by Sara Bell
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Torquere Press
www.torquerepress.com
Copyright ©2007 by Sara Bell
First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2008
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Prologue
Holden watched with interest as a slow smile crept across the face of his betrothed, Lucien of Denmar. Lucien's dark hair gleamed with red streaks against the light from the fire. There was a gleam in his black eyes that chilled Holden to the bone.
"We have them, love.” Lucien waved the missive he was holding back and forth for Holden to see. “At last you and I shall have vengeance against Gareth and his kin."
"Really now?” Holden straddled the bench he'd been sitting on and gave Lucien a grin he figured might be a bit lopsided due to the mead he'd been drinking steadily for the past hour. “And what is it? A pox on both their houses? Bloody welts courtesy of the village hag?” He did a half turn to pour himself another round. “I know. A potion to make certain Gareth's cock remains flaccid from here on in."
"Good ideas all, but I have something a little bloodier in mind.” Lucien tossed the missive into the fire, then strode with purpose to Holden's bench. He took the goblet from Holden's hand, drained it himself, then tossed it to the rush-covered floor. He tangled his hands in Holden's hair and jerked his head back.
The pain went straight to Holden's cock.
Lucien laughed. “Like it rough, don't you love?” His fingers made circles against Holden's scalp. “Did Gareth make Kiel scream the way you scream when I'm fucking your arse, I wonder?"
"Don't talk about Kiel.” Holden feigned a pout, difficult considering his cock was trying to pop from his hose. “Half the time you speak as if you still love him."
"Once, perhaps.” Lucien lowered his head to bite Holden's bottom lip. “But then Kiel betrayed me.” He pushed Holden back over the bench, ripping his hose with a viscous jerk as Holden went down. “Kiel learned his lesson, and if I have my way, so will his hapless relations.” He grabbed Holden's prick with a savage twist. “Let that be an example to you, love. Don't cross me and you won't get hurt."
Holden shuddered. He didn't doubt Lucien's words one bit. He had just a moment to wonder if he'd made a bargain with the wrong man, but by then his cock was in Lucien's mouth and all his thoughts melted away.
Chapter One
Gareth's boots thundered against the stone floor of the corridor as he approached Tristam's private chamber. The noise was deafening in the silence of the hall, but Gareth ignored it and kept going. Something was brewing, and he meant to find out what. He gave the door a solid knock and then waited.
"Enter."
The heavy oak separating them muffled Tristam's command, but Gareth heard him clear enough. Taking a deep breath, he swung the door wide and stepped inside, catching sight of King Tristam almost immediately.
A sharp pain hit Gareth square in the chest.
Tristam was the living image of his brother. Same regal, hawk-like nose, same piercing, deep-set brown eyes. Even the stubborn tilt of Tristam's jaw was an exact replica of Kiel's determined countenance.
Gareth swallowed the thick lump filling his throat. He'd hoped this time he'd be able to look at Tristam without feeling as if he were being ripped in two, but once again his hopes were in vain. After a full minute's hesitation, Gareth gained control of himself and fell to one knee in front of Tristam's chair.
"Greetings, my king."
"Don't be an idiot.” Tristam gave him a half smile. “I've no need of a formal showing from my own brother."
Gareth came to his feet. “Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment,” he said, “but last I checked, you and I were kin through marriage alone."
"You became my brother the day you and Kiel wed. His death doesn't change that.” Tristam pointed to the chair opposite his. “Sit. You must be exhausted after your journey from Lachlan.” He lifted a full tankard of ale from the table beside his chair and passed it to Gareth.
Gareth settled into his seat and took a long, grateful drink from the cup.
Tristam waited until Gareth had enjoyed a few hearty gulps and then said, “You must be wondering why I summoned you halfway across the Over Kingdom with such haste."
Gareth nodded. He perched himself on the edge of his seat, ready for almost anything. “The missive you sent was less than forthcoming."
"My apologies for being mysterious, but I feared the message might be intercepted.” Tristam's expression grew dark. “Denmar's minions attacked one of the lower settlements a fortnight ago."
"How great was the damage?"
"Minor, this time. My men managed to push the invaders back to the border before they took a serious toll on us, but Denmar's forces are getting stronger, and if the rumors are true, Denmar is set to grow stronger still.” Tristam folded his fingers into fists. “It seems he's forming a marriage alliance with the House of Stiles."
Gareth's eyes went wide. “Which one of King Stiles's unfortunate offspring is Denmar to wed?"
"Your former betrothed.” Tristam pursed his lips. “A match made in the Under Realms if e'er there was one."
"The varlet is set to bond with Holden?” Gareth shuddered. “I never thought to say it, but I almost pity Denmar."
"Denmar deserves a man like Holden. May the two of them rot in everlasting damnation.” Tristam sighed. “As much as I want Denmar to suffer, his alliance to the house of Stiles is about the worst thing that can happen to Drystan right now."
Gareth drained the mug in a series of long swallows and then set it on the table with more force than necessary. “Such an alliance will make Denmar almost as powerful as you are."
"Exactly.” Tristam rose and walked over to the fireplace. “The marriage will also give Denmar a royal connection not even the High King can ignore."
He stood in silence, staring into the flames for a long moment before turning back to Gareth. “Denmar won't rest until he's destroyed all that is mine. I'll be powerless against him once he has Stiles firmly at his back."
"We could wage a full scale attack against the blackguard before his marriage to Holden takes place.” Gareth caressed the hilt of his sword.
"The minute we attack Denmar outright, Stiles and all his allies will be upon us. Our armies are not strong enough to survive such a war.” Tristam came back to his seat with a gleam in his eye. “I've thought of a better way to thwart Denmar's crusade against us. I'm going to make a marriage alliance of my own."
"You and Maris are going to have a babe, then?” Gareth hardly dared hope.
"No.” Tristam looked away. “Maris's womb remains barren."
Gareth could only guess how much that grieved Tristam and his sweet young wife. He cleared his throat.
"There are other ways to have children, Tristam. Foundlings, orphans, hired women. ‘Tis how men such as myself forge families."
"Maris won't hear of it.” Tristam pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “She feels less than a woman for being unable to conceive after seven years of marriage.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “I hope someday she'll see the folly of her thinking, but you know how stubborn she can be."
"She must see your need of an heir."
"But I have an heir.” Tristam opened his eyes and fixed them on Gareth. “You."
Gareth blinked. “What are you talking about?"
> "'Tis what I've been trying to tell you. Being that I have no children of my own, Kiel—my only blood kin—would have taken the throne upon my death."
Gareth's mouth went dry. “Kiel is gone."
"Making you all the kin I have left.” Tristam must have realized Gareth didn't understand, for he said, “Your marriage made you a joint successor to the crown of Drystan. With Kiel dead, you're next in line for my throne."
Gareth's heart began to race. “You can't think—"
"You know exactly what I think. Were you to marry the scion of a powerful enough kingdom, there'd be no way for Denmar to continue his quest to take over Drystan.” Tristam took a step closer to him. “Not immediately, anyhow. We'd be given time enough to regroup our forces and devise a strategy to stop Denmar once and for all."
"It sounds as if you've given this much thought.” Gareth did his best to maintain an even tone despite his rising anger. “Have you chosen my suitor, as well?"
"As it happens, I have,” Tristam said. “King Declan of Kray has a son, a man of almost two and twenty named Alric. Kray and I both believe you'd make a fine match."
"You've already spoken to Kray about this?” Gareth was on his feet in an instant, knocking the chair over in his haste. His hands knotted into tight fists. “Without bothering to consult me?"
Tristam didn't react to Gareth's show of temper. “Kray approached me when he learned of Denmar's desire to conquer Drystan. He and I both believe a combining of our kingdoms would be the perfect solution to my dilemma."
"Perfect for whom? Sure as certain not me.” Gareth narrowed his eyes. “Of all the lesser kingdoms who claim allegiance to the Over Kingdom of Orielle, Declan of Kray's domain is second to none in power and wealth. What has him so eager to make an alliance with a small kingdom like Drystan?"
"Rumor holds that Kray is dying from a wasting disease. Given his frailty when last we met, I don't doubt it.” Tristam shrugged. “Perhaps Kray wants to see his son settled before he dies."
"He can find someone else to settle him with, then. I'm not interested.” Gareth turned and headed for the door.
Tristam was one step ahead of him, on his feet and blocking Gareth's path before he could escape.
"Get out of my way, Tristam."
"Not until you hear all I have to say."
Gareth's nostrils flared. “Not until I agree with you, you mean."
"Yes."
"At least you don't deny it.” He tried to move around him, but Tristam wouldn't budge. Gareth stepped back, unwilling to lay wrathful hands on his king, brother-in-law or not.
Instead, he looked Tristam in the eye. “You'll order me to abide by your wishes whether I agree to them or not, won't you?"
"I don't think that will be necessary.” Tristam pointed to the fallen chair. “Sit back down and hear me out."
Gareth crossed his arms over his chest. “I'll stand."
"Fine, but stay put or I'll summon my guards and have them tie you down.” Warning in place, Tristam crossed to the far side of the room with slow, deliberate strides. He gave one backwards glance to make certain Gareth had heeded his bidding and then entered the antechamber between his rooms and Maris's. He came back a moment later with a wooden box no larger than a loaf of bread.
Tristam closed the door behind him before making his way back to the sitting area in front of the fire. After reclaiming his chair, he crooked a finger at Gareth.
"If you're going to stand, at least stand over here. I'm getting a headache from straining to see you in this dim light."
Gareth's only reply was a stiff grunt, but he grudgingly complied with the request.
Tristam rummaged through the box, withdrawing a folded sheet of parchment. He started to pass the paper to Gareth, but stopped just short of handing it over.
"Before I show you this, I want your word you'll do nothing without my consent."
"I've no time for games. Tell me what you want me to know and be done with it."
"Not until I have your oath.” Tristam closed the box with a snap. “I'll have your promise not to act on this information, and I'll have it now."
Gareth reined in what little patience he had left. “I swear it."
Tristam hesitated a heartbeat longer before finally giving it over. Gareth stepped closer to the fire, unfolding the parchment and holding it close to the light. By the time he finished reading, he was shaking with a fury he hadn't felt since the night Kiel died.
"Where did you get this?"
"'Tis from Denmar's keep at Beckford. One of my spies found it in the man's private chambers.” Tristam set the box aside, then poured himself a fresh tankard of ale from the flagon on the table. “My men are searching the validity of it, but I have no doubt ‘tis true.” He twisted his lips. “Denmar wanted Kiel for his own, but Kiel spurned his advances and chose you. ‘Twas enough to make Denmar hate him."
Gareth crumpled the parchment and tossed it to the floor. “I'll kill the whoreson with my bare hands."
"Denmar is too well guarded. You'll be dead before you ever get to him."
Tristam's apparent state of calm caused a black flame to churn low in Gareth's gut.
"All this time we believed Kiel was the victim of some lingering ailment,” Gareth spat a foul tasting bile not far from Tristam's feet, “and now that we know Denmar had him poisoned, you sit there, drinking your ale as if nothing's changed?” “Would you have me stage a war I know I cannot win?” Tristam's eyes flashed. “Would you sacrifice our men, sending hundreds—even thousands—to be slaughtered in a futile attempt to avenge one?"
"Yes. No.” Gareth slapped a hand against his own chest. “I don't know. All I know for certain is I won't rest until Denmar has paid for his crimes, and neither should you."
"Nor will I, but challenging Denmar now is not an option. The only way to make Denmar suffer is to form an alliance with a stronger kingdom. Only then will we be able to seek vengeance.” Tristam narrowed his eyes on Gareth's face. “You're the key to making such an alliance possible."
Gareth's stomach lurched. “What you ask of me is impossible."
"Only because you choose to see it that way."
"I see it as it is.” Gareth jerked his fingers through his hair and pulled hard. “You want me to avenge Kiel's death by dishonoring his memory and taking another man to my bed?” The very thought was so obscene he could scarcely voice it. “'Twould be like killing him all over again."
"Listen to yourself, Gareth.” Tristam dropped the tankard he was holding and came to his feet. “Do you honestly believe Kiel would want you to spend the rest of your life pining after a ghost?” He lowered his voice. “You're only eight and twenty—too young to resign yourself to a life of loneliness."
"You are but six years older than I, Tristam. Don't presume to lecture me as if you were my father.” Gareth swallowed hard. “You know nothing of how I feel."
"Don't I?” Tristam came to stand directly in front of him. “Funny that you should think so, considering I felt as if my heart was being ripped from my chest the day I stood beside my dead brother's pyre and watched the flames devour his body."
Tristam's words brought Gareth a rush of shame. “I know your loss was great.” He closed his eyes. “I meant not to diminish it."
"I know how you ache for Kiel, but I also knew my brother.” Tristam put one hand on Gareth's shoulder. “Kiel would have wanted you to find love again. Two years have passed since his death. You must let him go."
Gareth opened his eyes and pushed Tristam's hand away. “How can I move forward knowing Denmar is getting away with murder?"
"You can't, and neither can I.” Tristam's voice took on an edge of iron. “For that reason, I ask you again: will you accept Kray's suit and join his house with mine so that together we may seek justice for Kiel?"
Gareth wanted to shout a denial until his lungs burned and his throat ached, but not even the stomach-churning notion of taking another man to his bed could override the grim truth: marryi
ng Alric of Kray could well be Gareth's only chance to make Denmar atone for his sins.
He turned back to Tristam, his eyes burning bright with the need for justice. “Swear to me, if I do this thing, you'll not rest until Kiel has been avenged."
Tristam didn't hesitate. “I swear it on my life."
Gareth gave a single, tight nod. “Send word to Kray that I will accept his son.” When Tristam agreed, Gareth headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
Gareth paused with his hand on the latch. “To Lachlan. If there's nothing I can do to get ‘round this farce of a marriage, at least I can spend my last days of freedom in the home Kiel and I shared.” He pulled the door open. “Send word of the arrangements as soon as they're made."
"I will."
Gareth left before Tristam could say anything else. As soon as he was back in the hall, he sought the privacy of a quiet corner and emptied the contents of his stomach.
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A fortnight after his meeting with Tristam, Gareth stood on the battlements of Lachlan Keep, looking down at the lush green of the surrounding countryside. Coming up here usually provided him a measure of peace, but not today. Soon word would come announcing the details of the shameless marriage he was being forced into.
Uneven footsteps sounded on the stone roof behind him. Gareth turned to see Marcus, Lachlan's steward, standing near the hatch.
Marcus bowed low. “Forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but you have a visitor."
"The messenger from Drystan?"
"No, my lord.” Marcus's voice was hoarse and anxious. “'Tis Lord Holden of Stiles."
Holden? The man hadn't stepped foot inside Lachlan Keep since they'd ended their engagement six years ago. Gareth preferred to keep it that way.
"What does he want?"
"He wouldn't tell me,” Marcus said. “Shall I ask him to leave?"
"I'll deal with Holden myself.” Gareth gritted his teeth and made for the hatch.
When Gareth entered the great hall moments later, Holden was standing near the fire. He wore a ruby tunic and matching hose, with black boots polished to a high shine. His hair, long the last time Gareth had seen him, had been cut to fashionable length and now curled in all its sable glory at the nape of his neck.