by Merry Farmer
“Who was it then?” Roderick asked.
Lydia’s face darkened and she scanned the area with the sharp malice of a vulture. “Connor, form a search party. Scour the camp. Bring me anyone who you don’t recognize, men and women.”
Squashed-nose lifted his foot off of Jack’s back and Jack sucked in a breath. “Yes, my lady,” he began, “but I don’t quite know all the folks in the camp. It might-”
“Bring them to me anyhow!” Lydia snapped.
“Yes, my lady,” Connor bowed and dashed off.
Free of the boot, Jack pushed himself to his knees, eyes darting for any sign of Madeline. She was nowhere. As he searched his eyes met Lydia’s. Lydia smiled, swaying closer and bending to bring her face inches from his.
“Now Jack,” she cooed, “tell me who it was who helped you to escape.”
He smirked back at her, mouth shut. He would have reached up and strangled her or made a run for it if his head wasn’t spinning and if his limbs would move properly. Simon jerked under his guard’s grip, face half pressed into the ground.
“It’s too early for this,” Lydia sighed, dropping her vixen act and straightening. “Get up.”
The man holding Simon wrenched him to stand and Roderick lunged forward to hoist Jack to his feet. It was a challenge to stand upright, but with Roderick sneering at him he gave it his best shot.
“I’m not in the mood to play with you today.” Lydia fixed him with a menacing stare. “Who helped you in there?” Jack kept his mouth shut. Lydia sighed. “Really? You’re going to make me do this?”
“Do what?” Before he could finish his question she nodded to Roderick and screaming pain raked down his back. He shouted, “What the bloody hell!” to keep from crying outright.
Roderick circled his arm around to show him a claw-like implement now dripping with blood on its three sharp tines. “It’s a garden tool,” he explained. “I made a few improvements.” To prove his point he raked it across Jack’s back again.
“Roderick! Stop this at once!” Simon shouted, eyes wild with fury as he struggled in vain against the man who held him.
“Oh, you don’t like seeing your lord and master harmed?” Lydia arched an eyebrow at him. “You certainly have changed your tune.” Simon growled hatred at her. She responded by nodding to Roderick. Roderick scraped the claw across Jack’s back a third time. He couldn’t help but cry out in pain. “We could go on like this all day, you know.” She crossed her arms and looked at her nails. “You’ve got a broad back.”
“What do you want, Lydia?” Simon demanded on Jack’s behalf.
“Do you want the full list or the short version?” Simon struggled against the man holding him but got nowhere. Lydia rolled her eyes and turned back to Jack. “Who helped you escape. Or try to escape at least.”
He was only holding on to consciousness by a thread, so Jack he threw caution to the wind and answered, “The Derbywood Bandit!”
“Oh please,” Lydia snorted. Her smirk dropped when she saw the shock on Roderick’s face. “What?”
“What is Lady Aubrey doing in the forest?” Roderick grabbed Jack’s arm and wrenched it around his back.
The pain of that motion sent the world into a black spin. Jack struggled to stay on his feet. He could feel trickles down his back and knew it wasn’t sweat. “I don’t know,” he panted. “Rescuing us?” He cursed himself for forgetting Roderick knew the Bandit’s identity. At least he thought he knew.
Lydia wasn’t convinced. She narrowed her eyes, studying the captive men before her. After a long pause she took a breath. “I have a new idea. Bring them to the common. We’ll string them up for everyone to see. That should draw this Bandit out.”
“Or we could just kill them,” Roderick sneered.
Lydia’s eyes snapped from Jack’s to Roderick’s as he stood behind Jack’s shoulder. “Now you know we can’t kill my fiancé, Roderick,” her sleek smile returned. “We still have so very much to offer each other.”
“I’m not your-” Before he could finish his reply Roderick gave him another slow strike with his claw. He gasped and his knees buckled.
“Now, now, sweetheart,” Lydia cooed, stepping over to rest a hand on the side of his sweating face. “We can play rough as much as you’d like, but I’d rather we save it for bedsport.” Her warm laugh shriveled him through. She stood. “Take them to the common.”
Madeline pressed herself into the ground in the corner of the tent, eyes wide. Jack grunted once more in pain as he was marched away. She swallowed, listening to their footsteps retreating until the sound was indistinguishable from the rest of the noise of the camp. She hardly dared to move. Fiancé?
The sound of more footfalls focused her in the present. The tent was now deserted but that didn’t mean it would be for long. Lydia had sent Connor to search for her but no one had bothered to search inside the tent. It was a small miracle. Well, that or a sign that Lydia and her goons might not have known what they were doing after all. She couldn’t wait around to find out which it was.
Holding her breath, she lifted the bottom of the canvas to peek at the immediate surroundings. Everyone had gone. She rolled to a crouch and fitted the mask over the bottom half of her face, settling the hood over the top. She crept out of the tent and scanned the area as fast as she could before zigzagging through the paths towards the corral. The sun was now up in earnest and sounds of stirring came from all around. They weren’t the only sounds.
“You there,” Connor’s voice cracked from the other side of the tent she was passing. Her blood froze. “Get up and show your ugly face!”
He wasn’t talking to her. A grumble was followed by, “What the fuck do you want?”
She swallowed and rushed to the end of the tent to get away from the investigation. Two women were walking on a path to intercept her. She pulled back, waiting for them to pass. They were chattering away like magpies as they crossed in front of her. One of them looked right at her with a strange frown but walked on.
Madeline’s legs quivered. She blinked as a thought struck her. Changing tactics, she yanked the mask off of her face and undid her cloak’s clasp. She ruffled a hand through her hair, bent over to grab a handful of dirt and rubbed it over her face. Then she wadded the cloak into a ball and set off towards the corral again, breathing steadily to make it look like nothing was wrong.
“You! What are you doing?” Connor’s shout was straight at her this time.
She closed her eyes, said a prayer, and turned to face him. “What, me, sir?”
“Yeah, you.” Connor strode up to her, arms crossed, face fiercer than ever with the gash Toby had given him.
“I’m … Lady Lydia told me t’ go get her cloak washed.” She screwed her face up like a page sent on a nasty errand.
“Yeah?” Connor didn’t look convinced.
“Yeah!” she snarled back at him, imitating his bullying stance.
Connor scowled. As much as she wanted to cower Madeline knew she couldn’t back down. Her matching glower was met by a sudden twinkle in Connor’s eye. “Carry on, boy!” Connor grunted, cuffing her upside the head for good measure. She wasn’t sure, but she thought it might have been a sign of approval. She grimaced and spit at the man’s feet for good measure. Connor chuckled as he turned to stomp on.
Madeline swayed on the spot, wishing she had something to lean on for just a moment. Since there was nothing she pushed herself on. There was no need to rush now. All she had to do was keep calm and find Tom.
Jack stumbled over a rock as Roderick pushed him off the path and onto the wide, dirt area that was the camp common. He fought for balance and would have landed on his face if Roderick hadn’t grabbed his arm and wrenched him upright again. His legs were rubbery, but at least he was able to move them as he and Simon were dragged to a tall post towards the center of the area. It was one of several standing in a row with lines strung between them that held washing.
“Take this mess down,” Lydia ordered, poi
nting at a group of men roasting something for breakfast at a nearby fire pit. They jumped up and tore the washing down from the tallest post. “Get some rope and string them up.”
“Rope again,” Jack muttered as Roderick spun him around and shoved his back against the post. The pain of his tattered flesh hitting the post poured blackness over him. He sagged, floating in the dark.
Before he could lose consciousness someone grabbed the wrist that held his rosary.
“What’s this?” Lydia’s falsely sweet voice wrenched him to attention. “Still playing with trinkets?”
“Don’t touch it,” he mumbled, frustrated with the weakness of his voice. Her fingers worked it loose. “Leave it!” he shouted with a surge of panic, too dizzy to get away. “Leave it alone!”
“Really, Jack.” Lydia tutted, yanking the rosary off and holding it in front of his face.
“No! Give it back! Give it back!” He made a swipe for it.
Lydia jerked it out of his reach, giggling as he stumbled off balance and fell to his knees. “You won’t be needing this anymore.” She threw it in the dirt and stepped on it.
Jack tried to lunge towards the rosary but Roderick’s hand was on his throat, hauling him to his feet in an instant. He slammed Jack against the post again.
Everything went black.
When Jack opened his eyes again his hands were suspended above his head, ropes digging into his wrists. He slumped against something warm and moist. His head was pounding but he forced himself to open his eyes. The forest tilted into focus. He straightened to right the world and keep himself from being sick.
“Are you alright?” the thing he had been slumped against muttered. It was Simon.
Jack mumbled and took in a breath. He was on his feet this time instead of sitting. The ragged smallclothes he wore were loose and low around his hips. He shifted to rest his shoulder against the post, glancing up to look at the taut rope stretching from his bound wrists to a knot on the top of the post. Sweat stung his eyes. He blinked his way down to Simon.
Simon had asked him a question.
“Oy, mate,” he replied, his voice vague and miles away. “How long I been out?”
“Not more than five minutes.”
He braved a smirk. “Bloody hell. I was hopin’ it was longer.”
Simon grinned. The expression came off as pained and desperate. It was the most unnerving thing he’d seen since setting foot in the forest. If he’d had a hand free Jack would have patted the man on the back to assure him that everything would be alright. Except that he needed someone to give him the same reassurance, and that man was usually Simon.
“Right,” he took a breath, ignoring his precarious balance. “What’re we up against?” He glanced at the common and the camp spreading out from it.
“Guards over there,” Simon nodded to their right. “Not that they’re needed.” His eyes flickered to the edges of the common, to the dozen or more people staring at them and whispering while they ate their breakfast.
Jack’s stomach growled. “Oy!” he hollered to their audience. “Anyone got any food they want to share?”
Some of the people laughed. A few of them whispered to each other. One older woman stepped forward with a bowl in her hands. She didn’t make it more than three steps before one of the guards shouted “Get back, you!” and knocked the bowl out of her hands.
Jack rolled against the post to a more comfortable position. “Thanks anyhow, mate!” he called out to the woman. She nodded back.
He rested as best he could with his head aching, his wrists burning, and his back a web of pain. If he could only clear his head enough to get a grip on their new situation maybe he could do something about it. His gaze dropped to his rosary, still lying in the dirt about twenty feet in front of him. He squinted, straining his eyes to see if any of the beads were cracked. It was too far away to tell.
He continued to watch the rosary, leaning against the post, waiting for his head to clear and his muscles to stop aching. The familiar chant of Hail Madeline, full of grace ran through his head. What had happened to her? Had she gotten away? She must have. If she’d been caught Lydia wouldn’t show her a lick of mercy.
His thoughts see-sawed back and forth between Madeline and Lydia, hope and despair, as the minutes ticked by. Simon leaned against the post with him but was silent. The forest people gathered and stared. The guards kept the adults at a distance but ignored the children. He saw a ragged little girl, no more than six or seven, inch closer out of the corner of his eye as he focused on the rosary. She crept towards it and with a dash that jolted him out of his thoughts she grabbed it and ran.
“Oy!” he called after her. “Bring that back! Oy!”
The girl ignored him, vanishing into the watching forest folk and the trees.
He heaved out a shaking breath, unable to control the stinging in his eyes. There was no use in fighting it. The pain was too much. The thirst and starvation, worry about Madeline, the constant humiliation and degradation from Lydia and half the nobles of Derbyshire, his failures as a noble, a friend, a brother, all came crashing down around him. His breath turned into shallow sobs as sweat mingled with tears on his face.
“Hold it together, Jack!” Simon’s steady voice was the only thing that kept him from tipping over the edge. “You can do it. You are ten times the man any of them are! You can face this and you can beat it! You can beat them!”
“No I can’t,” he moaned.
“Yes you can. Yes you can. Listen to me, Jack. Yes you can.”
Jack nodded slowly, teeth clenched to keep them from chattering. Simon leaned against him, using himself as a prop to keep Jack upright.
“Take a deep breath.”
He did as he was told.
“The rosary is gone,” Simon went on. “Think of the girl who took it. She’s a hungry child in the woods, nothing more. Think of what must have happened to get her here. Maybe her parents were turned out of their home under Buxton’s rule. Maybe she only has a mother. Maybe that rosary is the only pretty thing she has ever seen in her life.”
Again Jack nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to listen, to lean his head against the post. He had to breathe. To breathe and listen to Simon.
“Think of everything you can do to help her,” he continued. “Remember that these people look up to you. You are Bailiff of Derby. You are the peasant who became a noble. Think of how you can use that to help them. Look at them.”
Jack opened his eyes and glanced around. Men, women, and children, all of them worse for wear. They all watched him and Simon with wary, expectant eyes. They all held their breath to see what would happen.
“You watch when Lydia comes back. They won’t look at her that way. These are your people, Jack. All of Derbyshire. We are your people. Not Huntingdon’s, not Matlock’s, and never Buxton’s. These are your people and they need you. Now stand up straight.”
He didn’t realize Simon had been whispering straight into his ear until he found himself struggling to do exactly what he said. He stood with his tattered back as straight as he could make it, in spite of the maddening itch of seeping wounds. He sucked in a breath and held his head high, scanning the watching crowd and making eye contact with as many of them as he could.
“Think of all you could do for them, my lord,” Simon’s voice was his rock. “The power you have to understand them, to make their lives better is like nothing any of us have ever known. They need you to be strong. They need to see you as invincible. Because they see you as one of them. Don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about the hunger. Think about how you can help them. These last few days are nothing compared to all that you can do, all that you will do for these people.”
Simon fell silent again. Jack stood with his feet solidly planted, studying the forest people. Young and old, men and women, not one of them were as bad off as he was. Not one of them had it as good as he did. They looked at him with restless expectation. Unlike the nobles who wa
tched him, expecting him to fail, these people held their breath, waiting for him to succeed.
“What do I do, Simon?” he asked, voice far steadier than he felt in his heart.
“You wait for opportunity to present itself, my lord,” Simon told him. “And then you do what you have to do.”
Chapter Fourteen
Finding Tom in a sea of unfamiliar tents and people was easier said than done. Without the Bandit mask Madeline felt exposed, even though reason told her she was better hidden without it. She tried to steer clear of people as she rushed to the rendezvous point.
Tom wasn’t at the corral. She checked all around and through the large pen. The two young boys tending the horses gave her funny looks as she searched. They could see right through her ruse but they didn’t seem likely to say anything.
Not wanting to spend too much time in one place, she doubled back and headed for Tom’s tent. As she approached she saw two burly men coming out of it. Half of Tom’s things had been scattered around the opening. She walked right past with only a curious glance at what the men were doing. The men didn’t look twice at her.
It took her ten more minutes of walking and praying she wouldn’t run into Lydia to find him. Or rather for him to find her. As she passed a thick old tree a hand reached out and grabbed her. She shrieked until another hand slapped over her mouth. She glanced up to find Tom shaking his head, eyes wide. She swallowed and nodded. He let her mouth go but continued to stand close and hold her arms.
He sent a panicked look around before whispering to her, “I heard what happened.”
“I took too long freeing them.” Tears sprung to her eyes now that she had someone to lean on. “I’m so sorry.”
“It wasn’t you,” his voice softened. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We have to get out of here, go to Derby, find Ethan, anything.”
“No! I’m not leaving without Jack. Lydia said she was going to tie them up in the common, in plain sight. She’s doing it to draw us out, but we still might be able to reach them in the middle of the night or if there’s a distraction of some sort. We could-”
