by Lynn Lorenz
“Aye, I knew,” he muttered, glaring at Will.
Jackson puzzled over these events. How did this happen? Could this really be his page? The boy he trusted, he’d taken on horseback, who shined his boots?
Will stared at his wound. “Get me some cloth so I can bind this and stop the bleeding. I think, when we get time, we need to call the healer and have this stitched.”
Jackson put Liam in a corner, then pushed the door shut so he couldn’t escape. He went to Will’s cupboard, found a towel, ripped it in two, and then kneeled at Will’s side.
“Will, what happened?” Jackson wrapped one length around the damaged leg, then looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed. He longed to take Will in his arms, feel his heart beating, confirm his health, but Liam’s presence made it impossible.
“I entered in my room. It was dark. I moved to the desk, and then he attacked me.” Will pointed to the boy, standing against the wall.
Jackson tied off the knot, and stood. He went to the boy and kneeled in front of him. The child shivered as if he stood outside in the snow, his arms wrapped around his thin body, and Will’s blood splattered on his good vest and breeches. He stared down at his boots.
Jackson held him by the arms and asked in a gentle voice, “Liam, what is this? Why would you try to kill Lord Holcombe?”
The boy clenched his lips together and shook his head.
“Son, I need to know. Tell me.”
“Don’t call me that! I’m not your son!” the boy burst out.
Jackson sat back on his heels. There was something dark going on with the lad, and it was time he got to the bottom of the mystery of Liam.
“No, you’re not. But if I ever had a son, I’d wish him to be like you.”
“If you mean one who tries to kill me, then another reason I’m glad you didn’t marry,” Will drawled.
Jackson shot him a glare. “Will, not now.” Will’s lips straightened in response.
“Tell me, Liam. Why?”
The boy sniffed, and his chin quivered. Just when Jackson had given up on getting the truth, Liam whispered, “He killed my father.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“What?” Jackson’s grip on the boy’s arms tightened. “Killed your father, you say?” His gaze darted to Will, who shrugged.
“I’ve only killed a very few men, boy,” Will said. “Have you a name?”
The boy straightened and looked Will in the eyes. “Hugh Baymore. He was my father.”
Jackson gasped, and Will groaned and swore. “How can this be? Hugh wasn’t”—he paused, flicked a look at Jackson, and then continued—“married.”
“He never married my ma,” Liam whispered.
“Where is your mother, Liam?” Jackson asked.
“There was a fire in our cottage, and my ma was burned terribly.” He struggled to remain defiant, but the child’s lip resumed quivering. “Before she died, she told me, ‘Find your father. He’ll take care of you.’ So I came here, but you were gone and Master Marcus put me to work with the soldiers.” He shrugged. “I thought you were him.” He gazed up into Jackson’s eyes, sorrow and fear and hopelessness painted the lad’s face. “Then I heard the men talking, saying you’d killed Hugh and I knew I’d never have a home, or a da.”
“I understand, boy.” Jackson shook his head. “You’re his bastard.”
Liam wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and his tears turned to fury. “Lord Holcombe killed my father and gave you his lands. I hate you!” he shouted at Will. “You ruined everything!”
“I didn’t give Jackson the lands, boy. Jackson was the Duke of Baymore’s eldest son. His father named him heir before he died.” Will sighed and rubbed his leg.
The boy’s mouth fell open and for a moment, he looked as if he would crumble.
“That’s right.” Jackson nodded. “Morris was my father and I was first born, but he never married my mother. I’m a bastard also.”
“Oh.” Liam swallowed. “Oh.”
“I don’t think your father knew about you, boy,” Will added. “I knew him well, and he never spoke of your mother, or that he had an heir.”
“But if you knew him, why did you kill him?” Liam howled.
Jackson tensed, afraid his lover wouldn’t spare the child the truth of his father.
Will dragged in a deep breath and exhaled. “He’d changed. He wasn’t the man I knew many years ago. Even his father could see the changes and feared them. He called Jackson to take his rightful place to keep Hugh from destroying Baymore. There was a fight. I had no choice.”
Jackson thanked Will with a caress of a warm gaze, then focused on the boy.
“I’m sorry, Liam.”
Liam shuddered, took a deep breath, and looked up at Will. “What will you do to me, Lord Holcombe?” Jackson’s heart broke at the brave face the boy wore and at the circumstances of his life, so similar to his own. Perhaps if Liam had told Marcus of his situation, this would never have happened. Jackson cared about the lad, more than just as a page.
“I have the right to demand your death for your attempt at murder.” Will pushed to his feet and drew his sword.
Jackson gasped, “Will!” and moved in front of Liam. Will had rights, but if Jackson had to, he’d try to stop him from killing the lad.
Will studied them, then smiled. He slid his sword back in its sheath with a flourish.
“Your Grace. It seems this is my day for righting wrongs and for giving gifts.”
“What wrongs? What gifts?” Jackson cocked his head and tried to understand, but too much had happened today.
“Once again your pride has gotten us into trouble and once again I must rescue you, Your Grace.” Will limped to his desk and sat. “So, this time, I will right a wrong with parchment, ink, and quill, and not my sword.” He pulled out a sheet, dipped his pen in the ink, and began writing.
“What are you doing?” Jackson leaned over the table to see.
Will finished with a flourish. “Sign your name here.” He turned the document around to face Jackson.
Jackson read it. Then he looked up to meet Will’s gaze. He picked up the quill and signed his name. “Done!”
Liam shrank back against the wall.
Jackson looked at him and shook his head. “No, lad. This isn’t a warrant for your death. It’s a letter stating that I acknowledge your claim to Baymore, as Hugh’s son and my nephew.”
Liam gasped and clapped his hands together. “Is it true? Is it?”
Will nodded. “It’s true. You are a true Baymore.” Then he picked up the quill, dipped it in ink, and wrote another section on the document. He spun it around and said, “Sign here, Your Grace.”
“What is this?” Jackson took the quill from him.
“Now it’s my time to give a gift. Something I couldn’t give you before, but you desired, so much you put us at risk.”
Jackson read the new words. He pulled the chair to him and sat, then looked up into Will’s eyes. “It is indeed a gift, my lord.” He motioned to Liam. “Come here, son.”
Liam shuffled closer. Jackson reached out and pulled him to the desk.
“Can you read?”
“A little.”
“Try to read this.”
Liam bent over the page and tried to make out the words, but then shook his head and straightened.
“It says,” Will intoned, “that since you are without mother or father, and you are a Baymore, that if it is your wish, your uncle, Jackson Baymore, will adopt you as his own son and heir.”
The boy looked at Will, blinked, then looked at Jackson, his eyes so wide the whites showed all around his dark brown irises.
“Would you wish it, Liam?” Jackson didn’t want to hear no, but if he did, he’d still do what he could for the boy. “If you don’t, I understand. You can still live here at the castle. As my nephew, I owe you certain protections, such as an education, training, and when you get older, lands. I don’t want you to do this unless it’s really what you des
ire.”
Liam closed his eyes and Jackson held his breath. Time slow marched with each beat of Jackson’s heart. Would the boy agree? Would Jackson have a son and heir to Baymore? Had Will given him everything, once again?
The lad opened his eyes and smiled. “I want you to be my da.”
Jackson laughed and threw open his arms and Liam fell into them.
Will groaned, and Jackson looked up at his face twisted in pain and his worsening color.
“Quick, Liam! Fetch the healer for Lord Holcombe.” Jackson patted him on the back.
“Right away!” Liam bolted for the door, threw it open, and raced down the corridor. Jackson could hear his cries for the healer echoing through the keep.
“With the racket he’s making, everyone will be here soon.” Will smiled.
“I love you, my lord. Thank you for doing this for me.” Jackson reached out and cupped Will’s cheek in his hand, his thumb brushing away the thin streak of blood from the scratch on his chin. “I never meant to hurt you, Will. Never meant for this to happen. To lose you would have been more than I could bear.” Jackson leaned forward, stole a quick kiss, and promised more with a quick bite to Will’s bottom lip.
Footsteps pounded down the hall. They would be interrupted in a moment.
Will ran his hand through Jackson’s wild mane and pulled him down, their foreheads rubbing as he stared up into his lover’s dark eyes. “And I love you, Your Grace. I can deny you nothing. Not a bride, not an heir, not my love.”
They parted just as Liam, followed by the healer, burst into the room.
“I’ve brought the healer, Da!”
“So you have, Liam. Well done.” Jackson placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and gazed down at him, hoping the boy could see his love. Liam’s answering look, of love and happiness, filled a place in Jackson’s heart.
“Happy, Your Grace?” Will asked.
“Happy, my lord,” Jackson answered.
Liam looked from Jackson to Will. “I’m happy also!” he shouted.
Jackson laughed, grabbed his son to him, and tousled his dark hair.
“You know,” Will drawled, “I quite see the family resemblance.”
Jackson and Liam grinned at each other.
Once again, Will had given Jackson everything he desired. From now until Jackson took his last breath, he’d thank God for Will Holcombe, the man he loved.
And for Liam, his new son.
His Duke’s Gift by Lynn Lorenz
Logan and Drake have been together for a while, but the Yule season is approaching. Traditionally, as Duke of Marden, Logan is expected to hand out gifts to those of his dukedom he holds in special esteem.
While Drake shops for Logan and their boys, he can’t help but feel the distance Logan has put between them ever since the arrival of a stranger.
Drake feels threatened. Is his place of honor as Master of Arms in jeopardy? Or worse, his place as Logan’s lover?
Chapter One
Snow had piled high along the walls of Marden keep, and although the boys thought it wonderful, I thought of it more as an inconvenience. The stones of the courtyard had to be sanded to keep the horses and people from slipping and falling, and where it wasn’t cobbled, the snow had turned to ankle-deep muddy slush.
Worst of all, my feet were freezing. Even with a pair of good woolen socks, the cold seeped into my boots, and I made a note to myself to send them for a good oiling to keep the water out.
What my feet needed was someplace warm to tuck them. Someplace like my duke, Logan’s, own warm feet. As duke, his feet rarely chilled running from watch post to rampart, up and down ladders, or slogging through frozen muck.
His warm feet and the rest of his delicious body waited for me upstairs in his room. Nothing could stop me from getting there and taking advantage of the man who was my lover, my duke, and above all, my savior.
Without Logan’s patience and caring, I never would have found love again. I would have spent the remainder of my miserable life in a drunken stupor, mourning my lost Ansel. Instead, I found a reason to live, a new love, and a new family.
With my adopted son, Joss, I had found everything I’d thought I’d never have right here in this place. A home both Logan and I loved, protected, and shared. As Logan’s master of arms, it was my duty to protect the castle and his lands. As his lover, I protected his heart.
Now I had designs on his body. Mine was near frozen to the core and needed the heat of his body and his desire to thaw it out. Just the thought of his heated hands roving over my chilled flesh warmed me and moved my legs faster.
I entered the keep, knocked the snow from my poor, sodden boots, and sat on the bench. A young page ran to me and pulled them off.
“Make sure they are dried well inside and out and the leather oiled.”
“Aye, my lord.” He nodded, tucked them under his arm, and ran off, disappearing down a hall to the kitchens. The hour late, the large hall stood empty, although the fire burned in the hearth. The chairs in front of it where Logan and I usually sat in the evening were empty.
My duke must already be upstairs.
I thought to remove my damp socks, then decided they were better protection than bare feet on cold stone, and headed up the stairs to my room.
Logan and I had rooms sited next to each other, with a door between them, to facilitate our coming and going late at night and early in the morning.
During the night, we shared a bed. Usually Logan’s. On some nights, he came to mine, eager and hard, and always to take me. My bed was for my taking, his bed for his.
He gave himself to me most nights, but every now and then, the fire burned in his loins, and he needed to fuck me. Odd thing—it usually coincided with my need to be possessed by him.
Tonight, I had no idea which room we’d share. His, if I had my way.
I made the landing at the top of the stairs and went down the hall, first to the boys’ room. My boy, Joss, and Logan’s son, Tomas, shared a room, along with their ever-present guardian, my black dog, Brute. Wherever the boys went, Brute followed, although now, after his wound suffered when Tomas had been kidnapped, it was with a limp. But it didn’t make him less intimidating. If anything, the others in the keep seemed to fear him even more, especially when the tale of how he’d tracked the kidnappers had been told to one and all.
I opened the door and peeked in. A low rumbling growl sounded in the darkness.
“Hush, Brute.”
He lowered his head, his tail thumped a time or two, and then he returned to sleep.
On the bed to the right lay Joss, stretched out, his feet nearly dangling over the edge of the bed. God, he’d gotten so long and lanky this last year. With good food and care, he’d filled out and become a fine-looking lad, just like his father, Ansel.
On the left, Tomas, still a child, curled around a small pillow, his blond hair falling in his eyes, the very picture of his da.
My heart nearly burst with love for those two scalawags. Our own little family, Logan’s and mine. Two fathers, two sons. Over the last year, the boys had become as close as brothers, with Joss looking out for Tomas as an older brother should.
I closed the door and went to my room, eager to find my duke and warm my feet.
The servants had lit the fire in my hearth, and the room felt warm and comfortable. I lit a candle from the fire and placed it on the writing table where my journals and ink were kept.
I hadn’t written in a while, and I ran my fingers over the thick leather cover. Time would come to write again, I felt. Perhaps a winter’s tale, about snow and the boys, or the coming of spring, always a joyous time.
After turning from the table, I leaned over and pulled off my socks, then stripped off my clothing. I opened my trunk and pulled out my sleeping gown. It had been a gift from Logan. He’d complained I had no decent sleeping clothes and had it made for me. At the time, I had refused, fussing over it with him, but since then many’s the early morn I’ve been glad
he’d insisted. When the fire dies and the quilts aren’t enough, I’m thankful for it.
I slipped it on and went to his door. As always, it opened for me and only me, just like Logan’s body.
Light from his hearth lit the room. At first I searched for him, but found him buried under the covers, his golden hair spread out on the pillow. I crossed the room and lifted the covers to slip beneath.
“There you are, my love,” Logan whispered. “It’s late. Where have you been?”
“On duty, my duke.” I snuggled next to him. Before he realized what my plans for his feet were, I touched mine to his.
“Damn you, Drake!” he shouted, his body shivering.
I laughed and bit his shoulder, holding him in place against me with my arms and teeth. “I need you.”
“You need your damned feet warmed. Use the fire, not me.” He growled, but had stopped trying to avoid my icy toes. Despite his words, he ran his feet over mine, trying to give me some of his warmth.
“You need new boots.”
“My boots are fine.”
“They’re old and leaking.”
“I don’t need new boots.”
“Hmmph.” He settled against me, nestling his firm bottom into my loins. “We’ll see.”
I let it go. I had other things on my mind than arguing about the condition of my boots. My thoughts turned to his naked body, and in turn, my body reacted. As longing filled my cock, hard and swift, I stripped off my gown, the better to rub my rod up and down his valley.
“God, Drake, so good.” Logan sighed. He wrapped his fingers with mine and led them down to his own staff, standing proud and tall.
Together we stroked it, bringing him pleasure, evidenced by the leaking of his cock on our joined hands. We caught up the beads and spread them over his soft skin. He moaned and thrust into the tight ring of our grip.
I wanted him eager, but not spent. “Not yet, my love.” I let go and left him whimpering for more.
Instead, I angled my cock to rub deeper along that sweet valley. Logan reached over to the table and brought back the bottle of scented oil we used to ease the taking. I took it from him, poured it onto my hand and covered my cock in it.