together in the hall.
He continued to sit in his chair watching her. She paced a few steps away from the table as if looking for something, then dropped her hands and bit her lip. She went to the sideboard and drummed her fingers on the top before changing her mind and biting her nails instead. She tapped her foot and glanced up the stairs. Then she sighed and let herself look up to meet his eyes. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased or distressed at what she saw
, but the way she bit her lip as she looked at him sent a jolt of hot energy through him.
“You still have green stuff on your head,” she found her voice.
“Do I?” He sat up straight and raised a hand to his forehead. Flecks of green and dark brown came off on his fingers.
Aubrey jumped into action. “Come here.” She grabbed one of the goblets of water that the servants hadn’t taken and a spare napkin from her place. Crispin stood and met her in the center of the table. “Let me see.”
Crispin sat on the side of the table, resting his hands on the warm wooden edge. He could hear the distant clatter of the servants in the pantry, the crackling of the fire in the great fireplace, but the house was still, holding its breath. Aubrey dipped the napkin in the water and bit her lip as she stood in front of him, between his knees, and wiped away the remnants of her handiwork. He forced himself to breathe as she touched him. She used her free hand to hold his head still in her palm as she worked.
“There.” The one word echoed through him.
He could feel her warmth inches away, could hardly move, hardly look at her. He wanted her so desperately he shook. Slowly he raised his eyes to her. She met his gaze with a warm sparkle that contained just a hint of fear. It wasn’t fear the way he had seen it in her up to that moment.
A lock of her hair had slipped from her plait. He reached up and brushed it behind her ear. She didn’t move or flinch. He let his fingers trail across the warm skin in front of her ear, along her jaw. Still she didn’t move. He repeated the gentle caress across her face, his heart audible in his ears, his breathing shallow. He rested his hand on her face, brushing her hot cheek with his thumb. Then he leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers, inch by inch. Still she didn’t move, didn’t breath. He pulled her closer still, closing his eyes as his mouth touched hers.
He kissed her. Lightly at first, waiting for rejection. But when she didn’t push him away, when he felt her body sway towards him he kissed her a hair’s breadth more firmly. But still with more restraint than his heart felt. It wasn’t until he felt her hands on his chest that he breathed out a quick sigh and pulled her against him, arms encircling her, mouth tasting her. Still he feared the moment would evaporate, even with her arms sliding up his shoulders and across his neck as her hands threaded through his hair.
He wanted to taste her, explore her, not devour her. Her mouth opened for him and his heart squeezed in his chest as his lips caressed her. His arm slid low over her back and he pressed her hips into the hard evidence of his desire. She gasped, her mouth against his, and her hands tightened in his hair. She didn’t pull away. She swiveled her hips against him.
He let her go with a shaky breath, unable to meet her eyes when they leaned apart for fear of what he would see. He could not have this perfect moment ruptured by the truth. He was seconds from losing all control, and if he lost control he knew he would hurt her. His body ached as he looked at her. Her lips were still parted, swollen and tender from the kiss. He fled before he changed his mind.
“Crispin!” His name on her lips stopped him. He turned to her. “I-”
“Thank you,” he interrupted, not wanting to hear her rebuttal. He took a deep breath. “For taking care of my injury. Thank you.” He cursed his voice for shaking with locked up passion.
She leaned against the table, her body limp and fluid. He looked away so that she wouldn’t see his desire for her burn in his eyes. He knew he should say something else to her, but didn’t know what. Finally he pushed himself forward and strode out of the room and into the chilly Autumn night, leaving her standing alone in the hall.
Chapter Eighteen
Jack marched through the halls of Derby castle and up the stairs leading to the High Tower a couple of steps behind Crispin, scowling. In two weeks as Crispin’s man he had discovered that everything Ethan had told him had been complete rubbish.
It started with Aubrey. Ethan prattled on and on about how he loved her, about how she had married Crispin under duress. Well, he had spotted them kissing in the hall after supper that night, and by the looks of things they would be un-duressed in no time.
As he crossed the hallway at the top of the High Tower and followed Crispin into Buxton’s room he took a deep breath and worked his face into a blank mask. Ethan had been dead wrong about other things too. He kept his place behind Crispin when they stopped and avoided looking at the big other thing who stood playing with one of the mice he kept in a huge hutch on his table. He thanked his lucky stars that Buxton had never bothered to see him when he’d been dragged in for horse thieving and that Crispin didn’t seem inclined to spill those beans now.
“My lord,” Crispin directed his anger at Buxton behind a schooled blank expression, “an emissary from the crown has come to see you.”
“Ah!” Buxton dropped the mouse on the floor and stepped on it as he moved towards them. “Show him in!”
Crispin jerked his head to Jack, who nodded and hurried out of the room. The emissary was waiting in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, a smarmy bloke named Pennington. Crispin hadn’t known he was coming, and if Crispin didn’t know about one thing there were at least ten more waiting to pounce.
“Oy, Buxton wants you, mate.” Jack motioned to the man to come with him.
“Of course he does.” The tosser dared to give him a hoity-toity sniff. Well, he couldn’t care less what the idiot thought, royal emissary or not. He lead the man up the stairs to Buxton’s room.
“But my lord,” Crispin was arguing with Buxton yet again, “to leave me in the dark is not only irresponsible, it’s-”
“Shut up, Huntingdon!” Buxton spun on him with a fierce frown. “You’re sounding more and more like your wife every day.” He lashed out and hit Crispin across the face with the back of his hand. Crispin had so many scratches from blows like that now that it was a wonder Aubrey even bothered to patch them up. At first Jack had wondered why the hell he put up with the abuse, but the mouse carcasses littering the floor was enough of an answer. Just because Buxton treasured you one minute didn’t mean he wouldn’t step on you the next.
“Ah!” Buxton melted to sweetness when he saw Pennington. “What news from London!” He left Crispin and sidled up to the hoity-toity emissary.
“My dear Buxton,” Pennington drawled. “So good of you to invite me for this momentous occasion.” The hair on the back of Jack’s neck stood up. Pennington turned to Crispin with an obsequious grin that curled into a sneer. “I hear you’ve been making security arrangements for Prince John’s arrival.”
Crispin’s back went stiff. “We have doubled the number of guards in and around the castle for the Prince’s stay. The top of the High Tower will be manned at all times and only the prince, Buxton, and myself will be allowed access while he is here.”
“And Pennington,” Buxton added.
Jack sucked in a breath at the twitch in Crispin’s jaw. “Of course.” Crispin’s voice was so dark that it wasn’t much more than a growl.
“That’s all well and good,” Pennington sighed and waved a limp hand with a sniff, “but what about these rumors we’ve been hearing about a dispossessed noble who fancies himself a highwayman?”
Buxton snorted and threw his arm around Pennington’s shoulder. “He’s nothing. Just a story. Crispy’s got that all taken care of, don’t you Crispy?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“See, nothing to worry about.” He slapped Pennington’s back.
“Mmm. Right.” Pennington sidled towards the door, rubbing his hands. “Feel up for a game of chess, Alfie?”
“Chess? God no!” Buxton waved him off.
“If you change your mind….” Pennington shrugged and turned to leave the room. As he did he looked down his stubby nose and sniffed at Jack. Jack grinned as though the man had paid him a compliment then ignored him.
Buxton ambled over to his mouse hutch. Jack glanced to Crispin for his next cue. Crispin just stood there, tall and impassive the wa
y he did when he was thinking. His face held no expression at all but his eyes shone bright blue. He’d learned to recognize that look. It wasn’t good.
“And you, Huntingdon!” Buxton shouted as if he were in the middle of a tirade instead of at the beginning of one. The man’s mood swings could give Sister Bernadette apoplexy. “It’s been months since I ordered you to kill Ethan of Windale. But oh, what’s this? He’s still alive?”
In the blink of an eye Buxton grabbed a dagger from the table and lunged at Crispin. He stopped short of thrusting it into Crispin’s gut. When Crispin flinched Buxton laughed. “One or the other of you had better be dead before the end of the week, Huntingdon.” He traced the tip of the dagger up Crispin’s chest, across his heart, and sliced the fastening that held his tunic closed near his neck. “I would have thought that you wanted Windale dead,” his voice was a sinister purr, “before he uses your sweet wife to populate his land with bastards.”
“We could raise the reward for his capture, my lord.” Jack watched in awe as Crispin ignored both the threat of the dagger and the burning in Buxton’s eyes as he peeled the neck of his shirt lower with the blade. The man had balls of iron. “Announce the higher price at the Faire.”
Buxton’s face switched from being driven by rage to thoughtful. He took a breath then stepped back and waved the dagger around as if it were a toy. The light in his eyes sent a chill down Jack’s spine. He didn’t know how Crispin could stand so still in the face of whatever disaster Buxton was hatching. “People love to bet on a good fight, don’t they.” He turned to Jack who blinked as he tried to follow the hazy line of logic. “Don’t they!”
Jack jumped as the dagger pointed in his direction. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, they do.” Buxton’s eyes flashed with fury and he charged Jack, dagger first. “My lord!” Jack remembered moments before being run through.
