by Lynn Lorenz
He giggled and dozens of eyes fell on him. Liam clapped his hands over his mouth, his eyes scrunched, and he tried to make himself as small as possible.
“You! Lad!” The man pointed to him. “Come with me. The master of arms will see you now that you’re awake.”
Liam jumped up, making sure to be quick and not tarry. He didn’t want to be beaten first thing. He had to do everything right. So much depended on it. He followed the man across the bailey to the keep itself. As his gaze swept the large courtyard, he took in the guards on the walls, the servants scurrying to and fro, and the large carved wooden doors they approached.
Baymore. Perhaps he’d see the duke himself.
Liam held his breath as he stepped across the threshold, said a quick prayer, and was brought to a man sitting at one of the long tables, breaking his fast. When the man looked up as Liam neared, Liam recognized him as the man he’d spoken to when he’d arrived. He struggled to remember the man’s name. It wouldn’t do not to have it ready.
“Master Marcus.” Liam bowed.
∙•∙
“Young Liam, is it?” Marcus looked the boy up and down. Although his face was still smudged, his clothes were fresh. “You’re looking cleaner this morn.”
“Aye. I changed.” Liam stood at attention as if he were on guard duty.
“Well and good. Now, what brings you to Baymore?” The lad had come to Baymore, not the town, so there must be some particular reason, and Marcus meant to know it.
“Is the duke here?” Liam looked around the hall.
“No. He’s away on business and won’t be back for another sennight.” Marcus frowned. “Do you wish an audience with him?” Now, what business could such a young lad have with the duke of Baymore? Where had he traveled from and why was he covered in soot?
“Aye. But I will wait for him, master.” Liam bobbed his head. His gaze lingered on the bowl of porridge that sat in front of Marcus.
“Indeed. Join me, lad.” Marcus motioned to a servant to bring another bowl. “Sit here and tell me your story.” Perhaps food would loosen the lad’s tongue.
Liam’s sigh and his stomach’s rumble were answers enough as he slid onto a chair at the table. “Thank you, master.”
Marcus folded his arms on the table and sat waiting. “And?”
Liam swallowed. “I am Liam. From Barley Fields. Do you know it?” His brows rose.
“Aye, I’ve passed through. It lies on the very edge of Baymore’s holdings.”
Liam nodded. “I can work for my keep, master.”
He still hadn’t given Marcus any information about how and why he’d come to the keep. “Can you? What skills do you have, young sir?”
“I can work the fields, or in the stables. I have some experience with chickens, sir.” The servant brought his porridge and Liam fell on it as a dog on a scrap of meat. There was scarcely a break between the spoon’s scrape on the bowl and its finish in the boy’s mouth.
Marcus waited until the lad had eaten his meal. There would be time enough for learning more. He observed the boy, whose sharp dark eyes never rested on anything, but flitted from one thing to the next, taking it all in. His black hair was thick and to his shoulders, and all in all, there was something familiar about the child.
“Perhaps you could help in the barracks. I need someone to keep the place clean, swept, and the men’s boots polished. The fire needs to be fed, banked, and ashes gathered.” He tapped his finger to his chin. “Do you think you can handle that?”
“Aye, sir!” Liam’s eyes shone. “You’ll see, master.”
“I will indeed. If you do not work hard, I’ll have to send you on your way,” Marcus warned.
“No sir. I’ll work hard. I swear it.”
“Good. Then off with you. The shift has changed. Gather the men’s boots to polish, get the wood for the fire, and sweep the barracks out. I’ll see how you’ve done with your work later.”
Liam stood, bowed, and grinned. “Right away, master.” Then he took off as if wolves nipped at his heels.
Marcus laughed and went back to his meal. The lad had managed to keep his story to himself. But that would change, Marcus was sure of it. He’d give the lad some time, then pose his questions again, and not allow the boy to evade answering.
Once he was satisfied, and Jackson and Will had returned, he’d bring the boy to them, and let them decide what to do with him.
»»•««
“Father, please.” Wallace paced in front of the fireplace in his father’s room.
“No. I don’t want to hear what you have to say.” Walter shook his head.
“But he’s our Will. My dearest brother. Your beloved son.”
“No longer.”
“You can’t just dismiss him. He’s never been anything but good, and loyal, and the best of us all.”
“You are my only son now. You are the best.”
“No. I won’t agree to that. No. Will is a part of me, of you, and of Holcombe. He is the best of us all, Father. No matter who he loves.”
“Sodomites don’t love. They are base, deviant creatures.”
“Who are you talking about? Not Will. Base? Never. Deviant? Never. What he does, he does from love, not some base desire.” Wallace had to control his temper, but his father’s stubborn behavior maddened him to no end.
“You believe he loves Jackson?” His father wavered.
“Aye, I do. You could not see his face, Father. How happy he is. How content in his life. He is changed.”
“Changed, indeed. For the worse.” Walter jerked his chin up. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He folded his arms across his chest and his lips thinned. Wallace knew the look, and knew that to continue to press would only push his father farther away.
“As you wish, Father. Just please, think about what I’ve said. Think about Will. You know him. We will speak again, and when we do I pray your stand has changed.” He bowed to his father and left before he said more.
Ellen waited for him in the corridor, her hands twisting in her skirts. “Well?”
Wallace shook his head. “He won’t move.”
Ellen sighed. “It will take time, Wallace, but he will come around. He adores Will.”
“That is what makes this so hard for him. And for Will.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then a soft caress with his hand. “I’ll return later.” Then he strode off down the hall and disappeared down the stairs.
Chapter Five
Will rode silently beside his lover at the front of the small band of men. They had made good time, trotting their horses down the better part of the road home. When at last they came to the lower lands, and the road turned muddy with the many small streams that crossed it they slowed their horses to a plod.
“It will be good to see Baymore again,” Jackson said. Will glanced at him and could not help a broad smile from spreading across his face. The big man had always brought him happiness, even during those dark days when they’d first met—Will had lay broken and ill on a rickety cot as Jackson tended him. At the time, Will had wanted nothing more than for Jackson to stay with him forever.
Those dreams had come true. He had Jackson. Jackson’s dreams had come true. He had Baymore and a title. Will sighed. This turn of events with his father, though bad, wasn’t as terrible as it could have been, and for that small mercy, he was grateful.
Grateful for the man who rode beside him. Will looked about him, judging where they were on their journey. Until that point, he’d ridden along, unaware of the road or their progress, just his body’s rocking in the saddle and his horse beneath him. By the countryside around them, he could tell they had crossed into Baymore lands and would be home by dark.
Grateful for Baymore’s holdings. A fine castle, several good villages, and rich, abundant fields. People who had been quick to forget Hugh and Morris’s ill treatment, and to embrace their new duke.
Will straightened in the saddle as a single determined thought made it
s home in his mind and settled there.
As long as he had Jackson, he was the most fortunate man to take breath. With Jackson’s love and steadying presence, Will had all he’d ever wished for and that was enough. As long as Jackson rode beside him, let Will stand at his right side, Will could live without his father’s good will and love.
∙•∙
“Aye. I long for the comfort of my own bed.” Will flicked his gaze to Jackson’s and smiled.
“Do you?” Jackson’s brow rose.
“Oh aye. A warm bed, a good meal. Not that I didn’t enjoy Lady Ellen’s pastries,” Will was quick to add. “But there is something about the cooking in your own home.”
“I know what you mean, my lord. For the last few miles, I have been thinking about that venison stew our cook makes. The one with the small tender onions and sweet carrots.” Jackson rubbed his belly and licked his lips. “And you? What do you crave?”
“Only one thing, Your Grace.”
“And that is?” Jackson cocked a single eyebrow.
“Your Grace,” Will drawled as he stared straight ahead.
Jackson felt the heat rise in his face, and a matching heat filled his loins. Part of him was eased by this banter from Will, but Jackson still watched his lover, wary for any signs of the dreaded melancholy that sometimes overtook him. When that happened, Will would sit for hours, silent and brooding. He would do nothing but stare at the fire burning in the hearth, or he’d stand at the top of the walls, gazing off into the distance as if waiting for something or someone who never arrived.
It was even worse those rare times when Will took to his bed and refused to rise. Will’s bouts seemed to worsen during the dark gray days of winter, when there was little to entertain them, and the ice and snow locked them inside the keep. But now, in the spring, Will’s spirits soared like a falcon on the wind, and he was glorious. Truly a creature of outstanding beauty and grace.
And Will was all Jackson’s. To have at his right side, to take in his arms and in his bed, to love as he’d never loved anyone in his life.
“Once we arrive, filling your desire will be my only task,” Jackson said under his breath so only his lover could hear.
“I will hold you to that, Your Grace.” Will gave him a nod and a quick wink.
Jackson groaned as his cock swelled in his breeches, trapped, and for now, unrelieved of its ache.
“Troubles, Your Grace?”
Will knew what he did to Jackson, and he took pleasure in it. The blond devil took delight in arousing Jackson at the worst possible times, as he had last month when Jackson had met with several of the village elders. Will had inflamed Jackson, touched him, promised Heaven with his fingers and his mouth, and then announced the men waited for him outside the door. Jackson had just had enough time to scurry behind the desk and sit, hiding the huge bulge in his leathers, before Will had opened the door and invited the villagers inside.
“No. I can wait, my lord.”
“Seems you’ll have to, Your Grace.” Will spared him a glance, then heeled his mount forward, as the group broke into a trot. The road had risen out of the lowlands and had become solid and firm beneath their horse’s hooves. Beside the road, the open marshland had retreated, and dense woods took its place.
Jackson gave his big horse a sharp kick with the heel of his boot and urged the gelding to catch up with Will’s smaller mare. Ahead of him, Will’s long golden hair danced in the wind, as if its fine silk strands reached backward to entwine Jackson.
Jackson growled in his throat. Will would regret teasing him tonight. Once they’d made Baymore, and found their rooms, Jackson would take Will. That thought merely drove Jackson’s cock to strain harder, swell bigger, and set his stones to aching. Jackson rocked in the saddle for some relief, but there was none.
Catching up to Will and the other men who flanked him, Jackson shouted, “Baymore awaits. Let’s to home.” He kicked hard, and his gelding broke into a gallop as he passed Will and the men, leaving them behind to drink his dust.
With shouts, the men charged after him, including Will. Jackson glanced over his shoulder at Will’s beaming face. He turned forward just as the tree branch hit him in the head.
Jackson sailed backward, his feet left the stirrups, and his ass abandoned the saddle. For a brief moment, he floated as if he were a leaf on the wind.
Then his backside hit the soft dirt of the road, his shoulders and head followed, and all the air in his chest exploded out in a huge rush. As he lay in the dirt, Jackson’s lungs refused to work. No air returned no matter how hard he sucked or begged God for a breath.
Just a small one would do.
After what seemed as if time had frozen, his lungs filled.
Jackson blinked and groaned. His good eye tried to focus on the face that hovered over his. An unfamiliar face. Voices shouted. Horses stomped and shook the ground Jackson lay on, each hoof’s thud echoed in his chest.
“Out of my way. Move!” Will ordered as he shoved his way through the men.
Jackson groaned. “Let Lord Holcombe through before he pulls his sword.”
Will fell to his knees and took Jackson’s hand. He looked down, worry in his eyes, his brow furrowed. “Jackson? Are you hurt?” He ran a shaking hand over Jackson’s forehead and temple, searching for injury. When he touched the spot, Jackson winced.
“See. You are hurt.” Will sounded satisfied.
“Only my pride.” Jackson pushed up to sitting and shook his head. “The stars still flash and twinkle.”
“You have the beginnings of a goose egg on your forehead. A lesser man would have been killed.”
“Or knocked senseless. And since I have so little sense in the first place, I am safe.” Jackson chuckled, then grimaced as he rubbed the spot. A lump seemed to grow beneath his fingers.
“A moment then. Water! Pass me the water skin.” Will snapped his fingers and a few moments later, he held a water skin to Jackson’s lips. “Drink your fill, Your Grace.”
Jackson downed some water, then pushed it away. “Will. I’m fine.” He climbed to his feet, brushed off his breeches, and gave his men a sharp nod. “Thank you all.”
The men gave bows and moved back to their horses. Will held the reins of his horse and stared at Jackson, his gaze searching for any sign of illness. Jackson’s mount was returned to him by one of the men. Jackson took the leads and leaned against the saddle for a moment, still trying to clear his vision.
“Are you sure?” Will moved closer, placing his hand over Jackson’s hand. Jackson glanced at the men, who stood watching. Jackson slid his hand from under Will’s and clapped him on the back. Fear had shaken Will, or he’d never have acted so open in front of the guards.
“Aye, Lord Holcombe. I thank you for your concern. Just my head hurts.”
Will looked up at the trees. “It was a large limb, Your Grace, but I think your head proved the harder.” Jackson looked up but his vision still blurred and he couldn’t see the poor branch.
“Damaged it, did I?”
“It’s good for nothing but firewood, Your Grace. Can’t you see it?” whispered Will. Jackson could hear the fear in Will’s voice.
“I can, but it’s blurry,” he intoned back. There was no sense in lying to Will, he could always tell lie from truth. “It’s clearing now. No fears, Will.” Jackson grinned and rubbed his head. It ached as if Hell’s own demons danced on it.
“Climb up and let’s away then.” Will smiled back and moved to mount up.
Jackson gathered his reins, put foot to stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. With a sharp nod, he motioned for his men to move on. The entire troop returned to the road, but this time, at a more cautious trot, and his men encircled Jackson, as if to protect him.
Anger rose quick to his lips, but instead, the harsh words came out as a hard laugh.
“Are you all mother hens, and I your wayward chick?” he called.
The men looked at each other, then their gazes slid from Jac
kson to Will as if for confirmation. A few shrugged their answer.
A sergeant reined closer. “If you were lost, Your Grace…” One of the senior men who’d served Baymore under Morris and Hugh spoke. His brow furrowed. Jackson wondered what the man feared most, the loss of his duke, or the loss of his position.
“And if I were lost?” Jackson cocked an eyebrow at him.
The man swallowed. “Then who would protect Baymore and its lands?”
Of course, the man was right. Without a Baymore to hold the lands, all that was his would be fought over by neighboring dukes. War would devastate the holdings, and lives would be lost in the ensuing struggle.
“Never fear, sergeant.” Jackson laughed. “It will take more than a tree to strip Baymore of her duke.” The man nodded and looked only a little relieved as he dropped back to join the other riders. Will rode on Jackson’s blind side, as ever.
They continued on to Baymore, but the man’s question echoed in Jackson’s mind as they made their way down the road.
Chapter Six
Marcus leaned in the doorway of the barracks. He’d come to check on the work the new lad Liam had done and was pleased to see one row of polished boots standing beside their owners’ cots.
At the far end of the room, Liam sat on the floor, working on a boot. The brush moved in a blur of motion as he worked it over the leather. He paused, spit on the toe, and again the brush flew. His long dark hair hung forward and his eyes were in shadow. Tall for his age, if Marcus hadn’t seen him up close he’d swear the boy was older.
“Liam.” Marcus called to him.
The dark head shot up and an intense brown gaze landed on Marcus. “Aye, Master Marcus.” He made to stand but Marcus waved him back down.
“How goes your work?”
“I should be finished with the boots in a few hours. I’ve already swept the floors.” His chin jutted forward as if to point with it. “I’ll gather the wood for the fire after that.”