by Merry Farmer
“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.
“It’s so beautiful!” She took his hands as she met him, glancing around in wonder.
“Yeah.” He shrugged with false modesty. “Kedleridge is alright.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. His shoulders relaxed and the tension around his eyes evaporated as he realized he was forgiven.
“My you look imposing today!” Up close she could see the tunic he wore was of the finest cloth with intricate silver embroidery and his boots were polished. He’d trimmed his goatee and washed and brushed his hair as well.
“Is this your ensign?” she brushed a hand over the silver wolf’s head on his tunic.
“Nah, it’s Crispin’s. I don’t got one yet.”
“It looks dashing nonetheless,” she smiled.
“Oy, gotta look good for the nobs packin’ in to Derby for the council,” he winked.
A tremor of uncertain energy rattled through her as he took her arm and escorted her around to the front of the house. “Jack, would you mind if I made a suggestion?”
“You can suggest anything you like, MP.” A grin tweaked the corners of his mouth, but his eyes were anxious.
“Have you … have you ever considered altering your accent?”
“Oy! What’s wrong with my accent?” he put on the thickest drawl he could.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or blush. “If you’re going to hold a position of authority in the shire then you’re going to have to play the game by their rules.”
She’d given her advice in as light-hearted a manner as she could, but Jack’s face still slipped back into a frown. “Crispin said the same thing,” he told her, a distinct upper class lilt to his words.
She squeezed his arm in support. “Of course I love the way you talk.”
“You do?” He glanced at her, checking to see if she was telling the truth.
“Of course.” She sucked in a breath, steeled her courage, and kissed his cheek.
It had just the effect she’d hoped for. “Well then, my lady,” he spoke in a smooth noble accent, “would you care to have breakfast with me and then journey back to Derby Castle?”
“Yes, my lord,” she beamed, “I would.”
Much to Simon’s distress, they had their breakfast brought out to the garden so that they could eat and chat within sight of the shining orchard. For one wonderful hour Madeline felt at peace with the world. She had Jack all to herself. He seemed to realize the importance of the fleeting time they had together and talked so fast, while eating, that she laughed at everything, even the more serious details of his duties in Derby.
All too soon the hour was up and Simon and the stable hand arrived at the side of the garden with horses. “My lord,” he tried several times to catch Jack’s attention. “My lord you really need to be on your way to Derby.”
“Simon,” Jack winked at her. “No tellin’ where I’d be without him watchin’ out for me.”
He stood and helped Madeline to her feet. Her glance drifted past him to a caravan of riders coming down the road towards them. Jack followed her glance and shrugged.
“The road through Kedleridge has been more well-traveled lately, my lord,” Simon explained, “due to the prevalence of outlaws in the Derbywood. It is longer but safer to come this way when traveling from the north to Derby.”
“Right,” Jack nodded. He took Madeline’s arm and escorted her towards the horses without giving the travelers a second thought. She was ready to ignore them as well until she saw who they were. Her heart dropped to her feet.
“Oh no, Jack, it’s my father,” she whispered, letting go of his arm and dashing around him to hide.
“Where?” Jack’s voice dropped to a growl. He looked back towards the caravan and stood straighter, facing them head on.
They stood there, Jack crossing his arms, Madeline hiding behind him, Simon watching with a guarded expression, until Matlock and his men reached them.
“So this is the dunghill our usurping prince tossed to you, peasant.”
Madeline felt Jack bristle. Simon’s face also flushed with offense, though his expression didn’t change.
“Yes.” Jack refused to be intimidated. “It’s the home given to me for doing something other than being born to the right mother.”
“I’m surprised a dog like you even has a mother,” Matlock sniffed.
“I do have a mother,” Jack nodded, “and a father that I know sired me. From what I hear your kids can’t say the same.”
Madeline gasped as Matlock stood in his saddle, fist clenched. His fury turned from Jack to her. “Disobedient bitch!” he bellowed.
Jack’s hand jerked to his belt but he wasn’t wearing a sword. “Watch your tongue!”
“Seize her!” Matlock ignored the threat and motioned to Madeline. Two of his men dismounted. “I told you to go back to the convent and now I find you here in this dog’s house?”
“Madeline is my guest,” Jack’s voice trembled with rage as he threw out his arms to protect her. Simon stepped around the horse he held to be ready to defend her as well. “And as long as she’s on my property I will protect her with my life.”
The two men wavered, looking to Matlock for direction, their wary eyes judging whether they could take Jack and Simon.
“Then you’d better stay on this property.” Matlock glared at her as if a battle wasn’t about to erupt. “I don’t have time for this. But if I see so much as your slipper anywhere else I will make the time to see that you are returned to the Abbey of St. Mary, even if I have to return you in pieces!”
He held her gaze for a moment, reducing her bones to jelly, then lifted his hand and kicked his horse forward. The two men remounted and the whole entourage jumped to follow their leader, sending deadly sneers over their shoulders as they rode away.
Madeline caught her breath in quick, gulping sobs. Jack turned and she collapsed against him. He pulled her into his arms and squeezed her for all he was worth. She closed her eyes.
After a thick silence he said, “Simon, can I leave her here in your care?” He had never sounded so serious.
“Yes, my lord.”
She took a breath and stood on her own, looking up into Jack’s hard face. “I,” she swallowed, “I shouldn’t be intimidated by him. He’s just a great bully who doesn’t care about me anyway. I need to stand up to him. I should go with you no matter what he says.”
Jack shook his head, glancing down at her. His arms loosened around her and he kissed her forehead. “I’m not willing to risk it.”
“B
ut-”
“The council is in two days. It might take me one more day after that to mop up and see everyone on their way. Then I’ll ask Crispin for some time off. I’ll come back here and we can … well, we can figure out what to do next.” An unexpected grin lit his face.
It filled her with confidence. She smiled and nodded. “Alright. I’ll stay here. But,” she hesitated, her glance fluttering down, “but you must hurry home, Jack.”
He tucked his fingers under her chin and tilted it up to kiss her lips. “There’s not a thing in this world that could keep me away from you.”
Chapter Seven
Lydia slouched against the stone railing of the balcony that ran along the front of Derby Castle watching clusters of noblemen march up the front steps for the council. She’d spent the last three days learning who everyone was, judging their position in the shire, asking questions to see what they could do for her. Lord Stephen of Matlock glanced up at her as he mounted the steps flanked by his sons. Their eyes met and she sent him a lazy grin. He had been a particularly interesting find. He was powerful, energetic, and everyone who was anyone in Derbyshire respected him. It had been easy to get into his bed, but with a wife still living he could do nothing more for her than make the nights a little less boring.
She sighed when he entered the castle and got up to wander into the hall. The doorway to the gallery above the Great Hall was closed with two guards stationed on either side. Several men and women loitered, hoping to beg or bribe their way into the council session. She wouldn’t stoop so low. Not when she still had Jack.
“My lord!” She jumped into action when he turned the corner and strode down the hall towards her at Sir Crispin’s side. “My lord, I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
Jack smiled when he saw her, his eyes sweeping across the cinched kirtle she’d swiped from a storeroom. Yes, Matlock may have been important, but Jack was still available and still stupid and still the best way for her to get her foot in the door of power.
“Oy, Lydia, what’re you doin’ here?” He nodded to Sir Crispin and veered off to speak to her.
“I wanted to be with you, my lord.” She held his arm as soon as he came close enough and pulled him back onto the balcony. “I wanted to support you in the council.”
He chuckled. “There’s loads of things more interesting than a stuffy old council.”
“Oh I don’t think so,” she replied with a breathlessness that pushed her chest up against the low-cut neck of her dress. “I can’t think of anywhere more interesting than wherever you are.”
“Yeah, well.” He squirmed, grabbing the blasted rosary.
She forced herself not to frown. He may have the wretched memento with him, but the spiky-haired little chit was miles away. As far as she was concerned Jack was fair game.
“I want to hear what is being done to collect the king’s ransom.” She leaned in closer, pressing her chest against his arm. He glanced down right into the cleft of her cleavage. “Can you get me into the Great Hall?”
He barked out a laugh, his arm tensing as if he would pull away. He didn’t. His laugh died and he looked at her with one eyebrow raised. “You really wanna see the council?”
“So much! Could you please get me in, my lord? Please?” She let her lips fall open, the same as she would if she were waiting for a kiss.
The effect on Jack was obvious. He swayed towards her then jerked back, clearing his throat. “Well I suppose Joanna could use help servin’ the nobs. As long as you stay quiet an’ do what she says.”
A flash of ire threatened to ruin her composure. “Whatever you say, my lord.” She forced her best smile.
“Right, come on.” He turned to escort her towards the Great Hall, attempting to drop her arm and shoo her like a servant. She gripped his bicep like a vise.
The huge Great Hall boomed with the talk of the nobles of Derbyshire. Young and old, they had all come to the emergency council when Sir Crispin summoned them. Lydia’s eyes went wide and her mouth watered at the sight of so much finery, linen shirts and brocade tunics, gold chains and worked leather belts and boots. The air was thick with masculinity. It made her wet just walking through the ranks of the rich and powerful, their deep voices raised in debate and posturing. They glanced at her as she passed, the light of appreciative lust in their eyes. The attention was exactly what she wanted. She licked her lips. Once she was Lady Lydia of Kedleridge she would have all of them eating out of the palm of her hand.
Her eyes met Matlock’s as he took a seat at the far end of the council tables opposite where Sir Crispin and his wife were seated, their heads together in whispers. Matlock was glaring, but not at her. Jack stiffened under her grasp.
“Oy, there’s Joanna.” He pointed out the beautiful woman who was Lady Aubrey’s maid. “Go ask her what to do.” He shook out of her arm and marched on to the head of the table, meeting Matlock glare for glare.
She sent another look over her shoulder to Matlock. He continued to stare Jack down. Half the nobles in the room switched their conversations to pointed whispers, waiting for him to trip as he reached Sir Crispin and Lady Aubrey. He stood beside them, leaning in as Sir Crispin turned to include him in the discussion.
She darted another quick glance around the room. Joanna was busy instructing a group of pages holding trays. Her lips quirked into a sneer. She’d be damned if she bowed and scraped with that lot. Before she could be noticed she skipped to the side of the room and found a neglected corner where she could watch.
“My lords, if you could come to order,” Sir Crispin stood and thundered over the stray talk. He was a tall man, fit and intimidating and more than pleasing to look at. He had an air of danger about him. Lydia bit her lip and glared at his wife. If not for Lady Aubrey she would have set her sights on the earl above all others. The authority in his voice quieted the room almost at once. “Please take your seats.” His eyes scanned the assembly as if his glance alone could move mountains.
Jack finished whispering to Lady Aubrey then took his seat at Sir Crispin’s right hand. Within moments the room was hushed.
“I have no wish to keep you here any longer than is necessary,” Sir Crispin got right to it. “Our business is simple. King Richard has been captured and is being held by Emperor Henry for the ransom of one hundred and fifty thousand marks. It has been determined that Derbyshire will raise ten thousand marks towards this sum. This is well outside the bounds of the taxes currently being collected. My bailiff, Lord John, and I have come up with a few ideas to raise the needed amount, but we also seek your counsel in determining further fiscal measures. Lord John.” He turned to Jack with a nod and sat.
Jack stood, dark patches of red on his cheeks, unable to keep still. He cleared his throat, glanced around at the nobles with what came off as an imitation of his friend. “My lords,” he began, “The earl and I have spent many long hours assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the shire and have come up with the following proposals.”
Lydia’s eyebrows shot up. He spoke with a passably posh accent. Perhaps there was hope for him beyond being a titled meal ticket after all.
“Firstly,” he went on, “we propose raising the plow tax and the mill tax by twenty percent.” A rumble of disapproval passed through the nobles. A split-second of annoyance crossed Jack’s face. “The numbers we gathered in the past fortnight suggests that there has been enough prosperity amongst Derbyshire’s peasants to cover the cost.”
“And you would know!” someone shouted. A swell of laughter followed.
Jack went bright puce. He clenched a fist and scowled at the men who were laughing. Between his red face and ginger hair he appeared to be on fire. He cleared his throat and went on. “It is not just the peasants who will be able to provide money for the ransom. Derbyshire’s prosperity has effected everyone in the shire, even the nobs.” His accent slipped and his temper rose. Lydia’s heart raced as if watching a joust. “The earl and I have determined there will be a special lu
xury tax on landowners this year, twenty-five percent of each manor’s annual revenue.”
“You dare impose a tax on us?” a blubbery, gray-haired noble with a goblet of wine in one hand shouted. “You who I wouldn’t have hired to polish my boots this time last year?”
“Oy! Look you!” Jack snapped back as a rumble spread through the rest of the nobles. Sir Crispin grabbed Jack’s arm to settle him. Lydia could see him shaking as he drew in a breath and went on. “It is our duty to use our prosperity to ransom our king!” His accent was crumbling and any semblance of nobility he had with it.
“Twenty-five percent is a small price to pay for the safe return of our king,” a younger noble with a scar on his face came to Jack’s defense.
“Thank you.” Jack threw out an arm to him as if he’d made the point.
“Not every manor has been as successful as yours, Lord Jarvis,” another noble who looked worse for wear countered. “To some of us twenty-five percent is a horrible burden.”
“That’s why it’s a percentage and not a flat rate,” Jack met the argument. “And it’s only this one year, mate. Small price for gettin’ your king back.”
“Your king?” Matlock snatched at Jack’s slip. “Ah, but we shouldn’t expect a dog who has been thrown a bone to show allegiance to any master besides the one who fed him.”
Nervous laughter rolled through the room.
“In case you hadn’t noticed, mate,” Jack snapped, “we’re pullin’ all these bloody teeth to raise the money to bring King Richard home. So if you think Crispin an’ me aren’t loyal to the king then you got a serious problem.”
“The only serious problem I have, peasant,” Matlock stood and leaned across the table, spitting his words, “is a mangy mutt like you thinking you have a right to stand in my presence!”
“Lord Stephen!” Crispin stood, throwing out a hand to hold Jack back and glaring at Matlock. “We are not here to discuss the appointments Prince John made. We are here to determine the best way to raise the king’s ransom!”
“This is a farce!” Matlock banged a fist on the table. “We sit in here listening to some jumped-up horse thief while outlaws in the forest rob us blind.”
