by Merry Farmer
“Here, here!” Several nobles banged on the table in support.
“What do you propose to do about that, Earl?” Matlock sneered. “What do you propose to do about the fact that it is no longer safe to travel through the forest? What do you propose to do when these outlaws start robbing and pillaging surrounding manors?”
“Every effort is being made to rid forest of the outlaw Ethan of Derbywood and his men,” Crispin glowered. “The number of soldiers patrolling the forest has been doubled and-”
“And what good has it done?” Matlock cut him off. “How many of you were robbed on the way to this very council?” he appealed to the assembly.
At least half of the nobles in the room raised their hands, some boldly, some reluctant to admit it. Lydia sat straighter, her mouth dropping. To her Ethan had seemed like nothing more than a spoiled, dispossessed noble playing with toys in the woods. He had been good for a tumble, but that was it. Had he really done so well for himself?
Sir Crispin seemed as surprised as she was at the show of hands. “An army will be raised,” he announced, closing a fist in front of him. “The Derbywood will be scoured of this menace if we have to burn it down.”
The stirrings of approval were cut short by Matlock’s chuckle. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“I will lead that army myself!” Jack snarled. Again Lydia’s eyebrows flew up. It appeared as though Jack’s hatred of Ethan was just as virulent as Ethan’s for Jack.
“Oh perfect!” Matlock rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you joined the outlaws, dog.”
“Oy, the dog thing is gettin’ really old, mate!” Jack fumed.
“The matter is settled and I will hear no more argument about it!” Crispin teetered on the verge of losing his own temper. “Lord John will lead an army into Derbywood to flush out the outlaws. In the meantime, I will be traveling throughout the shire to collect the luxury tax from the nobles.” A grumble greeted his announcement. “Furthermore, in three months’ time Derby will be hosting a tournament, a joust, to which you will all bring the monies from your plow and mill taxes.” The grumble paused and resumed as a murmur of excitement. “There will be a fee to enter the joust. Any other contributions to the cause will, of course, be welcomed.”
Lydia was impressed. With one swift announcement Sir Crispin had shifted the mood of all but a handful of the nobles. She’d thought he was a fool for throwing Jack into the fire, but in fact he’d played his cards well. He would end the council on a high note. At least it would have if not for Matlock.
“Brilliant,” Matlock sneered. “Force the rest of us to plunder our manors in the name of the king while you play with horses and lances in Derby. Bravo.” His clapping dripped with sarcasm. “I suppose this was your pet peasant’s idea.”
“Right, I’m done with this,” Jack growled, stepping on the table as if he would leap over it and tear Matlock’s throat out. He would have at that if Sir Crispin and Lady Aubrey hadn’t grabbed his arms to hold him back.
The nobles buzzed with excited horror but Matlock only laughed. “I would expect nothing more from an accident of nature like that,” he raised his voice over the murmur.
“For the last time, Prince John gave me my land and my title for services rendered to him!” Jack shouted back.
“Services, eh?” Matlock smirked as though Jack had walked into a trap. “Well I would expect nothing less from a man who escorts a whore around the castle as if she were a lady.” He pointed straight to Lydia, his eyes meeting hers.
Lydia’s back snapped straight. All eyes in the room shifted to her.
She knew those looks, those turned up noses and curled lips. Matlock thought she was nothing more than a whore and was strong enough to convince every other noble in the shire she was too. With one sharp jab he had punched holes in everything she had been trying to build.
“I’m surprised you’re trying to ransom the king at all,” he went on without a second thought for her or her reputation. The nobles closest to her were eyeing her like a piece of meat they had a mind to buy. “We all know that the moment King Richard returns to England he will reverse the appointments of his usurping brother,” Matlock addressed Crispin and Jack now. “At least he will if I have anything to say about it.”
If it weren’t for Aubrey’s hands still clamped around his arm Jack would have launched himself across the room and torn out Matlock’s throat. They believed him. The whole bloody room full of nobs believed every word the man said. They believed Lydia was a whore and they believed King Richard would chuck them out as soon as he came home.
“What a load of crap!” He jerked his arm out of Aubrey’s grip and stared Matlock down. One sideways glance at Crispin’s pale, serious face told him Matlock just might be right. He dropped his arms and his heart dropped with them. Panic welled up in its place. He glanced to the side of the room where Lydia was trying to shrink into the shadows and glare daggers at Matlock at the same time. Her face was red as fire and her half-exposed breasts heaved near the top of her low-cut kirtle.
“Come to order!” Crispin bellowed. The murmurs hushed without going away. Jack felt the eyes of the other nobles boring into him. “Come to order! We’re not finished here yet!”
“Oh, I think we’re finished alright,” Matlock grinned.
“You think you can get away with this, mate?” Jack railed into the buzz, pointing across to Matlock as the man crossed his arms and sneered. “You think that you can shove the shire into your pocket and go against the word of Prince John all because Crispin was made Earl of Derby instead of you?” He fought for all he was worth to speak with his noble accent, to speak like someone Madeline would be proud of. “What will you do if King Richard doesn’t overturn the prince’s appointments, huh? What will you do if he likes things just the way they are? If he is grateful to the ones who raised the money to ransom him?” Matlock’s smug look faltered. “Oy! Not so smarmy now, are we.”
“And what will you do, peasant, if you are unable to raise the required funds?”
Jack stared hard at the man, hoping he looked like he had a handle on the situation. The truth was that he had far more to lose by failing than Matlock did.
He was spared answering as Crispin took things in hand to bring the council to a close.
“I will be leaving tomorrow to begin collecting the luxury tax,” he announced. “Be ready. Plans for the joust will be announced as soon as I return.” He said a few more words about his expectations for the coming months before ending the meeting.
As soon as Crispin dismissed the nobles the Great Hall erupted into noise and conversation. Jack stood at the head of the table glaring at Matlock who matched his distain look for look.
“Come on, Jack,” Aubrey spoke with too much care as she touched his arm. “It’s over. Joanna is bringing some food up to a private room for us.”
He shook her off. “I’m not hungry,” he muttered, breaking eye contact and stomping away from the table and the whole mess. Just because the meeting had ended didn’t mean his frustration was over. He looked for the nearest exit and pushed through anyone who got in his way as he left.
He felt Lydia dodge through the nobs to catch up with him but he didn’t turn to look at her. The hall he crossed into was too hot and too tight and he knocked a servant into the wall by accident on his way. Even when he had turned enough corners to get away from everyone else he still couldn’t breathe.
Lydia raced after him, catching him as he started up the stairs. He shook her off and took the steps two at a time. His muscles hardened as the cool air of the castle swirled around him. Exhaustion battled with the fury. The nobles of Derbyshire were laughing at him. They thought he was a joke, but through all the bitterness the only thing he could think about was the shame of failing Madeline. Her father had laughed at him and there had been nothing he could do about it. He’d failed her.
“What are you doing, Jack?” Lydia’s breathless voice poked at him like a bee st
ing.
“I’m going to bed,” he growled out, nerves raw and senses prickling as she followed inches behind him.
“Let me help you, my lord, draw you a bath.”
“No!” he snapped as he reached the top floor and turned on her. “Why are you here, Lydia? What do you want with a wanker like me? Go find some other lord to draw baths for, a real lord!”
“But you are a real lord, my lord!” She rested her palms against his chest and leaned forward, gazing up into his eyes.
“Like hell I am!” He pushed away, marching across the hall and throwing the door to his room open. It banged against the wall.
Lydia followed him and shut the door behind her as he paced to the window and punched the shutter open. “My lord, if you would just-”
“I didn’t ask for this!” he shouted at the setting sun. He blew out a breath and turned back to Lydia. “If I had known what being a bloody nob would do to me I would have spit in Prince John’s face when he came near me with that bloody sword,” he vented months’ worth of pent-up frustration. “But I’m not some bloody useless peasant neither!”
“You’re a strong man, a good man,” Lydia rushed to agree with him. “Anyone who can’t see that is a fool.”
“Well apparently we live in a world of fools!”
A flagon of ale sat on the table beside the fireplace. He crossed the room and snatched it, downing half of it in a few gulps. It did nothing but turn his stomach.
“You’re better than any of them, John Kedleridge,” Lydia stepped up her pep-talk.
He laughed, wondering what had happened to the Tanner. Jack Tanner had come to Derbyshire a condemned man. The trapped feeling was still there. “I’ve worked bloody hard these last months to prove myself.” He gave up his fight to keep his emotions in check. “I thought that I was only working to prove myself to Crispin, to prove that I could do any job he gave me. All I wanted was a roof over my head and food on my plate.” And Madeline.
“That’s all that anyone wants,” Lydia soothed him with her voice.
“But it’s become more than that,” he went on, downing the rest of the ale and throwing the flagon in the fire. “I don’t understand these people. I don’t understand their stupid bloody rules. They walk around treating me like I’m dirt when I’m the one keeping order and rushing off to their rescue when they get themselves in a jam. They call me peasant without realizing that it’s their own peasants who make them everything that they are, like the word ‘peasant’ is a curse or something. An’ I wouldn’t mind being just a peasant ‘n all neither, but no. No, thanks to bloody Prince John I’m a bloody nob now. But not one of them. Never that. Not a noble, not a peasant. I’m no one!”
“Don’t say that, Jack.” She reached out a hand and put it on his arm.
“Why not, it’s true,” he charged on, wishing he was spilling his guts to Madeline. These were the things he longed to tell her and no one else.
The fight washed out of him and he dragged himself across the room to sit, dejected, on the bed. A dull throb of depression had every muscle in his back and shoulders knotted in pain. He ran his hands through his hair then let them drop so he could stare at the rosary wound around his wrist. There was only one thing in the world that he really wanted, that he had ever really wanted.
Lydia slid onto the bed next to him, crawling to kneel behind his back. “Relax, Jack.” She kneaded his tense muscles. “The council is over. It’s done Forget it ever happened.”
An ironic smirk twisted its way onto Jack’s face. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the feeling of Lydia’s hands kneading the tension from his back. Shame drained all energy from him. He let his arms drop, hand leaving the rosary.
Lydia worked her hands down his arms and up again to his shoulders, starting down his back. He felt her lean closer against him, her fingers digging their way along his spine and spreading out over his lower back. He could feel the warmth of her so close to him, smell her soft, feminine scent and hear her breathing near his ear. Heat radiated from her hands along his sides. She slid those hands back up his spine and to his shoulders. One hand followed the line of his neck up into his hair while the other slid forward over his shoulder and dipped inside of the neck of his shirt and across his bare skin to his chest. He squeezed his eyes tighter as they began to sting.
“Please don’t,” he begged her, unable to move.
“Ssh,” she whispered in his ear, cradling the side of his head in her hand as its weight pressed helplessly against her palm. “Everything will be alright.”
No it wouldn’t, his soul cried out inside of him. He was too tired to fight the one thing that felt good, the one thing that was horrifically wrong. Her hand continued to caress his chest without mercy and his body responded to her touch without pity. “Lydia, no,” he choked.
“Yes,” she insisted, withdrawing her hand and pulling him down to his back. His gray eyes met her heavy-lidded gaze and for half a second he thought she felt sorry for him. But not sorry enough. She threw her leg over his hips, straddling him and reaching for his face with both hands. “Yes,” she whispered again before bringing her mouth down on top of his. She kissed him with coaxing passion, nibbling at his lower lip until he opened his mouth in response to her. He was reluctant, but she was patient. She threaded a hand through his hair to hold the back of his head while the other trailed its way back down to his tunic and shirt so that she could work the fastenings open.
“Don’t do this to me, Lydia,” he pleaded, shutting his eyes when she released his mouth to brush her lips across his cheek to nibble on his earlobe.
She ignored his protests and reached down to grab his cock with all the mercy of a blood-thirsty fox. “I want you, Jack,” she whispered, working him with expert hands. “And I know you want me too.” She pulled the ties of his chausses loose and yanked his smallclothes aside to free him, slithering down his body.
He squeezed his closed eyes, panting with desire and fear and crushing guilt as she closed her hot mouth over his hard shaft, teasing and sucking. She knew what she was doing, drawing him in so deep she could swallow him. He balled his fists in the bedclothes. The pleasure was overpowering and he could do nothing about it as much as he wanted to. He couldn’t even move, only feel what she was doing to him. The horror of it made him want to scream.
He could only manage a moan of feeble protest as she licked and kissed the tip of his cock then snaked her body up along his to kiss his lips again. He wouldn’t let her. He turned his head. She wasn’t deterred. She slipped her hands under his shirt and tunic, spreading her fingers along his abdomen. The heat between them was dizzying, black and spinning like being thrown into an abyss. He tried to twist away from her.
“Stop struggling!” she hissed, pushing his chausses down over his hips. “You know you want this!”
Tears stung at his eyes as she closed her hand around his rebellious cock. “No, no I don’t!”
Panic drained his strength as he swatted at her. He couldn’t outright hit her. She was still a woman, after all.
“Yes you do, my lord.” She squeezed him to the point of pain. “I can feel how much you do.”
He heard the rustle of her skirts being hitched up and felt her climb across his hips to straddle him.
Something snapped in his soul. “Get off of me you whore!” he shouted, using all his strength to sit up and shove her. His muscles ached but his effort was enough to send her toppling backwards off the foot of the bed. She thumped to the floor with a yelp. He shot to his feet, pulling up his chausses and shrinking away from her, shame burning his face. “Get out of here! Get out!”
“But, my lord!” She wobbled to her feet and lunged towards him, “John!”
He grabbed the first object to come to his hand, a candlestick, and brandished it at her. The crucifix of Madeline’s rosary swung loose and flashed in the firelight. “Get out! Go away before I….” He didn’t want to say it. He knew he wouldn’t strike her if it came to it. Even if
the world had turned upside-down.
Lydia stood gaping at him. The shock in her eyes morphed to sharp, bitter hatred. “I should have known,” she hissed, brushing her hair back from her face, puffing out her chest. “I should have known that a filthy peasant like you wouldn’t know what to do with a real woman in your bed.”
Her insult was just another in the pile that had been hurled at him. “Just go!” his voice failed him. He pointed at the door with the candlestick, “Leave!”
She pulled herself up to her full height and smoothed her hands along the front of her kirtle. “You’ll be sorry, John Kedleridge! You’ll curse the day you turned me down!” He didn’t have to order her to leave again. She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
“Tanner!” he wheezed after her, throat constricting, “It’s Jack Tanner!”
He didn’t realize he was shaking until he’d dropped the candlestick. He couldn’t hold himself together for a moment longer. With a sob he sank to the floor, his chausses and shirt loose, his stiff cock still hanging out like the dog that he was. He clutched the rosary around his wrist, hugged it to his chest, and wept.
Lydia stormed down the stairs and into the main hall. She didn’t care that she knocked one of the castle pages over as she made a bee-line for the front door. She’d never been so insulted in her life. Not even the leering glances of the nobles whose heads she turned as she flew through the door and down the stairs towards the castle gate offended her as much as my lord peasant Jack’s refusal. And she had been looking forward to riding him raw.
Outside the gate she crossed the street and slapped her hand against the wall of an inn, cursing in frustration. She turned and threw her back against the wall, crossing her arms and glaring up at the tower. She had been sure Jack was an easy target, a sure thing to get her to where she wanted to be. How dare he throw her out.
