In the Company of Men Boxed Set

by Lynn Lorenz

  “I know.” He did—he just didn’t have any ideas about what to do for Peter. How to breach the walls the man had thrown up around himself, or even whether he should. But he owed Peter much, and he should do what he could.

  Peter advanced like a puppet whose strings were being pulled and twisted, but without life to his step or vigor in his movements.

  “I fear to change his duties, Logan. Peter insists he is capable of retaining his rank, and he is. It’s just…” Drake didn’t know how to describe it. “He’s just not there.”

  “No, he’s not.” Logan pointed down the road to the village in the distance. The spire of the church rose above the smaller buildings and cottages, marking the small graveyard. “He’s trapped there, beside his wife and his child, buried under pain, sorrow, and guilt.”

  “There was nothing he could do—surely he knows that.” Drake pounded his fist on the stone wall.

  “And I knew it also when my wife died of the fever. Still that didn’t stop the thoughts, questions, and doubts from circling in my mind. And you? Could you have saved Ansel on the battlefield that day?” Logan put his hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Peter needs our help if he is to survive this.”

  Drake sighed and nodded. “Peter is a good man and a fine soldier.” He closed his eyes and thought. If Peter needed to break free, perhaps he also needed to fly far away to escape the path, the spire, and the graves. “I’ll send him on a mission.” He nodded, his mind made up.

  Logan turned to him, resting his chin on his fist as he leaned his elbow on the wall. “Well thought of, Master Drake. A mission might take his mind from all this sorrow.”

  “But where and what?”

  Logan smiled, then straightened. “I have just the thing!” He slapped the stones with his hands. “Come, let’s away. I must write a letter for Peter. Have him brought to me in one hour’s time, Drake.”

  Drake nodded. “I’ll do so, Your Grace.”

  Standing side by side, Logan nudged Drake’s leg with his own in a silent signal. Drake smiled, knowing in that glancing touch his lover had said much, yet no one would know what had passed between the men.

  Logan trotted down the steps from the battlement to the courtyard below, crossed it to the keep, and disappeared inside.

  Drake turned back, watching Peter reach the gates and pass through them. As he appeared on the other side, Drake called out, “Peter!”

  Peter halted, raised his head up, and shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare. “Aye?”

  “Logan commands you to attend him. One hour. In his rooms,” Drake shouted.

  Peter frowned, then saluted, and hurried off toward the barracks.

  Drake strode around the battlement walk as he inspected the men on duty until the time arrived to meet with Peter and Logan.

  »»•««

  Peter checked his tunic and sword a final time as he stood outside his duke’s door. He had no idea why he’d been summoned. Logan usually spoke to him down in the hall when he, Logan, and Drake discussed matters of the guard.

  With a tinge of regret, Peter thought of the last time he’d entered Drake’s room and found Logan waiting, stretched on the chair, stroking himself. A shudder ran through Peter, just skirting his cock. Seemed not even the thought of that night, the night he’d succumbed to Logan and Drake, the night they’d shown him the pleasures of love between men, could bring him hard.

  His rod was a dead thing, and he had no hopes of it returning to life.

  He knocked.

  The door swung open and he stepped inside.

  Drake shut the door behind him and gave a small nod of recognition. Logan sat behind his desk, a parchment in front of him, quill in hand. He finished writing, blotted it, and folded it.

  “Peter. Good. You’re here. Sit.” He pointed to one of the chairs in front of his desk. Peter took it, and Drake sat next to him.

  “How may I serve you, Your Grace?” A trace of worry licked at him, but he pushed it aside. Being brought before the duke didn’t happen often, and an uncertain feeling passed over him.

  “I have a mission for you, Peter.” Logan sat back, watching him, searching for something. Peter had no idea what he looked for but hoped he wouldn’t be found lacking. He’d lacked so much of late and had hoped evidence of his weakness had been hidden.

  “I’m at your command.” Peter gave him the best firm nod he could, presenting a facade of confidence and surety to his duke and to his commander, Drake.

  “I have heard that Duke Weathers moves toward our far northern district. Seems we’ve blocked his access to Marden with our outposts along the river, and now he seeks a new entrance.”

  Peter stiffened at the mention of Bors Weathers’ name. The bastard had been turned away often from their borders but couldn’t seem to shake the need to take Marden lands. He glanced at Drake. “I had not heard.”

  “We have only just heard ourselves. And it may be nothing more than hearsay.” Drake waved a hand as if swatting a fly. “But even rumor must be attended when it comes to that bastard.”

  “Aye.” Peter nodded and looked back at his duke.

  “I want you to go to Marden Lodge. It’s in the wild wood in the north. Scout around, and if you find any sign of him, report back to me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Drake and I have been discussing placing an outpost there. The lodge is small but would make an excellent post. And if we go ahead with the plans, we can build a barracks like the ones along the river to hold a few men.”

  “And the stable, Your Grace,” Drake added.

  Logan smiled and nodded. “Right. We’d also need to stable horses along the way to cover the distance, as we did for the others.”

  “Exactly.” Drake grinned.

  “So, I go to scout for Weathers’ men. For how long?” Peter knew he could travel all that way, find nothing, and leave, and their enemy could appear the next day.

  “I want you to travel in disguise. No one should know your true mission. Do not wear your colors, and have your horse outfitted in plain livery.” Logan leaned forward. “This may take time, Peter. I want to know the truth of it, and it could take months.”

  “Months?” Peter sat straight up. “But won’t I be needed here?”

  “I’ve been hard pressed to think of another of my men who could do this mission, Peter.” Drake shrugged. “We’ll have to make do without you.” He leaned back and crossed his legs, placing his ankle over his knee. “Have you a suggestion to replace you?”

  Peter thought about the men under him. His first choice would be Seamus, but he was untried in command.

  “Seamus.”

  “He’s young.” Drake narrowed his eyes and frowned.

  “No younger than I when I first tried my hand at command.” Peter, at thirty, wasn’t young, but he certainly didn’t have the age or experience of Drake. Seamus neared twenty and five. Old enough.

  “True.” Drake chuckled. “Good, then. You’ll tell Seamus he’s in training, but not why you’re leaving. Understand?”

  “No one must know.” Logan tapped his quill on his desk. He dropped it and picked up the folded letter. “Here. Read this. You must give it to the caretaker of Marden Lodge. His name is Arvel, I believe. He lives there and tends the place. Don’t tell him either, Peter.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” Peter took the letter, opened it, and read. Only a few sentences spread across the parchment, giving Peter charge of the lodge, ending with the duke’s flourish and seal. He carefully refolded it and stuck it under his shirt for safekeeping.

  “Take this purse. It holds more than enough coin for your expenses.” Logan handed it to him, and he put it with the letter.

  “You leave as soon as you’re packed and a horse can be saddled,” Drake ordered. He and Logan stood, almost as one.

  “Aye, sir.” Peter nodded, got to his feet, and waited to be dismissed.

  Logan came around the desk, pulled Peter to his chest, and wrapped his arms around him
. “Take care, Peter. You will be missed.” Then his duke placed a tender kiss on Peter’s cheek and stood back. Were those tears in his eyes?

  “Your Grace!” Peter blinked. “I won’t be gone for long.” He had no thought of what words he could say or why Logan’s face held so much sadness.

  Drake clapped Peter on his back. “We’ll all miss you, second.” Then he laughed, grabbed Peter by the hair, and yanked him forward, into a hard kiss.

  Stunned, Peter fell into Drake’s embrace. Then as fast as it had happened, Drake released him and pushed him away.

  Peter turned, his mind spinning, and strode to the door. He opened it, stepped out, and shut it behind him.

  He touched the cheek where his duke had kissed him and wiped the back of his hand over his lips. Two of the most handsome men he’d ever seen had just kissed him. He should feel something, shouldn’t he? Disgust? Anger? Arousal?

  But there was nothing.

  Peter sighed and made for the barracks. He had much to do before he could leave—pack his saddlebags, find some food for now and for the journey, and have his horse readied.

  He might not be the man he once had been, but he swore he wouldn’t fail his duke in this mission. No matter how long it took, he’d find the truth about Weathers.

  »»•««

  Logan and Drake stared at each other as the door shut behind Peter. Logan exhaled and shrugged.

  “I never knew your ability to think on your feet would serve us so well, Your Grace.” Drake grinned. “Weathers? A stroke of brilliance.”

  Logan gave him a small smile. “It came to me on the castle’s wall. And your addition of the stables rang true.”

  “I’ve never heard you speak of the lodge.”

  “My father’s old hunting lodge? We’d go every season when he lived. I haven’t been there in long years.”

  Drake walked to the window and stared out. “It’s not a bad plan at all. I think we should go through with it, whatever Peter finds.”

  “Do you?”

  “Aye. It might take Weathers longer to think of it than it took us, but think of it he will.”

  Logan came to his side and placed a hand on Drake’s arm. “Do you think we sent Peter into trouble?”

  “Perhaps. But Peter is a good soldier, quick on his feet, and well-skilled with his sword. If Weathers is making such advances, Peter will find out and bring word to us.”

  Logan exhaled. “And if he doesn’t, I have a feeling some time at Marden Lodge may be what he needs.” A faint upturn to his lips gave away his thoughts.

  “What about Marden Lodge would be so interesting?” Drake’s eyebrow rose.

  “Its caretaker.” Logan turned away and strode to the bed.

  Drake turned and watched his lover loosen the strings of his breeches.

  “We have some time before the noon meal, my love. Come, declare your love and allegiance to me.” Logan’s lips turned up on one side as his eyelids half lowered.

  Drake’s cock stirred, as it always did, when Logan gave him that look.

  “On my knees?”

  “Of course. Where else should such a declaration be given?”

  Drake strode to his lover, dropped to his knees, and batted Logan’s hands away.

  “This will be quick,” he warned as he pulled Logan’s rod out, angling it toward his mouth.

  Logan wrapped his hands in Drake’s hair. “Fast and hard, Lord Drake.” Logan knew how Drake disliked being called by his former title.

  “For that slight, I may take longer, Duke Marden.” Drake canted his tone into a threat.

  “Oh God, I hope so.” Logan groaned as Drake took his cock deep into his mouth and sucked hard.

  Drake closed his eyes, forgot about Peter, and thought of how he would fuck Logan later that night, after their sons had gone to bed. With one hand, he untied his own strings, pulled out his prick, and stroked it.

  Right now he’d settle for his own hand.

  Tonight, he’d press Logan’s sweet mouth into service.

  Chapter Two

  Peter dismounted, his feet hitting the ground. Just as he had every day for the last six months, he put one foot in front of the other and weaved his way through the small graveyard next to the village church to where his wife and unborn child lay buried.

  A small stone cross marked the spot.

  He kneeled next to it, touched his fingers to his lips and then to the cold stone.

  “I have to go away for a while, Mary. Logan’s sent me on a mission. It’s very important and secret.” He paused. “To the northern part of his lands. I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I’m sure I can tell you.”

  No tears filled his eyes. He’d cried them all out months ago and nothing was left. Not tears, not anger, not even sadness. Inside, he was dead, just like them. And it was only fair, wasn’t it? It had been his fault. If he hadn’t married her, given her a child, done something, anything, to help her as she lay in the birthing bed struggling for hours to have his baby until she’d bled to death, she would still live.

  He’d gladly return every moment of his time with her to bring her back.

  Until yesterday, all he had was his position as second-in-command, and this emptiness. Today, he had a mission. Logan, his duke, had called on him, and he wouldn’t fail, not like he’d failed his wife and child.

  He didn’t even know if it had been a son or daughter.

  “I have to go now. It’s a long ride. Two days at least, if I hurry. Logan wants me there as soon as I can manage, but I had to stop and tell you where I’d be, so you wouldn’t miss me.”

  He stood. “I’ll miss you.” He touched the stone again and turned away.

  Gathering the reins of his mare, he swung into the saddle and settled with a sigh.

  He kicked the sides of the animal, and they moved on, down the hard-packed street through the village, past the shops, to the great wide carriage road leading north.

  »»•««

  Peter pulled his mare to a halt where the road forked, and checked his map. The last village he passed should have been the one. The lane to the lodge should be just ahead on the left.

  He rolled up the sheepskin drawing and tucked it into the saddlebag behind him. His mare shifted and snorted, letting him know she was tired. He’d pushed her hard the day before in hopes of arriving sooner, but this morning he’d taken it easy, fearing she’d lame herself.

  He stroked her neck under her mane. “Not long, girl.”

  The fork to the left disappeared around a copse of trees, the one on the right headed straight, through flat fields.

  From a distance, a shout echoed. He snapped his head up, turning so he could hear the direction. For a long moment, silence. Then another shout, this time louder.

  The road ahead was empty for miles. It had to come from the left, toward the lodge.

  He kicked his heels into the mare and urged her down the narrow lane. She broke into a trot, and they rounded the curve.

  Ahead, a group of young men had another man surrounded.

  Thieves? Villains?

  They looked clean enough, but the hatred and disgust on their faces couldn’t hide their intent. All of them were large young men, but the man they’d turned their anger on was only half their size in height and weight. Truly an unfair fight if he’d ever seen one.

  One of the men stepped out of the circle and kicked the legs out from under the man. He fell onto his back, his hands going up to protect his face. His attacker moved in, fists clenched, as the others goaded him on with shouts and curses.

  Peter shouted, “Ho! What’s this?” and jerked his steed to a stop. He leaped off and strode forward as he pulled his sword.

  “None of your business, now, is it?” one of the men called over his shoulder. The others shifted to one side, opening the circle and exposing the man on the ground.

  “Get away from him!” Peter advanced. “Is this fair? Six men against one?”

  Their faces flashed shame, except
for the one still standing over the downed man. His look of hatred and anger hadn’t changed.

  “You! Step away from him.” Peter stepped into the middle of the group.

  The man blocked his way, red faced and frowning. “Who are you?” he barked. “This is none of your affair.”

  “Who I am is none of your affair, but I won’t allow such villainy.”

  At the flourish of Peter’s sword, the man backed down.

  “Now, get along with you. Go on. I don’t know what this man has done, nor do I care. If it’s a matter for your village elders, let’s bring him before them. If not, then be on your way.”

  The crowd moved farther away, leaving a gap between the attacker and themselves. Clearly, they were only following their leader. The man looked from them to Peter as if deciding his next course of action.

  He pointed at the man on the ground. “Next time I catch you, no one will be around to save you.” He spat at the man, then strode to his companions.

  They circled around him, absorbing him in their midst, and then without another look at Peter they fled.

  “Coward,” Peter mumbled and returned his sword to its sheath.

  He turned to the man on the ground and extended his hand. The young man lay curled in the dirt, gulping air, wheezing, arms wrapped around his head, eyes squeezed shut.

  Long red hair, tangled with leaves and sticks, fell around his face, blocking it from Peter’s view.

  “Here now. It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. The others are gone.” Peter frowned.

  The man didn’t move. Perhaps they’d hurt him after all.

  Peter squatted next to him and touched his shoulder.

  The man lashed out with his hand, striking blindly at the air, and grunted as if he were a wild animal.

  “Hold, man! Careful. I’m here to help.” Peter caught his hand and pulled it down. The other came up, still fighting.

  Could the man not understand his language?

  “You’re safe!” Peter yelled. He grabbed the arm still slung over the man’s face and held it down.

  The fool kicked out with his legs, catching Peter in the knee.