by Lynn Lorenz
“I promise it will be fast and hard.” Will raked his teeth over the edge of his tip sending sparks flying behind Jackson’s eyelids as his lover’s talented hand flew up and down on his shaft. Jackson pumped his hips in rapid time with the strokes.
“It’s coming,” Jackson cried. “Oh, Will,” he moaned. “Damn, make me shoot!” His back arched in a final thrust and the building pressure exploded up through his cock, his cream erupting. Roaring, he raised his head to watch as the thick ribbon of white seed spurted into the air. With a quick dip of Will’s head, the swollen tip disappeared into his mouth, and with strong, steady swallows, Will milked Jackson’s cream from him, still pumping his shaft.
With a final shudder, Jackson fell back, spent and emptied. Will released the softening cock from his mouth’s grasp and left it with a tender kiss. On all fours, he crawled up his lover’s body and collapsed across his chest to be cradled in Jackson’s strong arms.
“My lord, you finish me.” Jackson ran his hand through Will’s hair, then pulled it back from his face for a kiss. Mouths open, tongues touching, they delved into each other, tasting and enjoying.
“I would finish you every night, Jackson, if you’d let me.” Will’s beautiful blue eyes looked deep into his. Hope burned in them.
Jackson swallowed. Will wanted more than he could give right now. Without his father’s name, he had nothing to offer. Dragging Will down to his low level was unfair and dishonorable. After he’d seen his father, and if Will still wanted him, then he could return. Knowing what he had to do, he looked toward the door. “We have to leave tomorrow, or we’ll be snowed in.” His voice was flat and hard. “You’ll be home soon and I can be on my way to Baymore.”
Will slid off him to lie at his side. Jackson had thrown up a wall between them to keep Will out. This was all there would be, Will realized—there would be no love, no life with this man. How could he have been so foolish to think this would be any different from all of the other times? Staring into the fire, he knew without doubt that Jackson would take him home and then leave.
“You should have left me in that damned field, Jackson.” His jaw set and his brows furrowed as he got to his feet, climbed back onto the cot, and wrapped the blanket around him.
“Will, I never promised you…” Jackson began.
“No, you didn’t. I can’t fault you for that. The feeling, it appears, was all on my side, just some misguided emotion caused by my weakened state. Have no fear. It will fade with the miles before I reach home.” Will rolled to face the wall, silent and cold.
Jackson turned toward the fire. He’d hurt Will, but it was the only way. Damn. The words he couldn’t speak turned to ash in his throat. He pulled his cloak tight around his naked body and watched the logs until they became mere embers. He longed to pull Will into his arms and tell him of his love. Instead, he fought that foolish notion.
He might be a bastard with no name, but he was still a man of honor.
Jackson rose, dressed, and added more wood to the fire, then slipped out the door.
At the sounds of Jackson’s boots crossing the floor and the closing of the door, Will railed at himself. He had only his fool self to blame for his heartache. Jackson didn’t want him, perhaps even pitied him. Will had said too much, assumed too much, and now paid the price for that foolishness.
Love was not meant for him. This unnatural hunger for a man had damned him—he was sure of it. He had nothing left. When he returned to his keep, what would he tell his father and brother? That he’d been caught fucking a man, robbed, beaten, and strung up to pay for his crime? That he’d fallen in love with the man who’d rescued him? Or that he’d been rejected by that man?
No matter what he said, it left him in the same place. Alone.
Could he have been so wrong about what he’d seen in Jackson’s eyes, in the tenderness of his touch, in the strength of his arms? His own eagerness and need had placed too much meaning on Jackson’s actions.
Will would require both strength of body and mind for what was to come. It would be a rough ride down the mountain and a longer ride home. For Will, every mile of it would unbearable. Like the beating that he’d taken in the alley and the hours he’d spent in that damn field on his toes, he’d have to endure to survive.
Only this time, there would be no one to rescue his body or his heart.
»»•««
Jackson entered the hut, gathered Will’s clothes, and brought them to him.
“Here, my lord. Get dressed. We need to leave today. I don’t think the weather will hold.”
Without a word, Will rolled over, sat up, and took his clothes. He pulled on his breeches and the shirt, then sat back down on the cot.
“I brought cheese and bread. Let’s fill our stomachs and then I’ll prepare the horses.”
Jackson tore the loaf in two, cut a large wedge of cheese, sat on the cot next to Will, and passed him the food. The two men ate—the silence between them as thick as the stone walls of the hut.
What could he say? Tell Will he was a bastard son of a duke? Mercenary was low enough. Jackson didn’t trust himself even to begin to explain how he felt, much less to touch Will. That would surely break Jackson’s resolve. Even sitting so close to Will was torture.
He finished and stood. “I’ll be back.”
Without looking at Will, he left to saddle the horses.
Will sat back against the stone wall of the hut and stared into the fire. This was the end. They would leave the mountain, and in a few days he’d never see Jackson again. Closing his eyes, he fought against the despair that threatened to overpower him and plunge him back into darkness.
»»•««
Mason scrambled up the rocky path. The hut above had been used by herders in the valley for generations. He’d climbed this mountain as a lad, taking his family’s goats to the higher levels. The last time he’d been there, he’d been no more than ten and six.
Looking up, he could see the smoke more clearly. Almost there. Another hard climb and he boosted his body over the last edge. He sat and caught his breath, then felt the stolen knife in its scabbard on his belt. It would be justice for that raping bastard at last, to be killed by his own knife.
He crept to a boulder and peered around it. The stone hut sat down the track, snugged against the side of the mountain. The door opened. Mason ducked down, then edged up to peer over the rock. The big stranger stepped out and strode to the back of the hut. Probably to the pen behind the hut. Now was Mason’s chance. With his protector gone, that would leave the sodomite alone, and in his state, he shouldn’t be much trouble. Just slip in, cut his throat, and then out before the man returned.
Mason pulled the knife from its sheath and crept forward.
Jackson pulled his cloak around him and worked with the horses. He brushed them down with some straw, working their coats clean of the dust and dirt. If he took his time with the animals, perhaps when he returned Will would have cooled down. Will’s silence was killing him. He would have preferred angry words or curses. As strong as he was, he’d been too weak to resist Will, and he deserved that and worse for misleading him. The man had been vulnerable and Jackson had known it.
Where was Jackson’s honor now?
He swung the saddle over the back of his horse and adjusted it. He wasn’t looking forward to taking Will home. Who waited for Will and what tale would Will tell once they arrived? Would they treat Will badly—beat him, throw him out? That thought angered Jackson, and he gave the girth a hard jerk. If that happened, he’d take Will wherever he wanted to go in payment for causing him so much pain.
Will heard the door open but didn’t open his eyes. Seeing, even speaking to Jackson was too painful. He just wanted to be gone and be done with it. Dragging it out wouldn’t make the parting any easier.
Careful steps advanced into the room.
Warning pricked Will’s mind. Those were not Jackson’s boots on the wood floor.
Will opened his eyes as the ma
n from his nightmare lunged toward him, knife in hand. With a shout, Will threw the blanket at the man, hitting his face, and rolled off the cot. His knees cracked against the floor shooting sparks of pain behind his eyelids.
The man struggled with the blanket. Will took his chance, threw his shoulder into the man’s legs, knocking him down, then rolled on top of him, using the blanket to contain his arms and the knife. Pressing his attacker to the floor, he grappled with his flailing arm for possession of the dagger. Taking hold of the man’s wrist, Will squeezed hard to make him drop it, fingers digging into flesh, eyes focused on the blade. God’s tears, it was his own knife, given to him by his father.
The man fought clear of the blanket. A fist flew from the side, striking Will in the jaw, knocking him off. Will lost his grip on the knife hand and his attacker flung himself on top of Will. The quick flash of the blade rose and descended toward Will’s face.
Will rolled to the side. The blade narrowly missed his ear as it was driven into the floorboards.
Straddling him, his attacker hissed a curse as he wrestled with Will to control his arms. The older man pressed his knees into Will’s chest as they struggled. Just healed ribs flexed, and agony shot through him, stealing his breath and filling his eyes with tears.
Will, gasping for breath, looked up into aged eyes shooting anger and fear as if they were arrows. Unmistakable hatred. Bloodlust. The same blind rage Will faced that dark night in the alley behind the tavern as the old man’s boots kicked in Will’s ribs.
What was left of Will’s strength ebbed. His muscles vibrated with the strain of the struggle. Hands locked as each fought to reach the still quivering knife embedded in the floor just inches away.
This time, Will would die fighting.
Chapter Five
Jackson opened the door and slipped inside.
“No!” he roared as he drew his short sword and advanced.
Running the man through wasn’t possible without killing Will. Jackson encircled the man’s neck with a large hand, pulled him off, and shook him like a dog shakes a rat. With no more than a curse and a toss of Jackson’s hand, the man flew across the room, hit the wall with a thud, and slid down it with a moan.
Will rolled onto his side, gasping for breath, cradling his ribs.
“I know you!” Jackson, eyes narrowed, advanced with his sword pointed at the intruder, prepared to kill him.
“Hold!” Will cried as he struggled to his knees. “He’s the father of the boy who accused me.” Will pulled the knife from the floor, braced himself against the cot, and got to his feet. “Seems he wants me dead. Again.” He glared at the man. “I’m afraid I’ve proved very hard to kill, thanks to you, Jackson. That’s twice I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing, my lord.” Jackson shook his head. “We must leave right away. If he knows where we are, perhaps the others know as well. The horses are ready—we need only tie the man up and go.”
Will looked at the old man on the floor, eyes darting back and forth between the two men towering over him. “I don’t think so. You came alone, didn’t you?”
“Aye.” The older man nodded. His gaze met Will’s and then danced away.
“Get up.” Will motioned with the knife. “What’s your name, father of Raf?”
“Mason.” He stood and leaned back against the wall.
Will stepped forward and held the blade to Mason’s throat. “Where are my sword and my ring?” No use asking for his purse, the money would have been long spent.
The man trembled and licked his lips. “I have them. They are safely hidden.”
“Then for now you live. Jackson, bind his hands. We’re taking him with us.”
Jackson sheathed his sword, then disappeared outside and returned with a strap of leather. He bound the man’s hands in front of him, then pushed him down on the cot.
“Now what?” He looked at Will, who had taken charge, giving Jackson a glimpse of the man he really was —a nobleman used to giving orders.
“We go down the mountain, retrieve my belongings, and if I so choose it, he and his family live.” Will’s eyes burned. “Then, we’ll be on our way.”
Taking lives was not done lightly. Killing in battle and protecting others from harm were reasons to kill. “I may be a mercenary, but I don’t kill for the sake of killing.”
“I won’t ask you to.” Will removed his stolen belt and scabbard from their captive and strapped it on, then sheathed the knife. “If it comes to that, I can do my own killing.”
“There is no honor in murder,” Jackson said, hoping his words took some fury from Will. “The desire for revenge may burn in a man’s belly, but the taste is bitter on the tongue and it seldom satisfies.”
“True enough. Even though his son accused me to save himself, I can’t fault him for it with that band of bastards roaming the town doling out their form of justice.” Will’s eyes lost some of their anger.
“You forced my son,” Mason hissed.
Will looked him in the eye. “You don’t believe that, do you?” The man’s eyes dropped. “No, your son invited me outside. He was more than willing.”
“He is a boy,” Mason argued.
“He’s a man and old enough to know what it is he wants.” Will shook his head. “Now get up. We need to leave.”
Jackson pulled the man to his feet and they went outside. He helped Will climb up onto his horse, and then swung up onto his mount. Mason would walk down the mountain. They began the treacherous scramble down to the flat farmland below.
»»•««
To Will, it seemed as if a lifetime had passed. Going down the side of the mountain proved almost as difficult as going up. His horse skidded, slipped, and balked its way down as he clung to the saddle, the reins, and his mount’s mane. His ribs throbbed, leaving him out of breath. Several times, a feeling of the world shifting and spinning came over him, but he held on until it passed.
Tethered to Jackson’s saddle, Mason scrambled down the steep slope behind them. His bound hands helped him stay upright. Had his hands been tied behind him, he surely would have fallen, but the old man’s familiarity with the mountain and almost goat like balance saved him more than once.
Jackson met the mountain with quiet determination. His sturdy horse was sure footed and better built for this than Will’s fine legged mount. The horse never shied, never refused his rider’s commands as Will’s did—but seemed to share his master’s determination to get off the mountain alive.
At last, they reached the bottom and the stream. Will said a silent prayer of thanks for being delivered off the mountain in one piece. They followed the stream. Mason splashed through the frigid water until they reached the road and then turned toward the town and his farm.
After some while, they left the road and traveled a narrow dirt track. A small cottage and barn lay in the near distance. As they approached, Raf came out of the house, then halted when he saw his father.
“Father? What is this?” Raf’s stare drifted from his father’s bound hands to the two riders. “Not you!” he cried out when he recognized Will. He began backing up, his hands out. “I had to. They would have killed me.”
“I know,” Will assured him. “We’ve come for my things.” He slid from his horse, glad to feel the earth beneath his boots. Holding onto the saddle for support, he tried not to give his weakened state away.
Raf looked at his father, who gave a nod. “I know where they were hid. Follow me.” He turned and walked toward the barn.
“Jackson, wait here with him. Make sure he doesn’t escape.” Will followed Raf.
“Will?” Jackson called him back. His gaze searched Will’s eyes. “Be careful.”
Will glanced over his shoulder at Raf. “We have unfinished business, Raf and I.”
Although Jackson’s face darkened, his lips grew thin, and his fists clenched the reins, he said nothing. Will felt Jackson’s stare burn into his back, but he gave the big man no assurances of what might or m
ight not happen in the barn.
Raf entered the barn with Will right behind him.
“Bring my sword and the ring.” Will had his knife drawn. “If you harm me, Jackson will kill you, your father, and mother.” If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that Jackson would avenge his death. Raf seemed convinced of it also, because he hurried to a small tack room and returned with the sword, scabbard, belt, and a small bundle tied in a rag.
“Put them on the table and step back.”
Raf laid them gently on the worn wooden table and retreated to a safe distance.
Will picked up his sword and fastened it to his waist. He sheathed his knife and untied the cloth. His family’s crest ring—silver with a carved blue stone, lay on the table. He slipped it onto the forefinger of his right hand and looked up at Raf.
“What did you plan to do with these?”
“Father said I could keep the sword, but that he would sell the ring.”
Raf seemed more than willing to give up his knowledge. He stepped toward Will. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” His eyes changed from fear to longing.
“I know you didn’t.” Will sighed.
“I wanted you. I’d never done it with a man, and since you were a stranger, passing through…” He tried to reach out to Will, but Will stepped back.
“You thought you’d get a taste.” Will shook his head, and Raf’s shoulders slumped.
“My father has arranged a marriage for me.” Raf’s eyes held despair at his fate.
“He’s a wise man, Raf. Do as he says.”
“What? How can you say that?” Raf’s face twisted.
“After the night I spent in your field choking on that rope, I can say that. Listen to me. This life I’ve led—ten years of searching for someone to care for—has been a string of nameless encounters—each one fraught with the chance of discovery, shame, and death. Marry, Raf. Have a family and grow old surrounded by your grandchildren.”
Raf stared at him. Will wondered if his words would make any sense to the young man, or if he’d heed them. At seventeen, Will hadn’t listened when his brother had given him the same speech.