The Faithful Heart (2 page)

Figuring he had nothing to lose since his
steward knew everything anyhow, Jack threw back the bedclothes and
swung his legs in their tattered drawers around to plant his feet
on the floor. “Simon, for the last time, just call me Jack,
alright?” He ran a hand over his face to rub away the last vestiges
of sleep.

Simon stared at him with a flat expression.
“Do you have a preference for what you would like to wear today, my
lord?” he asked without hint of humor.

“Whatever, I don’t care.” Jack stood and set
the rosary on the table before pouring steaming water from the
pitcher into a wide ceramic bowl. Now there was another thing that
he could get used to. Simon brought him a bath every morning. He
splashed warm water on his face, rubbing it before reaching for a
towel. There was nothing like a quick splash of water in the
morning to wake a bloke up. He dipped the towel in the bowl and
wrung it out before running the damp cloth over his bare chest and
arms as he walked to the small shuttered window. As Simon lifted
the lid of the chest that held his clothes, Jack threw open the
shutters. The bright morning sunlight streamed down on the orchard
that stretched away from the back of the house and down the
hill.

The orchard was the crowning glory of
Kedleridge. It hadn’t looked like much when he had taken possession
of the estate along with his title months ago. But as Spring had
arrived its rows of trees had sprouted soft green buds. Those buds
had spread and blossomed. Now, as Jack leaned, bare-chested, out
the window and drew in a deep lungful of fragrant air, those rows
and rows of trees were dripping with white and pink flowers and
buzzing with honeybees as far as the eye could see. He grinned in
the morning sunshine and glanced down to see some of the servants
of the household heading from the kitchen towards the house
itself.

“Oy! Morning Imogene, morning Alice,” he
called down to the two buxom young sisters who carried covered
trays in their arms. “That my breakfast?”

“Good morning, my lord.” They shot
flirtatious glances up to him, giggling and whispering to each
other as they dipped curtsies. “It is indeed, my lord.” Imogene
batted her eyelashes, her eyes straying to his broad, bare chest
with its peppering of ginger hair.

“Don’t call me that!” He sent them a saucy
smile as they walked on and into the house. He leaned further out
the window to watch their backsides as long as he could, laughing
at himself and shaking his head. He then turned his face up to the
sun and shut his eyes for a moment so that he could let the warm
Spring rays seep through his skin.

He must have been the luckiest man alive. In
prison for stealing horses one minute, right-hand man to Sir
Crispin of Huntingdon the next, and a lord in his own right with
Kedleridge as his very own the next. Every girl at Kedleridge
seemed to be prettier than the last and he’d had plenty of offers
from them. The temptation to accept was almost more than he could
bear. It kept him up nights in sweet agony.

He pulled his body back in the window, still
shaking his head and wondering what was holding him back from
sampling a few of the tastier fruits that Kedleridge had to offer,
hungry as he was. One glance to the rosary sitting on his bedside
table told him the answer.

He sighed and turned to find Simon standing
right behind him, the barest hint of a disapproving frown
interrupting his otherwise stoic features. “Alright, Simon, what
gives? Why’dja wake me up so early?” He tossed the used towel over
to his unmade bed and reached for the clothes that Simon held.

“The Earl of Derby sent word that he needs
you at the castle as soon as possible, my lord.” Simon’s voice was
even, his accent perfect, and his eyes cold. “He is expecting the
royal emissary by noon.”

“Right.” Jack nodded, chucking off his
drawers and changing in front of the man. He reached for the plain
black chausses that Simon held and pulled them on, followed by a
plain black shirt. He may have been a lord now, but as far as he
was concerned he was still Crispin’s man and as such he still felt
as though he should wear Crispin’s colors. “Did he, uh, say if he
knew what the emissary is after yet?” he asked. It was the first
time since Crispin had taken office as Sheriff that anyone in
London felt they needed to check up. Neither Crispin nor Jack had
been able to figure out what to make of it.

His thoughts were distracted by the tunic
that Simon presented. “Aw, no!” He rolled his eyes and rested his
weight on one hip, crossing his arms at the sight of the thing. It
was brocade with blue birds embroidered on rich gold and it nearly
scraped the floor when he wore it. Since he hadn’t had a chance to
come up with his own standard or colors yet the tunic was one that
had belonged to the former Lord of Kedleridge. The man had been
taller than him and had had terrible taste. “Simon,” Jack whined,
“don’t make me wear that. I look like I’m wearin’ a bloody kirtle
in it.”

“It befits your station, my lord,” Simon
answered, a single blink the closest he ever came to a facial
expression.

“Yeah, well the last Lord of Kedleridge must
have been a pussy,” Jack complained. “Blue birds? Oy, who wants to
follow a blue bird into battle, mate?”

Simon’s face was a mask. “The bluebird has
been the ensign of Kedleridge for years,” he explained curtly.
“Before your arrival, my lord.”

Jack’s face went hot with shame. He swallowed
hard, trying to sidestep his own stupidity. “Don’t I have anything
just plain black anymore?” He moved towards his chest to see for
himself.

Simon intercepted him and thrust the fancy
tunic at his chest. “Until you decide on your heraldry and visit a
tailor this will have to suffice, my lord.”

Jack took the tunic with a groan and shrugged
into it. “I don’t see you wearing anything poofdy like this.” He
frowned at the man’s plain black chausses and vest over a faded
gray shirt. It was nice of him to wear black when Kedleridge’s
colors had been blue and gold. Then again, Simon had been wearing
black when Jack met him.

“It is not my place to dress in finery, my
lord.”

“Aw, sure.” Jack smoothed the dreaded tunic
in place over his shoulders, kicking the overlong hem. “Never mind
that you single-handedly ran this place for how long before it
dropped in my lap?” He had intended his words to be a show of
camaraderie, but the statement made Simon’s eyes go cold.

“I am just the steward, my lord.” Simon
bowed, voice tight.

“Yeah, right.” Jack shuffled over to the
bedside table to retrieve his rosary and wound it around his wrist
again. Simon was ‘just the steward’ about as much as he was ‘just a
noble’. “Come on then.” He headed for the door and the tiny hallway
that ended in a small gallery and a steep staircase.

“Your boots, my lord,” Simon called after
him.

“Bring ‘em with you!” he shouted back.

He was already near the bottom of the stairs
in his stocking feet and the tantalizing sight of Imogene and Alice
unloading their trays onto the table in the main hall had his mouth
watering. The food didn’t look half bad either. He strode over to
the table with a broad grin, resting a hand on each of the women’s
shoulders when he reached them. “What have you ladies brought me
this morning?” he flirted. “Oy! Bacon! Nice!” He launched forward
to sit in the heavy chair at the head of the table. “You spoil me.”
He raised an eyebrow as he grabbed for a piece of bacon and stuck
it in his mouth.

Both girls flushed bright red as they giggled
and grinned. “I’ve poached you some eggs, my lord,” Imogene told
him through long, dark lashes, taking a plate of eggs from the tray
she had been carrying and setting it in front of him.

“And I’ve baked those honey cakes you like so
much, my lord,” Alice added, blond curls bobbing as she set a
basket of warm, round cakes beside the eggs.

“Excellent!” He grabbed a honey cake and bit
into it while reaching for a fork and using it to cut into the
eggs.

“My lord.” Simon marched down the stairs and
around the corner, holding Jack’s boots. When he saw the two young
girls hovering at the side of their master’s chair he narrowed his
eyes. Their giddy grins vanished and they straightened in an
instant, bobbing quick curtsies and rushing out of the room towards
the pantry. “There isn’t time to dawdle today,” Simon continued as
if nothing had happened. “The Earl specifically asked that I hurry
you along.”

“Yeah, well he would,” Jack spoke with his
mouth full. He grinned at the thought of his friend. Single-minded
determination had won Crispin his land, his title, and his wife,
Aubrey. It had won him the whole bloody earldom of Derby. Jack
blessed his stars that the man was his friend. But it didn’t mean
he could go calling him at all hours, forcing him to skip a
breakfast of bacon and eggs and honey cakes.

“So Simon,” Jack gestured with a piece of
bacon to the man who stood holding his boots as if they were
scepters, “what are you gonna get up to today?”

“My lord?” He tilted his head a fraction in
response.

Jack swallowed his bacon before continuing.
“You know. While I’m off being Bailiff of Derby and making sure
that Prince John is happy as a bluebird,” he winked. “What’s gonna
be goin’ on around here? Gotta keep track of my own land, now that
I have it, ‘n all.”

Simon raised one pointed eyebrow and shifted
his weight before answering. “The planting isn’t quite finished in
the north field,” he recited. “There’s that to see to. Morton tells
me that the stable roof needs repairing.”

“Who’s Morton?” Jack took a last bite of eggs
as he searched his brain to see if he could come up with a face to
fit the name.

“He’s the master of your horses, my lord.”
Simon hid his impatience behind flat eyes.

“I only got one horse.”

“The estate has three,” Simon reminded him.
“Therefore, you have four horses.”

Jack pushed his chair back. “Horses are what
got me into this mess in the first place.”

“My lord?”

Jack shook his head with a grin as he stood.
“You’d never believe me if I told you.” He walked over to his
steward and slapped his back. The man bristled like a hedgehog.
“How ‘bout them boots then.” Simon handed him the boots. Jack
grabbed the man’s arm for balance while he leaned over and thrust
his feet one at a time into the tight new boots, stamping into them
until they felt secure. Simon’s face remained impassive. “Nah, but
what else are you gonna do? I suppose I should know what folks get
up to around here if I’m supposed to be in charge and all.”

Simon stiffened. “I will be collecting the
plow tax, my lord.”

“Plow tax?” Jack asked. “What’s that all
about?”

Simon took a deep, steadying breath. “It is a
yearly tax levied on the farmers for use of your plow, my lord.” He
walked to the mantle to fetch Jack’s belt and sword.

“Didn’t know I owned a plow.” He smiled at
the man and took the belt from him, fastening it around his waist
before reaching out to thump his steward on the back again.
“Thanks, Simon. I owe you plenty.” He tugged at his horrible tunic
to straighten it and turned to head out the door and down the steps
to the narrow gravel path that lead to the road.

Kedleridge was too small to have a common in
the center of the village the way Windale did but there was a fair
gap between the front door of the manor house and the first of the
villager’s small thatched cottages. As he walked out to the road
Jack grinned at one of the farmer’s wives who swept her front step
and waved at her with a friendly, “Hello!” The startled woman
glanced around to see if anyone was there to watch her wave back to
her master as he passed. He tilted his head up to the sunshine and
drew in a deep breath of the blossom-filled air, bursting with
contentment. “Morning again, Alice.” He winked at the round-faced
girl as she stuck her head out of the kitchen door. She giggled and
ducked back inside. He laughed and shook his head, gripping the
beads of the rosary around his left wrist.

As Jack reached the stable the young stable
boy bowed and presented a brown and white mare, already saddled and
ready. “Your horse, my lord.”

“Oy! Don’t call me that,” he scolded the boy,
giving him a cheerful grin and a wink before taking the reins.

It all worked smoothly, like one seamless
dance of readiness. He fit his foot in the stirrup and pulled
himself up to mount. Yes, like one machine of efficiency. A machine
that had nothing even remotely to do with him.

He glanced up to the house, watching as Simon
came out into the sunshine, one of the house boys following behind
as he issued orders. He crossed the yard and strode on towards the
village. One glance at the stable boy’s round eyes as he saw Simon
confirmed what Jack with all his newly granted titles and land
couldn’t deny. There went the real lord of Kedleridge.

The morning sunlight filtered through the
leafy canopy of the forest of Derbywood. Shafts of bright sunlight
struck at the weathered tents and stone-rimmed fire pits of
Derbywood Camp. Toby paced in front of the large tent at the center
of the camp, trying his best not to listen to the grunting and
sighing and moaning that was going on inside. His face glowed red
with shame and he crossed his arms over his chest as he tried to
block out the sound of the young woman’s sighs of ecstasy and the
matching cries from Ethan.

Ever since Huntingdon had released them from
the dungeons of Derby Castle at New Year’s Ethan had been growing
more and more reckless. Toby would have thought that the surprise
second chance they had been given would have been enough to prompt
his master to turn over a new leaf, to seek his fortune elsewhere.
Instead he had come back to Derbywood Camp, declaring he was no
longer Ethan of Windale but now Ethan of Derbywood.