Free The Faithful Heart by Merry Farmer Page A

MP?” His chest tightened. “You don’t
like them?”
    “It’s not that.” Her voice was hardly a
whisper.
    A commotion at the far end of the room pulled
his attention. A noble decked out in red and green wearing a thick
chain around his neck and an empty sword belt strode into the room.
He was flanked on either side by short, slight men who must have
been his sons. Something about them looked familiar.
    “Bloody hell,” he heard Crispin grumble as
the men marched closer. He glanced to his friend with raised
eyebrows as Crispin stood and cleared his throat. “Matlock.” He
nodded to the older man, his face set with the same stony
expression he had always worn when Buxton was giving him a hard
time.
    The name clicked in Jack’s mind. Matlock. He
glanced to Madeline only to find her white as a ghost and cowering
in her seat. That alone was enough for him to push his chair back
and stand with a scowl to face the new guests.
    “Huntingdon,” Matlock nodded.
    “I am honored by your presence.” Crispin’s
voice was cold and hard as steel.
    “It is my pleasure,” Matlock replied as if it
were anything but.
    Every nob in the room watched the
conversation holding their breath. Jack stole a glance at the high
and mighty faces that filled with fearful admiration as they
watched Matlock. He narrowed his eyes at the man, studying him.
    “Please, join us for the feast.” Crispin
gestured for the seats on the other side of Aubrey to his left.
    The lords who had been sitting there jumped
up and scurried away without question. Jack’s jaw hardened. Lydia
sat straighter.
    “I have not come for entertainment, my lord,”
Matlock raised his voice so that everyone could hear him. “I have
come for answers.”
    Crispin stiffened, staring down at the man
from the dais without flinching. “What answers do you seek?”
    “The king has been given by Leopold of
Austria to Henry, the Holy Roman Emperor,” Matlock spilled the
beans. A chorus of gasps and whispers rose up from the assembly. “I
understand he is to be ransomed and that Derbyshire is to bear part
of the burden.”
    “You are correct, Lord Stephen.” Crispin
radiated fury. Matlock had stolen his thunder by making the
announcement before Crispin could. Jack glanced back and forth
between the two men, flexing his hand and making a fist that wanted
to find a home in Matlock’s face.
    “I wish to know what you plan to do about
it,” Matlock pressed on. “I wish to know what you plan to do about
the king’s ransom when you can’t even control a band of outlaws in
the forest.”
    Another murmur swirled up from the feasting
nobles. Bloody hell.
    “There will be a Council of Nobles,” Crispin
dealt with the threat to his power by addressing the room as if
everything was his idea. “In a fortnight. We will discuss both
issues then.”
    “At last. Action from the Earl of Derby. And
here I thought you would carry on with Buxton’s habit of throwing
parties when work needs to be done.” He glanced around at the
tables piled with food and the minstrels with an exaggerated look
of surprise. As he turned back to Crispin that look melted into a
grin of satisfaction at one-upping Crispin in front of their
peers.
    “I don’t recall you ever missing one of
Buxton’s entertainments, Lord Stephen,” Crispin volleyed the
insult. “You were quite close, weren’t you?”
    Matlock’s grin slipped.
    Jack swayed forward, eyes narrowed in hatred.
Matlock turned to him with a sneer as if someone had let a mangy
dog into the Great Hall. His attempt at intimidation stopped short
when he saw Madeline shrinking in the chair next to him.
    “I told you to go back to St. Mary’s girl!”
he shouted at her.
    Madeline squeaked and lowered her head.
    “Oy! Where do you get off talking to her like
that, mate!” Something in Jack snapped. He would have lunged at the
man if the table hadn’t been between them.
    Matlock stared fury at him. “How dare you
address me like that,