The Faithful Heart
Page 36
The story concludes this spring with…
The Courageous Heart
Derbyshire, 1194
Joanna paced through the Windale church graveyard, smoothing her fingertips along the tops of the headstones. The lump that never left her throat save for when it settled in her heart choked her as she reached the end of the third row. She stopped, biting her lip and staring off over the hills and fields of her home manor.
The winter chill was leaving Windale. Spring was in the air. A promising breeze wafted the rich scent of the orchard blossoms from Kedleridge, on the other side of the hill, towards her. The rhythmic melody of the farmers singing as they furrowed sleepy rows through the fields should have cheered her.
She swallowed and forced her eyes to the name carved on the stone where she stood.
Toby Dunkirke.
Two and a half years had passed and still her heart was shattered with grief over the loss of her brother. Her handsome, hopeless, wonderful fool of a brother.
She pressed her palms to the top of his headstone and squeezed her eyes shut to keep her emotions at bay. Toby had been all she had, the last of her family. They’d shared a womb, shared everything, from the day they were born to the day Toby left home with Lord Ethan to fight in King Richard’s Crusade.
She straightened, sucking in a breath, her grief twisting to anger. Her brother had loved Ethan, loved him with his whole heart. He had loved Ethan with a passion Ethan could never return. His devotion had wrenched Toby away from her, flung him halfway around the world, and eventually gotten him killed.
“Joanna?” A small hand tugged at her skirt. Joanna blinked and pivoted to look down at the black hair and solemn blue eyes of little Wulfric Huntingdon. “Joanna?”
“Yes, my lord?” She cleared her throat, blinking to banish her tears, and forced a smile.
Her little lord, a sweet replica of his imposing father, stared up at her, chubby cheeks giving his frown the look of a stoic cherub. “There’s a man at the house.”
“Oh?” Joanna squatted to look the boy in the eye. “Is it your papa?”
Wulfric shook his head.
“Is it Uncle Jack?”
He shook his head again. “It’s a stranger.”
“A stranger?” Joanna repeated, brushing an unruly strand of hair away from Wulfric’s face. “What kind of stranger?”
“Ethan.”
Joanna’s heart plummeted. She shot to her feet, hands balled into fists at her sides, glance shooting back towards the manor house. Her pulse pounded when she saw an unfamiliar horse standing near the edge of the common. Aubrey had just come out of the house and was marching towards a man in a traveler’s cloak. Fury burned in her gut.
“I’ll murder him!” she hissed, out of breath after just those words. Ethan would pay for everything he’d done to her. “Come on, my lord,” she couldn’t soften her voice as she addressed Wulfric. She scooped him into her arms, resting him against her hip and charging out of the graveyard and up the road to the manor. She would strangle him with her bare hands. She would gouge his eyes out with a red-hot iron. She would slice his balls off with a rusty dagger. Lord Ethan would regret the day he walked out on Windale, stealing her brother with him.
Joanna’s rage abruptly fizzled when she reached the common and the cloaked man turned to face her. He was in his middle years with graying hair and a scar on his cheek. He was not Ethan.
“Oh,” she stuttered, glancing past the man to Aubrey.
Aubrey wore a confused frown on her face. It softened at the sight of her son. Wulfric held out his arms to his mother and Aubrey crossed in front of the stranger to take him from Joanna.
“Joanna, this is Sir Ethan Eversham,” she made the introduction.
“Sir,” Joanna curtsied to him, straightening and sending Aubrey a questioning look.
“Sir Ethan has come from London.” Her voice was thready and puzzled.
“I’ve been sent by the crown, my lady,” Sir Ethan said and continued on as if he had already been making an explanation before Joanna arrived. “King Richard has returned to England. He has taken up residence in the Tower.”
“The king is back?” Aubrey shuffled Wulfric in her arms as he poked at the netting holding her hair back. “We hadn’t heard he’d been released.”
“Emperor Henry released him last month, my lady. He arrived in London last week and he is eager to resume complete control of his kingdom from his rebellious brother, Prince John.” He shifted his weight, glancing back towards the manor house. “This is really a message for your husband, my lady. Is he at home?”
“No.” She pushed Wulfric’s hand away from her ear where he was now trying to stick his finger. “No, he and Jack, Lord John, are in Derby today.”
“Ah. Lord John of Kedleridge?” Aubrey nodded. “This message concerns him as well. It is a message of utmost urgency.”
“I could ride into Derby to fetch them,” Joanna offered. Heaven only knew that she needed something to take her mind off her troubles.
“Thank you, Joanna, but I need you here,” Aubrey said.
“Joanna?” Sir Ethan blinked and looked at her as though just seeing her. “Not Joanna Dunkirke?”
Joanna’s eyebrows rose. She glanced to Aubrey who seemed just as surprised. Then she turned back to Sir Ethan. “Yes. That’s me.”
The man looked as surprised as she and Aubrey did. “I have something for you,” he said as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.
He walked back to his horse and unfastened the portmanteau. Joanna and Aubrey followed him and stood waiting as he sorted through its contents. He found what he was looking for and stepped towards them. He presented Joanna with a thick packet of battered old parchment tied with dirty string.
“I’ve had these in my possession for over three years,” Sir Ethan said. “They arrived in the court offices in London at various points as soldiers returned from the Holy Land. A clerk was going to throw them out but I took them. I knew I’d travel this way someday. I just didn’t expect to stumble across you this way.”
Joanna took the bundle. Her curious frown tumbled into a look of shock at the writing on the top letter of the pile that read, Joanna Dunkirke, Windale Manor, Derbyshire. The lump in her throat squeezed painfully and all color drained from her face.
“What’s wrong?” Aubrey put a hand on her shoulder.
Joanna knew the handwriting too well. Her stinging eyes flew up to meet Aubrey’s. “They’re from Toby.”
About the Author
Merry Farmer lives in suburban Philadelphia with her two cats, Butterfly and Torpedo. She has been writing since she was ten years old and realized one day that she didn’t have to wait for the teacher to assign a creative writing project to write something. It was the best day of her life. She then went on to earn not one but two degrees in History so that she would always having something to write about. Today she walks along the cutting edge of Indie Publishing, writing Historical Romance and Women's Sci-Fi. She is also passionate about blogging, knitting, and cricket and is working towards becoming an internationally certified cricket scorer.
You can email her at merryfarmer20@yahoo.com or follow her on Twitter @merryfarmer20.
Merry also has a blog, http://merryfarmer.net , and a Facebook page, www.facebook.com/merryfarmerauthor , and loves visitors.
Return to Table of Contents
Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
&n
bsp; Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
The Courageous Heart