In the Company of Men Boxed Set

by Lynn Lorenz

  “Well done. Well done.” Marcus nodded. “Back to work for both of us.”

  “Aye, sir.” Liam bent over his work, spit, and polished.

  Marcus waited a moment more, his mind searching for something he needed to remember about the lad. Liam still hadn’t explained why he had appeared at Baymore. He’d find out soon enough, and if the boy didn’t tell him in a few days, he’d demand the answers.

  He pushed off from the door, turned, and made his way across the bailey to the castle wall and up the stairs. Taking a position on the battlement, he gazed down the long road.

  A rider approached.

  “Rider!” The call went up before it could spring from Marcus’s lips.

  The man grew closer. Marcus recognized the colors he wore as Baymore’s and his stomach tightened. A messenger from the duke?

  “What news is this?” he muttered under his breath.

  “Open the gate!” one of the guards cried out and the men below scurried to lift the bar and pull open the gate.

  The rider crossed under the lintel and his mount’s hooves clattered on the yard’s cobblestones.

  “Yo! Rider! What news?” Marcus called as he made his way down the stairs.

  “The duke returns! Just a half day behind me.” The man dismounted and tossed his reins to a stable boy. His mount stood, hard rode, head hanging, and nostrils blowing.

  “That’s much sooner than expected.” Marcus frowned. “All’s well with the duke?”

  “Aye. The ceremony was only a day ago and this morn we woke to the duke’s bellow to pack, saddle our horses, and get on the road. I was sent ahead.” The soldier walked next to Marcus as he explained.

  “Well, perhaps they tired of the visit.” Marcus would keep his thoughts to himself, but it was odd the duke had ended his trip so soon. Lord William had been so excited to see his namesake, his brother’s newest son, that when they’d left the man had flown into the saddle.

  Leaving the soldier back at the barracks with orders to clean himself and rest, Marcus turned and made his way to the keep to let the cook in the kitchen know his master would arrive in time for the evening meal.

  With a shout and a wave of his ladle, the cook ordered his lads to start on a feast to welcome home the duke and Lord Holcombe. The scullery maids bustled about and Marcus left before he was pressed by the cook into duty also.

  Duke Baymore and Lord Holcombe returned today.

  Never one without the other, like paired hawks.

  In his mind, Marcus could not separate them, as they themselves refused to be separated. He would never forget the first moment he saw Lord Holcombe, supporting the wounded and beaten Jackson, declaring him rightful Duke of Baymore, and declaring himself the duke’s dearest and closest friend.

  Marcus knew without doubt their friendship ran deeper than what the two men portrayed to the world. There was more between them, and he’d seen evidence of it in William Holcombe’s eyes that day. It had been passion that burned in his blue eyes, and nothing that strong, that bold, other than love itself, could put such a fire in a man’s eyes and soul.

  Lord William Holcombe loved Duke Jackson Baymore more than his own life, of that Marcus never doubted. He’d seen the duke’s shy smiles, and glancing touches. The one night Marcus passed them in the hall unnoticed, and seen Jackson pull Will into his arms and through his door, Marcus knew Jackson returned that love.

  Physical love between men was punishable by death, that he knew.

  Marcus also knew Baymore had never had such a good ruler, such a man filled with honor, loyalty, and fairness. If Jackson were removed, where would that leave Baymore?

  With no duke, the land would be forfeit to the strongest.

  It would serve no purpose to accuse.

  Marcus sat in one of the chairs before the hearth, and stared into the banked fire.

  As for himself, over the last year or so, he’d come to admire both Jackson and William. Their leadership, their wisdom, and their friendship proved infallible to the keep. They’d brought him into their fold, as master of arms, and given him more responsibility and ability to make decisions than he’d ever had under Morris or that bastard Hugh.

  He counted both men as his friends and he knew his caring for them ran deep.

  And if his friends loved each other, even in the physical sense, then who was he, who’d never known love from either man or woman, to find fault with their love?

  No, it would not be him to accuse and destroy two men and a land.

  In that moment, Marcus knew he’d do whatever he had to, to protect both men and keep their secret.

  Chapter Seven

  “Home.” Jackson sighed as they crested the hill and looked at Baymore standing in the distance. He pulled his horse to a halt.

  Will reined in next to him, glanced over at his duke, and nodded. “Aye.” He’d longed for those walls as the miles had grown between him and Holcombe. Now, as he took in the sight of the great castle of Baymore, Will knew Holcombe was no longer his home, and hadn’t been since he’d fallen in love with Jackson.

  “Let’s go home, Will.” Jackson’s tired gaze slid over to meet Will’s. The large nodule on Jackson’s head had gone black and blue, along with the upper lid of his eye.

  “Home it is, Your Grace.” Will worried about Jackson’s vision. “Can you see it clearly?”

  “Good Lord, Will.” Jackson laughed. “It’s but a mile more to the castle and it’s a very large keep. Aye, I can see it. Have no fear, my lord.”

  “Well enough, Your Grace.” Will smiled at him and then motioned for the column of riders to advance. They started down the hill toward home.

  ∙•∙

  Marcus stood on the wall’s catwalk and looked down the road. His sharp eyes caught the plume of dust from the riders. They had made good time. He turned from the battlement and trotted down the narrow stairs to the courtyard.

  “To your posts! Duke Baymore arrives!” Marcus called out. His heart thudded in his chest, and he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. His duke had come home and had kept safe while on his journey, and for that, Marcus was grateful.

  Men scurried about the bailey, and the stable boys came running, ready to take the armsmen’s mounts and see to them and their tack.

  From the corner of his eye, Marcus spied Liam, standing in the doorway of the barracks, a load of firewood in his arms. His face darkened, brows furrowed, and if Marcus wasn’t mistaken, the boy trembled as if he had a fever.

  He strode over to the barracks. “Liam, are you ill?”

  “Nay, m’lord.” The boy shook his head, his eyes dancing from Marcus to the gates. Ill or not, Marcus couldn’t tell, perhaps just afraid the duke might send him away.

  “His Grace returns, along with the armsmen. You’ll have to see to their belongings. Don’t fear, I’ll speak to the duke about you. Now, get along with your chores.”

  “Aye, m’lord.” The boy lingered, then turned and disappeared into the darkened barracks.

  “The duke!” A cry went up from the guards on the wall. “Open the gates!”

  The men pushed open the gates and then stood at attention as Jackson, Duke of Baymore, with Lord William Holcombe at his side, galloped through the portal. Their mounts’ hooves clattered on the cobblestones, and the sound of creaking leathers, snorting horses, and the cries of the men’s welcomes filled the bailey’s air.

  “Marcus!” Jackson called out as he dismounted. “Well met!”

  William jumped from his saddle and tossed a groom his reins. “Well and good, Master Marcus.”

  Both men seemed in great spirits. Jackson and Will’s horses were led away.

  Jackson advanced on Marcus, and with a hard clap on Marcus’s back, Jackson spoke. “All is well?”

  “Aye, Your Grace. Nothing but quiet since you’ve been gone.”

  “Good. Good.” He grinned and started for the keep. “Attend me, Marcus. I’ll want your full report.”

  “Aye, Your
Grace.”

  William ordered, “Unpack the animals and bring the duke’s baggage to his room. Mine, also.” Then he turned and followed his duke as the courtyard broke into organized disarray, with grooms leading off horses, men dismounting and gathering their saddlebags, and servants rushing to unload the pack animals.

  Marcus waited for William to catch up, then side by side they made their way to the castle. He pitched his voice low so Jackson didn’t overhear his worry.

  “All is well with the duke?”

  “Aye.”

  “That is a great lump on his forehead, my lord. Is he hurt? Was there trouble?”

  “Nay, nay, he’s well. All went smoothly. There was a skirmish with a branch on our way home. The branch lost,” William drawled.

  Marcus nodded. “I was surprised to learn of your early return.”

  “The blame is mine. I tired of being away.” William flashed him a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was more to the story, it seemed. And, it seemed, he may never learn it.

  “The duke appears in good spirits.”

  “Glad to be home, as am I.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  They stepped through the door and into the great hall. The fire in the hearth burned and Jackson had thrown himself into his chair in front of it, his boots stretched toward the heat. A serving woman rushed to bring them tankards of ale.

  “Marcus. Now, tell me all.” Jackson motioned to the chair on his left. William sat on Jackson’s right. There had been no need for Jackson to direct Marcus, he’d learned within a few weeks of Jackson’s arrival that William sat on his right. Always.

  “Well, like I said, nothing much has happened. The village has been well, no conflicts, no disruptions. And we’ve only had one visitor.”

  “One?” Jackson’s eyebrow rose as he took the tankard from the servant with a nod of thanks. She pressed one into William’s hands and he took a deep pull.

  “Aye. A young lad looking for work.” Marcus tensed, unsure if he’d done the right thing. Positions in the keep were prized and not given to just anyone.

  “Did you find him a place?” Jackson wiped ale from his chin with his hand.

  “I did. He’s tending the barracks, Your Grace. Keeping the fires, polishing the men’s boots, and such.” Marcus gave a dismissive wave of his hand as the wench offered him ale. He’d learned as a young man, ale wasn’t for him. She gave a nod and scurried back to the kitchens.

  “Good.” Jackson drained his tankard in one long drink.

  “We have a few lads to do the work, but he’d come here…the state of the lad…” Marcus fumbled his words.

  “Spill it, man. What about the boy?” William leaned forward and frowned.

  “He came to the castle. Asked if this was Baymore. Then collapsed at the gate.”

  “Poor lad. Had he been hurt?” Jackson gripped the arm of his chair, his eyes wide.

  “Nay, just exhausted. I had him brought inside and cared for. He was covered with soot, as from a fire. And his clothes were better than most. His name is Liam, but more than that—” He shrugged. “I haven’t gotten the story from him.”

  “A mystery!” William laughed.

  “Indeed. Well, Marcus, you did well. Perhaps in time, he’ll speak more freely.”

  Jackson settled back and the men spoke of small matters until their meal was served. They ate, and then Jackson and William left the hall for their bedchambers, claiming exhaustion.

  Marcus watched as the two men made their way up the stairs. Somehow, he knew it wasn’t sleep they needed, but each other. He sighed. One day, if he lived long enough and if God smiled on him, he would climb the stairs to a woman, and perhaps, a child of his own.

  For now his bed remained his own, empty of wife and child. He sat until the night grew late as thoughts of family swirled round in his head.

  »»•««

  Jackson left Will in the crowded corridor among the servants carrying the baggage. His belongings had been the first to arrive upstairs. As the last lad scurried out, Jackson closed the door to his room, and strode to his chair. He sat and pulled off his boots. He let them drop to the floor with a tired grunt and leaned back. There was much he had to ponder and it weighed on his mind.

  He never thought when he claimed his title, he’d have so much responsibility. Aye, he’d known there were duties assigned to being a duke—a castle to run, lands to tend, men to lead—but this new accounting, this sense of owing more to the land, to Baymore. It had never crossed his mind.

  He had a duty to insure his rule, his good deeds, his laws, and his actions were kept in place when he was gone.

  As a mercenary, he’d had little. No home to care for, no one to answer to, just his weapons and his horse. When he was dead, what did he care where they went? But this land, Baymore, was so much larger, and weighed on him more than his meager possessions ever had.

  He had sworn an oath to his people—kneeled on the dais with his hand on his sword. Promising them he would care for them, keep them safe, and hold them dear. He meant every one of those words. But this was more than for now, this was the future.

  A future that might not have Jackson Baymore in it.

  Who then would tend Baymore?

  Wallace had his sons and, although children, they were enough to hold his lands in good stead. If needs be, William could step in, be their protector until they came of age, or their mother Ellen, if the people of their lands allowed it.

  Jackson had no son. No child, no brother, no one to hand over the keeping of his lands. Not that he’d ever wanted children. He hadn’t. Hadn’t wanted a woman either, although he’d bedded enough wenches and whores. He’d only ever just wanted one person, and that was William.

  Jackson never wanted a son.

  But now, he needed an heir.

  »»•««

  Will opened Jackson’s door and slipped inside. His lover sat in a chair staring at his woolen sock-covered feet.

  “Troubles, Your Grace?” He shut the door behind him and slid the bolt home.

  “No, just tired.” Jackson held out his hand and Will crossed the floor, went to his knees, and grasped the offered hand. He kissed it and held it to his cheek.

  Jackson was all he had left. His father was lost to him. He’d been banished from his family home with no idea of when he’d next see his dear brother and Lady Ellen. Now, Jackson was his family.

  His lover, his duke, his brother.

  “Then come to bed. We’ll blow out the candles and sleep.” Will stood and pulled Jackson to his feet. “Let me undress you.” He reached around Jackson, loosened his sword belt, and removed it. Then his long vest, shirt, and at last, his breeches.

  Naked, Jackson allowed Will to lead him to the bed.

  Will turned to pick up the clothing and put them away, but Jackson’s hand on Will’s arm stopped him.

  “Wait. A moment.”

  Will cocked his head to the side and waited.

  “It is I who should be putting you to bed, sweet Will.” Jackson gave him a sour smile and a dip of his head.

  “We shall take each other to bed, Your Grace.” Will stroked Jackson’s cheek, trailed his hand down, over Jackson’s throat. He continued its descent to his chest, across a dark brown nipple, to wrap around Jackson’s hip.

  Jackson sighed, and leaned into the touch, his cock coming to life.

  Will’s lips twisted. “I can see sleep may not be the first thing we do.”

  “No, not the first.” Jackson stepped back and sat on the bed. “Undress.”

  “Aye, Your Grace.”

  Will did as his duke commanded, removing each piece of cloth in a deliberate manner as Jackson watched, eyes narrowed and shining. Jackson’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Will heard the short catches of the big man’s inhales, and the long almost-moan of his exhales as Will revealed his body. Once naked, he gazed into Jackson’s eyes.

  “Come here.”

  Will stepped forward
until he stood at the bedside, wedging his body between Jackson’s spread knees. Jackson’s rod was dark red, swollen, and hard. It stood straight at attention, while his heavy sac rest on the bed. Will’s mouth watered for a taste of the clear bead that hung from its tip.

  Jackson reached out and ran his hands through Will’s hair. “I love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  “Kiss me, sweet Will. I long for the taste of you. Your hands on my body, your weight laying over me, the heat of your channel as I fill you.”

  God, the man’s words, the poetry of his soul, made Will’s knees weak and brought his cock to full stand.

  Jackson slipped his hand behind Will’s neck and brought him close, until at last their lips touched. Both men sighed. Hands and arms wrapped and wove their way into lover’s hair, stroked soft lover’s skin, glided over reminders of lover’s past pains.

  Will knew Jackson’s body as well as he knew his own. Perhaps better.

  And yet, for Will, it was as if he touched Jackson for the first time. Jackson shuddered under Will’s hand.

  “You are all I have left, Jackson,” Will whispered, struggling to keep the anger, loneliness, and desolation from his voice.

  “I will always be here for you. Let me be your home, Will. Let me be whatever I need be to make you happy.” Jackson pulled Will tighter, twisted, and then laid Will on the bed. Climbing on top, Jackson stretched his body over Will’s and their cocks brushed.

  Will surged upward, Jackson pushed down, then rose to his forearms and rocked his body against Will’s. The friction burned as if Will’s rigid member and the skin around his groin were on fire.

  “God damn, Jackson.” Will groaned, his rod, stiff and aching, his stones tight and full. He needed release, and until this moment, hadn’t realized how much that need had grown.

  Jackson knew.

  The big man pushed Will’s long hair to the side, and had his way with Will’s neck, his throat, his shoulders—licking, biting, sucking, and all the while, whispering such sweet words Will thought his heart would break.