by Lynn Lorenz
“I’ll fuck you when I want, Jackson,” Hugh hissed as he leaned over, and his words licked at Jackson like some slithering serpent.
Jackson mouthed Will’s name, as if it were a prayer or a chant to save his soul, then succumbed to merciful darkness.
Chapter Eleven
Will bolted upright. “Jackson!”
For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was. It was dark and still. Some unfamiliar room. The hut? His room at Holcombe? It rushed back to him as if borne in on a rising tide and his heart’s pounding slowed. He exhaled, his fingers letting go of the papers he’d crushed in them.
His father’s chancellery. He’d been working on the accounts until late at night. Running a hand over his face, he could feel the stubble of his beard. The last time he’d been shaved, Jackson had done it for him. Now, he’d have to do it himself. He held his hand out and noted it held steady. Pushing to his feet, he gathered the papers into stacks and closed the journals. It could wait until after he got something to eat.
Will went to the great hall and fell into a chair by the fire. Where was Jackson? Had he seen his father? Was he recognized, or had Baymore wanted something else from him? In the back of his mind, something dug at him, as if some small clawed animal burrowed deep into his skull.
“There you are,” Lady Ellen greeted him. “Are you ready for some breakfast?”
“I think I will take something this morn. Perhaps some bread and milk.” He stood and smiled at her. She waved to a servant and led Will to a place at the table. “Where’s Wallace?”
“He’s gone to the lower fields. There’s been a wolf in the fold. Three lambs are dead and a ewe badly injured. He took two men with their dogs.”
The servant returned, placed at tray in front of Will, and left.
“That’s unfortunate. We’re going to need every last one of the sheep.” Will picked up the cup of milk and tore off a piece of bread. Dipping it into the reach cream, he ate.
“It’s that bad?” Ellen’s frown marred her beauty. She ran a hand in circles over her swollen belly.
“Perhaps I’m being too dramatic.” He didn’t want to upset her. “Are you feeling well?”
“Just the babe. He kicks.” She laughed.
“Is it true you can feel it moving?” He looked at her stomach.
“True enough. Here, feel for yourself. He’s very busy this morn.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. Under his palm, there was movement.
“Great God, Ellen!” He bent closer, his hand still rested on her. “There he goes again.” It was a miracle, this making life. “Does Wallace know about this?”
Her laughter did ring like silver bells. “Wallace spends most of his time with his hand and ear pressed to my belly. It’s most distracting.”
Will took his hand away. “Can he hear anything? Crying?”
“No, there’s no sound. But he swears he hears the heartbeat sometimes.” She rubbed herself and then rested her arms on the table. “How are you, Will?”
“I’ll live, unfortunately.” He gave her a wry grin.
She placed her hand over his. “Jackson will return to you. I know it. You’d know it, too, if you’d let yourself.”
“I worry. Something doesn’t feel right.” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it.”
“Have no fear. In a week’s time, he’ll ride through the gates, home to you.” She stood and left him to his meal.
He finished the bread and downed the last of the milk, then stood and went back to his work.
»»•««
Jon sat in the back row of the church and watched the service. The town’s small chapel was filled with villagers eager to attend their duke’s funeral. He watched Hugh at the front of the church, dressed in mourning garb, head bowed, as if he were truly grieved at the passing of his father.
Some may have suspected, but only he knew the truth of the duke’s death. His eyes wandered to the statue of Mary and the Christ child. The priest claimed that Jesus knew all their sins. Jon hung his head in shame as their painted eyes stared down at him.
He might be damned, but there was always confession and redemption. That was what he’d been taught. At ten and two, Jon’s parents had given him to the Church, but at fifteen, he’d been found with another boy and turned out by the priests into the streets.
The priest ended the liturgy and the procession trudged back up the hill to the keep, following the cart with the duke’s coffin. Hugh walked beside the horses, leading them. His Grace was to be buried next to his long dead wife just outside the walls of the keep, in the castle’s private graveyard where the hallowed dead of Baymore rested for all eternity.
Jon hung at the rear of the crowd. As the last shovel of dirt was tossed, the villagers dispersed. A good turnout, Jon noted. Not as good as a hanging, but this was not so exciting, he supposed. He’d never been to any of those public deaths. Although, the private ones he’d just seen had probably been just as hard and brutal. If he never saw another man die, he’d be content. Pulling his cloak about him, he shivered as he followed Hugh and a few of his arms men through the gates.
If he turned and ran, would Hugh’s men chase him down? Drag him back? Hugh would know—like God—and Jon would wind up in that cell, stretched between the stakes. Looking back over his shoulder, Jon watched the gates close behind him.
»»•««
Will looked out over the fields below the keep’s walls. Another day gone and no messenger. The sun hung just above the tree line and the eastern sky dimmed.
“No sign?” Wallace asked, as he joined his brother on the rampart.
A cold wind whipped Will’s hair around his head as he leaned on the stone. “None.” The fear had grown stronger as the day had passed. Now, it was all he could do to keep from rushing to the stable, saddling his horse, and flying down that damned road to Baymore.
“He’ll come.”
“I’ve finished the books. It’s not as bad as you thought, but it’s going to be hard. We’ll make it.” Will gave his brother a half smile.
“That’s good to know. I’ll start preparing the men. If we limit rations now, and fill our stocks and stores, we should make it through.” Wallace leaned next to Will and lowered his voice. “About Jackson.”
“What about him?”
“When he returns, he’s welcome to stay forever, if you and he agree to it.”
Will didn’t tell Wallace that he feared he’d never see Jackson again, through no fault of Jackson’s. “Thank you.” Will glanced at Wallace. “You don’t mind having my lover live with me?”
“In the past, you always filled your needs away from Holcombe. Now that you are home, discretion is even more important. There is danger to you, aye, but also to Ellen and myself for harboring you. As long as you keep your love to yourselves, keep it secret, then there should be no problem.”
Will grimaced. Even if Jackson returned, could they keep their love hidden to everyone at Holcombe? He doubted it. Perhaps Holcombe was not where they should live after all. In truth, no place was safe. Well, if Jackson didn’t return, then it wouldn’t matter.
“Keep it to ourselves? Like you and Ellen?” Will raised an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” Wallace straightened.
“Why do you think I moved my room down the hall after the first week of your marriage, brother? It wasn’t for the view,” Will drawled.
“You heard us? You listened?” Wallace’s eyes widened and a flush rose in his cheeks.
“Heard you, aye. Listened, no. By the first week I couldn’t stand to hear your grunts any longer.” Will laughed. “The creaking of the bed and Ellen’s cries were too much for me.” Will’s voice rose in falsetto, “Wallace, oh God, Wallace!”
“Great God! Will, why didn’t you say something?” Wallace ran his hand over his reddening face.
“This is your keep, not mine. You have every right to make as much noise in it as you wish. Besides, once I moved the problem was solved.” W
ill shrugged.
Wallace looked out over the fields and cleared his throat. “Do you and he?”
“Make noise. Oh God…” Will laughed. “It’s just the same as a man and woman.”
“The same? How can it be? How do you…” Wallace’s voice broke into a cough.
“We make love, too, brother. We use our hands, mouths, and our rods.” Will’s gaze followed Wallace’s into the distance.
“Did you let him…”
“Fuck me? Oh, aye.” Will sighed. “I didn’t get to take him, but I’ve felt his mouth on my cock, just as you’ve felt Ellen’s mouth on yours.”
“You’re not supposed to know that,” Wallace growled. “Ellen would die of shame if she knew you knew.”
“I think between the two of you, there isn’t much you haven’t tried. You’re fortunate she’s so…adventurous.” Will’s shoulders shook with laughter as he slapped his brother on the back.
“I am. She’s a delight. I thank God every morn and eve for her.”
“I know, I’ve heard you. Every morn and eve.”
“Enough, Will, enough.” Wallace sobered. “I swear to treat Jackson as if he were… Bloody hell, Will, I don’t know what to call him. Your husband?” His face twisted as he tried to come to grips with the men’s relationship.
“I prefer companion. That’ll do as good as any other term, I suppose. And I promise to be discreet, uphold Holcombe’s honor and good name.”
Orange and red streaks colored the sky as the sun set. They climbed down from the walls and walked across the bailey.
“If you had been firstborn, Will, what would you have done?”
Will thought. “Married. Done my duty and produced an heir, I suppose.” He shrugged. Wrapping an arm around his brother’s shoulders, he said, “But it worked out just the way it was meant. You are firstborn, and you’ll give Holcombe many sons and daughters. Father will be proud of you.”
“He’s proud of you, also.”
“Only because he doesn’t know what I am. I treasure his love and respect, but I know one day it will end once he discovers the truth.”
Wallace was silent as they entered the great hall for the evening meal.
»»•««
Jackson woke. He lay curled on the cold stone floor in a corner of the cell. Pain surfaced in slow, certain waves. From his toes to his head, he ached. The flesh on his back burned, and with each small movement the blood that had dried there cracked, the welts split open and leaked.
Thirst gripped him like a band across his throat. How long had he been without water? He had no idea, but from the way his body felt and the fire in his throat, it had been days.
Hugh had at last tired of beating him and had unchained him. Since that first time, Hugh hadn’t raped him again. Small mercies from vengeful gods. The only mercy Jackson craved was death. At first, he’d wished for Will, but then realized that would place Will in the hands of that lunatic Hugh and that just wasn’t to be borne. The thought of Hugh touching Will made Jackson shake in impotent fury. There had been nothing he could do to help himself and there would be nothing he could do to protect Will.
The door opened. Jackson turned his head to see from his good eye. Two guards shuffled in. One held a bucket with a ladle. He dipped it into the bucket and held the ladle up to Jackson’s parched lips. The other stood in the door and held a crossbow pointed at Jackson as he gulped down as much water as the other would let him. After three ladleful’s, the man tossed the rest of the water at Jackson, the cool liquid sluicing over his body to rinse him. Without a word, they left and the door closed. Jackson watched the water puddle on the floor. He bent and like a dog, lapped what he could before it disappeared between the cracks in the stone floor.
Water, but no food. A man could starve in a few days, but if he had water, he could last weeks. Jackson’s eyes teared, the precious moisture wasted on his cheeks. He’d hoped that Hugh would grow bored and kill him. Jackson sat back on his heels and put his face in his hands.
No more. He prayed for an end to this hell. This was no way for a man to live, much less die. A mercenary should die with his sword in his hand on the battlefield, not like this. At least Will would never see him in this base condition, an animal, a half blind, pathetic creature.
Jackson shuddered at the false truth of this death. The only truths that would be remembered would be the most foul of lies. Will would believe Jackson had abandoned him. Will would believe Jackson had broken his oath. Will would believe Jackson had no honor. And Will would believe that Jackson hadn’t loved him.
He jerked his chin up. He’d never wept or cried out or screamed or begged, never given Hugh any satisfaction. It had become a matter of honor and pride for Jackson, and he clung to it like a babe to his mother’s teat. To lose them would be worse than death.
Jackson had thought he’d lost control, but realization gleamed in his eyes like faith in the eyes of pilgrims. There was one thing he still had control over.
His own life.
The next time the door opened and the guards entered, blind or not, he’d fight. Better to die like a man with an arrow through his chest than die like a broken and beaten beast.
»»•««
Will pulled on his boots, slipped a blade inside one, and stood. As he reached for his sword belt, a knock sounded on his door.
“Enter.”
Lady Ellen pushed open the door. “I bring the morning meal.” Carrying a tray, she placed it on the table and turned to him. “You’re up.”
“Aye.” He wore his best leathers and vest, a finely woven linen shirt with the crest of Holcombe embroidered on the collar, and his signet ring.
“And dressed.” Her eyebrows rose.
“Aye,” he said, as he tugged tight the belt. Going to a trunk, he threw it open, and pulled out a burgundy bundle. He shook it out, revealing a long velvet cloak.
“Will, aren’t those your finest things?” Ellen asked as she scanned him, her fists on her broad hips.
“Aye.” He wrapped the cloak over his shoulders with a flourish and pinned it closed with an enamel and gold broach.
“Stop saying aye and tell me what’s going on,” she fussed.
Will went to the table, took a slice of cheese, and looked down at her as he popped it into his mouth. “I’m going to Baymore.”
“After Jackson? Too impatient to wait for his messenger?”
“No. I can’t describe it, but something is wrong. I’ve had a building sense of dread these last few days. Last night I dreamed I was terribly late, only I couldn’t remember for what.” He shook his head. “I know it sounds odd, but Jackson needs me. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Then you must go to him. How can I help?” She came to him and touched his cheek.
“Can you braid my hair?” Will grinned. “I prefer it back when I know I’m going into a fight. It gets in the way.”
“A fight? Are you sure?” She bit her lip.
“If I know Hugh, it will come down to a battle between him and me. What form that struggle will take I don’t know, but I must be prepared.”
“All right.” She took a single tress of his long hair in her hand. “Here, sit at the table and eat while I work.”
Will sat. “My brush and comb are on the table.” As he ate, her nimble fingers pulled the hair back from the sides of his head and braided it down his back.
“That will do fine, thank you,” he said as she tied it off with a black velvet ribbon.
“What’s going on?” Wallace leaned in the doorway.
“I’m going to Baymore. Jackson needs me.” Will stood and faced him.
“Will.” Wallace shook his head. “How do you know?”
“I just do. I can feel him, brother. Somehow. He’s in terrible trouble.” Will looked into his brother’s face, a silent plea for understanding.
Wallace exhaled. “Then go. Either you’re right and can be of assistance, or you’re wrong and will look a fool. Do you want to take some men?�
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“No, I don’t think our men, no matter how loyal they may be, would follow me to Baymore to rescue my male lover. They would be more likely to kill me along the way.” Will gave him a wry smile. “I must go alone.”
Wallace and Ellen exchanged worried looks and followed Will down the stairs, through the hall, and out the door to the bailey. His horse stood waiting, a groom holding its bridle.
Will swung up into the saddle then clasped his brother’s offered hand. “I pray I’m wrong, Wallace. If I am, I’ll return shortly. If I’m not…promise me you won’t go to Baymore if I don’t return. Leave it alone. Don’t let Baymore take any more from us.”
“I will avenge you,” Wallace swore.
“No, you won’t. You have Ellen and your child to think of—Father and our lands. You don’t know Hugh—he’s capable of anything, and I don’t mean to embroil you in a war. Swear to me.” Will, eyes intense, lips in a tight line, squeezed his brother’s hand.
Ellen stood next to Wallace and placed a hand on his arm. “Do it, Wallace.”
Gritting his teeth, Wallace gave in. “I swear it.” He released Will’s hand.
“Thank you.” With that guilt off his mind, Will gathered the reins, kicked his heels, and his horse bolted through the gates.
Chapter Twelve
Will rode to Baymore as if hell’s demons chased him. The desperate need to find Jackson before it was too late spurred him on. Whenever he rested his horse, he thought about his strategy. How he would approach the duke, what he would say to Jackson, and how he would act with Hugh. It kept him from going insane or driving his horse until it dropped beneath him.
In Will’s estimation, Hugh was the biggest barrier to the success of his mission. If anyone stood between him and Jackson, it would be Hugh. And Hugh had to be handled with utmost care. A false move or a misstep, and all would be lost.
Will refused to think that he would arrive and find Jackson dead.
At the town of Baymore, Will made his way through the high street toward the castle. It seemed a more prosperous place than he remembered and had grown larger than Holcombe, but Will noted with pride that it was not as well placed. There was no scenic river running nearby, as his home had, and the fields on the sides of the road weren’t as large or its crops as plentiful.