The Loyal Heart Part 12

"I want to ... to make my confession." She hoped people gave confessions to nuns. Whatever Jack was up to he'd better finish it soon.

"It's the middle of the night?"

"It's not that late," she kept her voice as quiet as she could, listening for more noise from the room, from below.

"It's not at that," one of the other guards shrugged.

"If she wants to make a confession," another figured, "maybe we should let her."

"My lady, I don't think-"

The door at the top of the stairs crashed open and the glowering face of Crispin appeared in the doorway. "I said no talking while on duty!" he ordered in a hushed shout. "Buxton will have-" He saw Aubrey and blinked in shock.

She saw him as well. Lots of him. He stood in the doorway wearing nothing but barely fastened smallclothes. His chest was bare, broad and well-defined with just a small amount of black hair that grew darker and thicker in a line down his stomach and abdomen. The muscles of his arms stood out under his pale skin as he gripped the doorframe. Her mouth dropped open and the b.u.t.terflies in Aubrey's stomach migrated much lower. She stood transfixed, taking him in.

"Aubrey," he recovered enough to speak her name. His eyes met hers and held for a moment before he glanced down at himself, then pulled back into the room, slamming the door.

She shut her mouth, blushing from head to toe. The guards stared at her with varying degrees of surprise and amus.e.m.e.nt. Her hands worked at her sides and she wished to G.o.d she had her sword. Then the door to Crispin's room swung open again. He had thrown a shirt over his head and chausses on his legs. His hair was tousled and his pale face was splashed with rose. He didn't meet her eyes when she glanced over to him.

"What are you doing here?"

"She wants to see the nuns," one of the guards informed him, a note of understanding dawning on his face as he glanced between Crispin and Aubrey. He withered into silence when Crispin glared at him. All of the guards suddenly found something more interesting to look at.

"It's late, Aubrey." He turned to her, hands stiff at his sides.

"I know," Aubrey stammered, willing herself to look at his face instead of his skin. "I ... just...." She lost her words and found herself staring at his chest. The shirt was unlaced and she could still see a significant amount of flesh, small, taut nipples, and a thick scar cutting diagonally from his collarbone to his sternum. She bit her lip, mouth watering.

Crispin glanced again to the guards, all eight of them crowding the hall, and frowned. "Come inside." He stepped back and extended a hand into his room.

Aubrey didn't hesitate before rushing past him and into the small room, relieved to be away from judging eyes. She stopped in the center of the chamber and studied it, surprised that all it contained was a bed, a chest, a table and one chair, and a small stand with a pitcher. She hadn't expected Crispin's room to look like a cell. There weren't even hangings on the walls and all that sat on the mantle over the great fireplace was his sword and the wolf-head dagger. The bedclothes on his bed were bunched to one side, confirming her suspicion that the noise in the hall had woken him.

"I wanted to talk to my friends." She forced her eyes away from the bed but didn't feel any more comfortable when they shifted to him as he shut the door.

"Aubrey, it's late." He rubbed his forehead, still not looking at her.

"I know, but I can't sleep. I have to know that they're alright." It was true enough.

"They're fine."

Silence fell. She studied the hard lines of his face as he struggled to raise his eyes to hers. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. She leaned closer to him, eyes slipping to the scar on his chest. The fluttering in places she didn't want to think about deepened.

"I do not want you wandering around unaccompanied," his deep voice only stirred the humming in her body. "Not when there is a murderer on the loose or when Buxton-"

"Has anyone been killed?" Maybe violent death could distract her from these sensations. Maybe.

"No."

His return to a gruffness snapped her back to the mischief of the night. "They're not safe, Crispin. I know they're not safe."

"Aubrey." He took a step closer.

She shook her head and went on. "They're only nuns. They can't protect themselves. They can't even speak for themselves. Not that Buxton would listen."

"Aubrey, please."

"And no one will help me help them, Crispin!"

His eyes changed when she turned her desperate plea to him. His face softened. His eyes glowed. She was suddenly aware of the heat radiating from him. His chest rose and fell in the firelight. For a heartbeat she thought she saw his eyes flicker to the bed. She swallowed. It must be her imagination. He stood so close that she could have reached out a hand and touched his fascinating, scarred chest. He would let her touch him. He would let her. And then what?

"Aubrey." Her name on his lips held volumes. His brow furrowed in frustration. His hands reached for hers. "I will-"

A shrill scream from the next room shattered the moment. Aubrey gasped and jumped, blood rushing back to her limbs. Crispin's face darkened in a flash and he spun to reach for the dagger on the mantle. He lunged for the door and out into the hallway.

The guards were all on their feet, the door to the North Room crashing open as Aubrey rushed out into the hall on Crispin's heels. A guard stopped her as Crispin ran into the room. "Are you safe?" she heard his voice boom.

"Yes, Sir Crispin," Sister Bernadette's voice answered as Aubrey strained to pull herself out of the guard's hold. "Sister Mary Peter was startled by a bat that flew too close to the window."

Aubrey went limp. She heard a scuffle from the floor below and squeezed her eyes shut. A moment of silence was followed by Crispin charging into the hallway. "Get into my room and lock the door!" he ordered her as quietly as he could, glancing over his shoulder to the door to Buxton's room.

"You can't-"

"Do it!"

Her mouth opened in indignation but he didn't stay to face her. He charged down the stairs.

"Right, you, come on." The guard who held her pushed her towards Crispin's door.

Jack. Crispin would find him.

She stomped on the guard's foot. He let her go with a sharp curse. Once free she lunged for the stairs then hesitated. The door to the North Room was still open. She feinted away from the guard who tried to grab her arm and pivoted around another to get to the North Room.

"Madeline!" she called as she caught a glimpse of her distraught friend.

The guards reacted in near unison. One slammed the door to the North Room shut while two others jumped to guard it and the one closest to her tried again to grab her. She slammed an elbow in his face and sprinted for the stairs. Another swiped at her long braid as she dodged out of his reach and stumbled down the first few steps.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on out here?" Buxton's voice split into the scene as she rounded the corner and nearly fell to the landing. She didn't wait to hear what Buxton had to say. Heart pounding and lungs stinging as she gasped for breath, she picked up her skirts and raced down the stairs.

Crispin caught a glimpse of ginger hair one floor from the main hall. By the time he jumped the last few stairs into the corridor the red-haired man was halfway to the castle's front door. His legs were longer than the red-haired man's. He should have caught him before he escaped, but the man was fast. He was down the stairs and in the courtyard when Crispin burst through the door.

Instead of making for the gate and the safety of the city the man cut to the side and bolted towards the stables. Crispin surged after him, gaining as he flew past the castle's out buildings and through the archway into the garden. The man slowed in the dark garden. Crispin knew he had him. Without warning the red-haired man dove for the ground, scooping up something small and flat. Crispin lunged and tackled him.

The air heaved out of both of their lungs as they slammed face down in a clump of fragrant herbs. "Oy!" the man wheezed as he sucked in a breath.

Crispin pushed himself to his knees and grabbed the man's shoulders, spinning him around before slamming him to the damp dirt.

"Who are you!" He slipped his left hand to the man's throat. The man opened his mouth and emitted a choked gurgle. His gray eyes bulged, but his fist stayed tight around the parchment in his hand.

A rush of sense made Crispin ease up on the man's throat and sit back. His eyes flickered to the parchment. He grabbed it with his left hand and when the man struggled in protest he lay the blade of his dagger against his bruised throat.

"S mine!" the ginger-haired man coughed and tried to s.n.a.t.c.h at the letter in spite of the blade digging in.

Crispin held it out of his reach. Digging a knee into the man's gut to hold him, he tore open the letter. "Jack," he growled when he read the opening. He scanned to the bottom of the letter. "Madeline?"

"Oy! Give that back!"

Jack surged against him again. Crispin grabbed a handful of his shirt then squatted and stood, wrenching Jack to his feet. Recognition hit him. He was one of Buxton's horse thieves. He'd escaped when Windale escaped. And now he was in league with Aubrey? His stomach twisted in dread as he demanded, "What are you doing at the castle? What is your connection to Lady Aubrey?" He shook the man to keep him from settling.

"I'm helping her get to her friends!"

Crispin stopped shaking and stared at the man. The answer was honest. He crushed the letter in his hand. "And this?"

"MP gave it to me."

Another honest answer. Crispin narrowed his eyes and searched Jack's bold gray ones. "MP?"

"Madeline." The man rolled his eyes and shook his head. He had b.a.l.l.s. Crispin shook the letter open and read more. Sentimental plat.i.tudes mingled with expressions of devotion. "Oy, what's it say, mate?"

Crispin's brows shot to his forehead at the man's coolness. The dagger was still only inches from his throat. "Read it yourself." He thrust the letter at the man's chest as he released him.

Jack scrambled to catch the letter. Crispin watched him, poised to s.n.a.t.c.h him again the second he ran. He didn't run. He squinted at the letter in the moonlight, turning it one way then the other. The man couldn't read.

"Are you a friend of Aubrey's?" He narrowed his eyes at the peasant.

"Yeah." Jack wasn't interested in him. He sighed and folded the letter, glancing up to the top of the tower.

Details began to fit together in Crispin's mind. He didn't like the picture they painted. "Are you a friend of Ethan of Windale?"

Jack snorted a laugh and lowered his eyes to meet Crispin's. "He thinks so."

For a moment the whisper of the night breeze and chatter of insects wrapped itself around the garden. Crispin flexed his grip on the dagger. The man in front of him was the most artless he had ever come across. He had no idea how to deal with him. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw you in the dungeon right now."

The man's grin shifted him to the defensive. "Aubrey'll have your hide."

Cold shock dropped like a rock into Crispin's stomach. "You think so?"

Jack shrugged and brushed dirt from his faded tunic. "I'm the only one who offered to help her, mate."

Crispin's hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger as he fought the urge to curse. This man, Jack, knew Aubrey well. He took a step towards him. "Where's Windale?"

Understanding twinkled in Jack's eyes. "Matlock. Thinks if he convinces an important n.o.b or two to champion his cause he'll get his b.l.o.o.d.y land back."

Why was the man being so open with him? "And Aubrey?"

"Wants her friends released. You gonna help with that, mate?"

The two men stood staring at each other in the moonlight. Jack was unarmed, but a man without fear was more dangerous than a man with a sword. He was Aubrey's friend. He was Ethan's friend. It was impossible for Crispin not to make the next connection. "I want what's best for Aubrey." His voice dropped to a low growl.

"Don't never tell her that."

Crispin raised his dagger and Jack took a step back, holding up his hands.

"Oy! I'm on your side, mate!"

"Are you?" Crispin grabbed a handful of the man's tunic and jerked him to the tips of his toes. "What is there between Aubrey and Ethan?"

"Nothing!" Jack's yelp of protest convinced Crispin to drop him. He stumbled, smoothing his tunic with shaking hands.

"I want it to stay that way." Anger sharpened Crispin's words.

"Me too, mate." Again shock froze him. Jack saw his stunned expression and went on. "b.l.o.o.d.y big p.r.i.c.k, Ethan of Windale, if you ask me."

Crispin pulled in a long breath as the seeds of an idea formed. He stared hard at Jack. The man scratched his pointed goatee and studied the letter in his hand. Cursing himself for a fool Crispin asked, "What would it take for you to act as my eyes and ears where Ethan of Windale is concerned?"

Jack's attention snapped up from the letter. For once the other man was surprised. He blinked and rubbed his goatee harder. His eyes travelled up to the top of the tower. "Let them go."

"I can't. Buxton would kill me." It was not an idle expression. Jack recognized it and nodded once. "I'll do what I can though."

"A shilling a week."

"What?"

A grin spread across Jack's wicked face. "You give me a shilling a week and I'll do whatever you want."

Crispin's heart pounded. "Tell me where he is, what he's planning. Tell me if Aubrey and he...." He snapped his mouth shut and glanced away. In ten minutes the red-headed peasant had discovered more about him than most people would learn in their lifetimes. He grimaced with self-disgust. "Help me keep her safe."

"For a shilling a week I'll carry her through the fires of h.e.l.l and back in bare feet."

Crispin extended a hand. Jack took it. They grasped wrists and shook. Crispin backed away and shook his head. He was a b.l.o.o.d.y fool. "She misses you."

"What?" Again Jack was off-balance.

Crispin nodded to the letter squashed in Jack's hand. "She says she misses you, that you make her laugh, and she prays for you."

The silliest grin Crispin had ever seen spread across the red-headed man's face. "Oy! Thanks, mate!" He raised the letter to his lips and kissed it before bounding off in the dark.

The smile that slipped onto Crispin's face dropped. If he was half as foolish about Aubrey, Buxton would have a knife in his back before he could blink.

The elation that carried Jack around the corner and out of the garden was short-lived. The seriousness of what he'd just committed to squelched it. By the time he made it to the courtyard his hands were shaking. He stopped and leaned against the castle wall, panting.

b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. What kind of a deal had he just made? Improvisation had always got him out of sc.r.a.pes, but now and then it landed him in a few. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. He stared at the letter and the grin crept across his lips. Like the idiot he was he kissed the letter.

"Jack!"

Aubrey's m.u.f.fled cry from the stairs above made him push off from the wall and hurry towards her. He glanced over his shoulder to see if Crispin had followed. "Get inside!" he warned her.

"Are you alright?" she ignored him.

He climbed half of the stairs, spinning Aubrey when he reached her and shoveling her towards the front door. "Yeah. I'm brilliant. An' Crispin's still out here so shove off!"