by Lynn Lorenz
Jackson swallowed, then stepped to the bed. Dropping to one knee, he took his father’s hand and held it to his lips.
“Withers, this is my eldest son, Jackson, the Marquess of Baymore.”
»»•««
Hugh slid shut the small spy hole in the wall between his father’s room and the one he stood in, and leaned against it. His body shook with fury. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it to listen to his father’s scheming, and he’d heard enough to know that if he didn’t take action right now against this usurper, he’d lose his title and all its privilege and power.
Hugh swore under his breath. This was a turn of events he hadn’t foreseen. His father must have dallied prior to his marriage and begot some bastard. Now this stranger and his father sought to rob him of his birthright.
Jackson’s death was demanded, no doubt.
But the question was how and when.
The moment he’d laid eyes on Jackson, he’d thought of him stretched out in the dungeon cell, helpless and at his mercy, and of the hours of pleasure to be had. Even if he was his half-brother, there was no reason for that plan to change. In fact, it would make the work sweeter, to bring low the fool who’d sought to climb to the heights on Hugh’s back.
In the end, Jackson would die.
The timing of his father’s death would just have to be moved forward. Hugh could no longer be content to wait for the old man to die. He’d have to take matters into his own hands and hasten the process. No one would keep him from protecting what was his by birthright.
“Jon, attend me.” Hugh’s gaze focused on the naked young man who waited for him on the bed. Hugh’s latest toy, barely out of his youth, had soft, delicate features, pale blue eyes, and hair so blond it was almost white.
Jon threw himself out of the bed and came to stand by his side. Looking up into Hugh’s dark eyes, he asked, “Aye, my lord?”
Hugh thought him the most delicious creature he’d had of late and reached out to stroke his soft hair. “Wait for me here. I have to take care of certain matters.”
“Aye, my lord.” Jon nodded and accepted the rough kiss Hugh gave him on his upturned lips.
Hugh strode to the door and opened it. The guards at the next door turned to him and gave him a nod. He gave them a sign to stay put, then ducked back inside and shut the door. His blade would work for Withers, but he wanted Jackson alive. The big man carried more weapons than the two guards combined and he didn’t doubt who the winner in that skirmish would be. Trying to overpower him would be a miscalculation and Hugh knew it.
“I need a weapon,” Hugh muttered.
Jon retreated to the bed and climbed into the middle of it.
Hugh scanned the room. It was bare —just a bed, a table, and a trunk. Striding to the trunk, he threw open the lid. A collection of tools, books, and crockery lay piled together. He sorted through them. Spotting a mallet, he pushed the other things to the side and claimed it.
“This will do, Jon.” He held up a carpenter’s mallet for driving wooden pegs, probably left there after some repair had been made in the room.
Clutching the mallet in his hand, he went back to the door and cracked it open.
»»•««
Sitting at the table, Will poured over the pages of the journal and bit his lip. Wallace’s scratchings weren’t any better than his sums. He should have paid more attention to their old tutor than to his sword skills, but learning didn’t impress girls. Since Will had no want of girls, he’d stayed awake during their classes and studied hard.
If these numbers were right, it would be a hard winter. Will sorted through the loose pieces of parchment and placed them in order.
An entire month’s receipts were missing.
He sat back, rubbed his eyes, and sighed. He’d have to search through his father’s desk to find them. Turning, he looked at it, overflowing with sheaves of papers, stacks of ledgers, and one old yellow cat, eyes closed. Will groaned.
“Well, Puss, what do you know of this mess?” He stood and picked up the cat. She gave a mournful meow as she dangled from his hands. He dropped her on the floor, picked up the papers she’d laid upon, and brought them to his table. The feline stalked off, tail held high, to disappear around the edge of the door.
If he’d thought he’d get back to bed early this evening, he was mistaken. He had days of work ahead of him. He began the task of placing the papers in an orderly stack.
His stomach rumbled. Perhaps a small bit of bread and a cup of lager would sustain him. He called for a servant and placed his request. The old woman gave him a gap toothed smile and hurried off. He was sure she’d report to Lady Ellen before retrieving his meal and if Ellen had anything to do with it, she’d take this opportunity to stuff him full of meat and potatoes, when all he wanted was to gnaw upon a heel of bread.
Will turned back to the paperwork. It would be a long night, but at least his mind would be occupied and he wouldn’t spend it with Jackson’s face looming in his sleep deprived mind.
With luck, all he’d see tonight were huge columns of numbers that didn’t add up, marching to surround him.
»»•««
Withers dropped into a chair and ran his hand over his face. “My Lord Duke, does Lord Hugh know of his brother?”
“Of course not. If he did, Jackson wouldn’t have made it in here alive.” Baymore pulled his hand from Jackson’s grip. “Rise, son.”
Jackson stood as Baymore’s gaze tracked him. “By God, you’ve grown into a big man. Let’s just hope your wits are as sharp as your body is large.”
“Is it true? Is Hugh poisoning you?”
Baymore laughed, then sobered. “Where did you hear that? No, my physicians tell me that my heart fails me. It’s not poison.”
Jackson opened his mouth to speak, but Baymore waved him off. “We’ve been quite careful, haven’t we, Withers?”
“Aye, Your Grace.” Withers gave him a small smile. “Lord Hugh’s disappointment grows each morn his father lives.”
“Perhaps now, Hugh will not be so glad to see me gone. Withers, fetch that paper and read it.” He motioned to a table next to the bed.
Withers picked up a folded parchment, opened it, and scanned the page. “Your Grace, this gives Lord Jackson everything —all your lands, the castle, the income from the tenants.” He read on. “Nothing for Lord Hugh.”
“Nothing?” Jackson frowned.
“He’s had benefit of everything I’ve had for thirty-five years, and squandered every bit of it. I have looked the other way for too long. His behavior shames and dishonors me and now, at the end of my time, I must remedy my mistakes.”
Jackson didn’t want to ask, but had to know. “Father…” The words sounded so strange coming from his mouth. “Father, what behavior are you speaking of?”
“His abuse of power, his preying on those weaker than himself, the emptying of my coffers, and his debauched ways.”
“Debauched?” If his father knew he shared his brother’s predicament, would he see him as just as much a disappointment as Hugh?
Baymore looked at Jackson, then cast his gaze to Withers. “Withers, leave me. I must speak with my son in frank honesty, and I fear it’s not for your ears.”
Withers laid the paper on the table, bowed, and left the room.
“Sit, Jackson.” Baymore motioned to a chair and Jackson sat. “Your brother” —he cleared his throat —“has many faults. The worst of which is cruelty. The least of which is his taste in lovers.”
“Your Grace?” Jackson knew he’d have to stand before the man whose pride he most wanted and confess his own damning sins.
“He won’t touch a woman, refuses to provide an heir. He prefers boys.” The disgust was evident in the twist of Baymore’s lips. Jackson could pretend to be what he wasn’t, take the title and lands, and deceive his father, but there was no honor in that. If ever he’d run from admitting his inclinations, now was the time to stand firm and own up to them.
“Before you go further in your condemnation of Hugh, hear me out. After what I have to confess, you may want that paper back.” He pointed to the table, then looked into Baymore’s surprised face. “I am no better than Hugh. Although I have bedded many whores and wenches, I too, prefer men.”
Jackson waited. Baymore’s face suffused with red, his lips set in a thin line, then his breath exploded, “I am damned! Both sons? Tell me it’s not true. Tell me that you don’t fuck boys? Or rape them? Or beat them until they barely live?” His hands made tight fists.
“No, sire!” Jackson rose to his feet. “I’ve never forced myself on anyone, man or woman, and I have never been with boys, but men of my own age. And for all my size, strength, and rough looks, I have been told I am a most gentle man.” Jackson thought of Will’s words. God, he missed Will and wanted him near. What a fool he’d been to come here.
“It seems I am less a man than I thought to have fathered two such sons.” Baymore gave a rueful laugh. He lay back against the pillows and sighed.
“If you wish to tear up that paper, do so. I came here with nothing and I can leave with the same.” Jackson walked to the door. “Just to have heard you call me son once was enough.”
As Baymore twisted the sheets in his hands, Jackson could see his father’s torment at his predicament. Then, as if the very air had been sucked from his chest, Baymore slumped against the pillows.
“Jackson. Wait.” Baymore held out a trembling hand. “Years ago, I did much wrong by you and your mother. Did she tell you I visited her before she died?”
Jackson shook his head. “No, I never saw her before she died. I was at battle and learned of her death months later.”
“She sent for me. There was no reason not to attend her, and many to go. On her deathbed, she made me swear to acknowledge you before I died, and now, on my own deathbed, I will keep that promise.
“That you would walk away from me with nothing more than you came with says much about your honor, integrity, and character. I’ve watched you, Jackson, followed your movements these long years. I know that you are a mercenary, have heard of your reputation as a skilled fighter and leader of men, and of your honor. As a son, I could ask for no more.”
“Ask what you will of me, Father, I will do what I can,” Jackson answered.
“I only ask that whatever your base inclinations be, don’t bring shame to the house of Baymore, as Hugh has done. I ask for discretion in your affairs, for the sake of our good name.” He fell back against the pillows, winded.
“I have lived my entire life under the banner of discretion, Father. My reputation and honor mean much to me, as you must know. I would never seek to shame Baymore.”
“I can ask no more. Except, perhaps, for an heir. Will Baymore’s line end with you?”
Jackson sat in the chair and ran a hand through his hair. His father asked something he’d never before thought he’d do. It meant taking a wife, having a child. It meant being without Will. He looked into the old man’s eyes and shook his head.
“Before I came here, I was ready to abandon my love, just for your acknowledgment. My pride forced me to deny him, thinking I wasn’t his equal. I sought you out in hopes of elevating myself to his rank, although he swore it mattered not to him.”
Baymore frowned and looked away.
“I love him. I can’t do what you ask—take a wife—not without his consent. Besides, what woman would agree to that?” He shook his head and stood. “So, I will return to him, no better than I left him. For both of us, it must be enough.” Jackson’s hand reached for the handle of the door.
“Jackson. I won’t destroy the paper. You are my eldest and best son, even though I had little to do with how you turned out. I had Hugh in my care, and look how he is twisted. My fault.” He sighed. With a weak wave of his hand he said, “Everything is yours. Hugh is left with nothing.” Baymore’s paleness grew, the circles around his eyes darkened. “Still, you are a better man for all your faults than Hugh will ever be. If you can find a way to give Baymore an heir, that would be well. If not, then leave Baymore to someone you know will uphold its name and honor.”
Jackson gave him a low bow. “I will do what I can, Father.”
Baymore held out his hand and Jackson strode forward to take it. “I may not look upon your face again, Jackson. If I don’t, know you are my son.” The duke’s dark eyes teared.
“Those words mean much to me, Father.”
“It’s more than Hugh will ever hear. Be wary of Hugh. He’s a dangerous man and I question his reason.” He fell back, releasing Jackson. “Listen to Withers. He can help you take Baymore from Hugh, but you must work fast, before Hugh suspects.”
“I understand.” Jackson nodded. He left the room, wondering if he’d ever see his father again.
Withers leaned against the wall, waiting for him. The guards straightened.
“Walk with me, Lord Jackson.” Withers crooked his finger at him and headed down the corridor. “We must move quickly.”
Chapter Ten
Opening the door, Hugh slipped into the hall behind the two men as they passed. He raised the wooden mallet with both hands and swung, catching Jackson on the left side of his head. Without a sound, the big man dropped to his knees, then collapsed to the floor.
Withers stumbled back against the wall and cried out. Hugh advanced on him, and swung the mallet again, striking the old man in the chest with a deep thud. His eyes rolled back in his head as he slid to the floor in a crumbled heap, blood leaking from his lips.
“Take him,” Hugh said as he pointed at Jackson, “to the cellar and put him in the cell. Come back for this one after you’re done.”
The two guards who had stood at Baymore’s door stepped around Jackson’s body, linked their arms under his, and dragged him down the hall. Jackson’s boots thumped on each stair as they descended. Giving Withers little notice, Hugh went to Baymore’s door.
Jon peered out through the crack of the door, still registering the events in the hall. Blue eyes wide, he’d watched his lover swing the mallet and strike the castle’s warder. He’d heard the elder man’s chest cave, the gurgle of blood in his throat, saw his eyes roll white as he’d dropped to the floor.
Jon’s last meal rose in his throat. Shutting the door, he turned away and forced the bile back down. He’d never seen a man killed before. The warder had been nothing but kind to him, even when he knew what Jon was. He hadn’t deserved such a death. Hugh had gone too far and had to be stopped, but as Jon watched the guards drag off the man who’d visited the duke, it seemed to him there was no one to turn to for help.
He’d been plucked from the streets of the village by Hugh and brought to this fine castle. For once in his short life, he’d been filled with hope. Jon knew if he’d stayed in the village, eventually he’d be killed. Now what had once looked like a sanctuary to him had become a prison from which there was no escape.
Jon pulled on his loose pants and opened the door. He caught a glimpse of Hugh as he slipped into his father’s room.
At the sound of the door closing, Baymore opened his eyes and turned his head. Hugh watched his dark eyes widen, caught the flicker of fear in them.
“How are you feeling, Father?” He walked to the bed and sat on the edge.
“I was sleeping,” the old man grumbled.
“Well, I won’t take long, I promise you.” Hugh gave him a smile. Placing one arm on the other side of his father’s body, he leaned over. “Not long at all, Your Grace.”
Baymore seemed to shrink against the bed as if he wanted to come out the underneath side of the thick mattress he rested upon.
Hugh leaned closer, his lips just touching his father’s forehead. “Did you really think you could keep my brother a secret from me?” he hissed between clenched teeth.
“Your brother?” Baymore’s voice trembled. “What are you talking about?”
“The guards are gone. I dismissed them. Now, Father, don’t play the idiot with me. Your
game is over. Withers is dead. Jackson is in my control. When I finish with him, he’ll beg for death. It’s a pity. He’s a most interesting man, I must admit.” He sighed. “Despite your pathetic efforts, I will be duke and rule Baymore.”
Shaking as if his very bones would come loose, Jon looked out at Withers and stepped into the hall. His eyes filled with tears as he kneeled next to the warder and heard a soft rasp of breath. Withers still lived.
“Sire, I’m so sorry,” Jon whispered.
Withers opened his eyes, gasped, and took the young man’s hand. “If you believe in God, hear me. In His Grace’s room,” he said haltingly. “There is a paper. Find it and hide it. Use it when you can.” His hand squeezed Jon’s for a moment, then the breath rattled in his crushed chest, and his eyes closed.
Jon glanced back down the hall. He hurried back to his room to wait for Hugh. Sitting on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chin, he thought of what he should do. Safest was to keep silent, forget what Withers had said, and go on as he had been. Or he could find the paper and risk death at Hugh’s hands. He’d lived the last six months of his life a subject of Hugh’s uncertain whim. Perhaps a certain death would be better.
Jon got out of bed, crept to the spy hole, and slid it open.
Hugh’s father closed his eyes and sighed, “You are a great disappointment to me, Hugh. It’s a waste, what you’ve done to your life and a shame what you’ve done to our name.”
The words meant nothing to him. He’d heard them many times before. If they were meant to shame him, he’d lost that ability years ago. Hugh almost laughed at his father’s weak attempt.
“Well, you don’t have to fret about that anymore.” His hand slid to the pillow on the other side of the bed, picked it up. With a sneer, he placed it over his father’s face. How he’d longed to do this, feel the old man’s life leave his worn out body.
Hugh pressed down, both hands clutching the pillow, arms rigid.
Baymore struggled, arms weakly flailing, heels kicking a soft beat on the bed. Hugh leaned harder. The flailing grew less—legs fluttered until the old man lay still.