The Madmen of Beldon Hall

by K. Sterling

  “There’s no telling what secrets are still hidden in this house,” he said as he twisted the cork out of the first bottle. It pulled free with a pop and he sniffed it. His brows rose in approval before he took a careful sip. He rubbed his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he inhaled then nodded as he passed the bottle to Byron. “I think you’ll enjoy that, it’s a 1961 Chateau Latour,” he murmured and Byron blinked at the bottle in his hands. It was worth thousands of dollars and Alastair had just handed it to him like it was a 40 in a paper bag. He felt a bit anxious as he waited for Alastair to open the second bottle then raised it in salute and sipped. It was a deep, velvety red with sweet, dried fruits and tobacco and aged cigar notes in the finish and Byron’s soul wept in ecstasy.

  “Is there any secret in particular, that you’re most worried about?” He asked and Alastair stared at his feet for several moments before he lifted the bottle to his lips and took three large gulps. He swallowed loudly then sighed.

  “It’s funny, all I want is to be free of this but it’s the one thing I can’t make go away. I will always be bound to it, despite all my wealth and power.”

  “What do you mean? Why?” Byron whispered and Alastair’s eyes swept upwards.

  “Because the truth is up there. Somewhere up there, there’s a letter or a journal with my father’s name in it. And if someone should find it, my title and everything I have will be taken from me,” he explained and Byron lost his breath.

  “Who’s your father?” He asked and Alastair shook his head.

  “I have no idea. Do you understand now?” He asked and Byron’s brows pulled together.

  “You’d lose your title if it was discovered that you were illegitimate,” he said and Alastair nodded.

  “All I want is to destroy this house. I’d love nothing more than to burn all of this down but even if I could, I wouldn’t because of Bede and his bloody journals,” he said and Byron gasped.

  “So you do care!” He accused and Alastair snorted.

  “I definitely don’t but I’m not an actual monster. Just because I don’t care about them doesn’t mean that I don’t understand their value. I promise, I’m not some romantic hero,” he said and Byron shrugged as he bent forward and inspected the front of a large trunk.

  “You never know, you might surprise yourself,” he said then winced as he used his thumb to slide a lever. There was a soft click and the top jumped. “Here we go!” He said then exhaled loudly, willing his nerves to settle as he pushed the top back. Alastair hummed thoughtfully as he looked over Byron’s shoulder.

  “Look. A thousands sheets of parchment and ledgers. How exciting,” he said flatly before he held up his bottle then took a drink. He turned then hunkered down in front of another ancient trunk. “The name Byron’s a little unusual for an American,” Alastair observed and Byron chuckled as he sifted through a collection of thin, leather-bound books. They were all dated several hundred years after Bede so he set them aside.

  “I picked it,” he said and Alastair’s head pulled back in surprise. Byron laughed as he shut the trunk and moved down the line. “I was given the name George but I felt a connection with Byron and loved his work.” He bit his lip and pretended to struggle with the lock on the trunk as warmth flooded his cheeks. “I always thought it sounded like the name of a romantic hero,” he mumbled and Alastair’s lips twisted thoughtfully.

  “I could picture that,” he said and Byron grinned as he looked back at him.

  “Yeah?” He asked and the cold, damp gloom of the cellar was no match for the throbbing warmth in his chest as Alastair nodded.

  “I think you could be a romantic hero, you’re quite in your element here.”

  Chapter 9

  “I agree, in many cases, titles are merely honorary these days. But I have a seat in the House of Lords and Beldon Hall is the most minor of the earldom’s holdings. Waldeford House is vast and I employ a small city’s worth of employees. I have properties on several islands and we’re still in the tea trade in China,” Alastair said as he pushed open the large wooden door to the cellar stairs. Byron chewed on his lip then shrugged.

  “Right but it’s not like you’re a Marcher Lord and responsible for protecting the border. The Queen’s not going to call on you to gather an army for her,” he argued and Alastair’s eyes narrowed.

  “I was in the Royal Air Force,” he said and Byron leaned against the wall.

  “Oh?” He felt a little breathless as he imagined him in his uniform. Alastair nodded then cocked his head and raised his flashlight.

  “Be careful, it’s really damp down here today,” he warned and Byron pointed his flashlight at the steps in front of him. It flickered then went out. “Why would you come down here with a dead flashlight?” Alastair complained. They went through a strict checklist before they went down to the cellars each morning and most of the items on the list were light related. Alastair was paranoid about getting caught in the cellars without enough light. He had two lamps tied to his backpack. Byron turned and shook his head as he tapped his flashlight against his palm.

  “You saw me put fresh batteries in this,” he said then waved dismissively. “I’ll look at it when we get there. Can you shine yours over my shoulder?” He asked and Alastair nodded.

  “Watch your step, the stairs get slippery and some of them aren’t quite intact,” he said just before Byron’s foot slipped on jagged, crumbled stone. He pitched forward then gasped as he was locked against Alastair. Warm, hard heat wrapped around him and his nerves fizzed wildly as Alastair’s breath huffed against his cheek.

  “Thanks,” Byron replied hoarsely and he felt Alastair nod. His hand pressed against Byron’s chest for a moment before he released him.

  “The last one’s worse, watch out,” he reminded him. It was low and strained. Byron silently let out a long, slow breath and begged his heart to stop thrashing in his chest.

  “I see it,” he said. His hand shook as he reached for the rail and his legs weren’t quite solid. He was able to reach the bottom of the stairs without falling on his face and they slowly made their way down the narrow tunnel leading to one of the radio bunkers. Alastair stayed close behind Byron, shining the light over his shoulder. He could feel Alastair’s breath on the back of his neck and he felt too warm, despite the cold, dark dampness around them.

  “It’s there,” Alastair said gently as he pointed the light at a doorway on the left. They found a table and Alastair set down his backpack as Byron slapped his flashlight against his hand again.

  “Maybe I just got a bad battery,” he mused as he unscrewed the end.

  “Here,” Alastair said as he stepped closer and shined the light so Byron could see. “I have an extra pair of batteries in my pocket,” he murmured as he reached into his jeans and Byron hummed silkily.

  “Is that what I felt?” He teased and Alastair snorted as he shook his head.

  “I’d be a lot more comfortable if that was the case,” he muttered under his breath and Byron bit back a groan as a tingling warmth trickled into his groin. He swayed toward Alastair and he could taste his breath. He tasted like mint and tea and Byron swallowed past the lump in his throat as Alastair’s head tilted and their lips brushed.

  “You shouldn’t be uncomfortable,” Byron babbled as he leaned into Alastair then shut his eyes as he was pulled against his chest.

  “I don’t seem to have a choice lately. I’ve been very uncomfortable since we met,” he rumbled and Byron melted against him. His voice was rich and deep and it did things to Byron’s stomach.

  “I could help with that,” he sighed as he let his cheek drag along Alastair’s beard.

  “Mmmm…” Alastair hummed as his hand curved around Byron’s neck and the tension left his body. He was limp and panting as he clung to Alastair. “Byron,” he whispered as his tongue feathered across his lips. His toes were just about to come off the floor when Alastair’s head snapped back and he held Byron away fro
m him. “I don’t think this is the appropriate place for that,” he said then cleared his throat as he took Byron’s flashlight from him. He forgot he was holding it. He nodded quickly as he backed away and rubbed his arms as he became cold again.

  “Right. Sorry,” he mumbled as he looked around the bunker. It was still too dark to see anything beyond the small halo of light around them but it was less awkward than asking where the right place was and if it was possible for them to run there. Another beam of light danced across the ceiling and Byron cheered softly as Alastair dropped his flashlight into his hands.

  “Let’s get to work. The sooner we find them, the sooner my plums can descend from my body. It’s bloody freezing,” he said and Byron laughed weakly. He was officially done thinking about anything other than Alastair’s plums for the foreseeable future.

  Chapter 10

  “I’d love you to love me! I’m begging you to beg me! I want you to want meeee!” Byron sang loudly and Alastair’s cheeks puffed out as he leaned against the bathroom door and girded things. Mornings were both the highlight of Alastair’s day and an exquisitely painful battery of tortures.

  It usually began with the singing. It was always the same song and Alastair would never hear it and not get a semi. He loved Byron’s voice and he was energetic and optimistic as he danced and pouted in front of the mirror as he shaved. And he was so adorably sincere as he begged to be loved as he brushed his teeth or sang into his hairbrush. Alastair ached to pull him into his arms and spin him around the bathroom as he sang at the top of his lungs but he felt too damaged and dark. He couldn’t imagine holding something so bright and joyful in his hands and not breaking it.

  “Oh, didn’t I, didn’t I, didn’t I see you cryin’?”

  There were times when Alastair genuinely wanted to cry. Byron wasn’t the least bit shy. His casual locker room attitude was killing Alastair. He’d hop and wiggle his ass as he sang and the most Alastair could ever hope for was a pair of boxers. Or not hope for. A hysterical laugh burst from his throat and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was never sure if he was disappointed or relieved whenever Byron put on his boxers but they only made it slightly easier for Alastair to breathe.

  And the touching! His fingers would trail down Alastair’s spine before he reached around him for the toothpaste or he’d pull him against his chest briefly as they passed each other at the sink. He was always teasing and playful but he was ruthless and brazen in the bathroom. Alastair loved it and as painful as the rest of his day would be, he sprinted out of bed every morning as soon as his eyes opened because he didn’t want to miss a minute of it.

  “Feelin’ all alone without a friend, you know you feel like dyin!”

  For the first time in his life, Alastair wasn’t alone. He was starting to suspect he might be happy, for the first time as well.

  “I’d love you to love me,” Alastair whispered then took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m going to put a pot on to boil,” Byron said as he stood and Alastair looked toward the kitchen then nodded.

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup,” he said then returned to his laptop.

  Byron grabbed his cardigan and pulled it on as he made his way down the hall. He pushed open the kitchen door and hugged his arms and shivered as he rushed to close an open window. The sky had been dark and overcast all day and the cellars were brutally cold. It was hard to see at times, their breath hung in the air in front of their faces as their teeth chattered. They decided to quit early and Byron spent the afternoon studying Beldon’s floor plan and the Waldeford Family Bible.

  He turned on the water and let it run as he found the kettle, pot, cups and tea. Byron was putting the kettle on the stove and became distracted by the pale glow hugging the horizon. Everything had been so grey for days, he was drawn to it like a moth. He slipped out the door and across the courtyard. Fog was already rolling onto the dales, cutting Beldon off from the rest of the world. Wind whipped at Byron’s hair and cheeks and his nose began to sting as he waited for the last little bit of warmth to fade from the sky. The ground was a rolling patchwork of frozen browns and dried greens so bleak and barren, Byron couldn’t picture flowers or butterflies ever touching its fields.

  “The pot was whistling,” Alastair said and warmth closed around Byron as a blanket was wrapped around his shoulders. It was from one of the chairs by the fire and steam rose from him as he looked at Alastair.

  “Sorry. I wanted to catch the last of the sunset,” he said and Alastair squinted as he found the remaining smudge of pink before it slipped beneath the hills. Byron forgot about the sun as Alastair’s hair fluttered and his lips became tighter as the wind lashed at his face. He still hadn’t shaved and Byron felt a little urgent every time he remembered the feel of his beard against his cheek or lips. Alastair caught him staring and his eyes slid down his body before he propped his foot on the remnants of a wall as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “There’s something I’ve been curious about since we met,” he said and Byron raised a brow as he stepped closer.

  “Just one thing?” He asked with a wink and Alastair’s jaw twitched as he forced his lips to stay straight.

  “How are you a professor of theology?” He asked and Byron laughed as he tightened the blanket around him.

  “You don’t have to believe in God to appreciate his work,” he said and Alastair raised a brow. Byron chewed on his lip as his eyes traveled over the dales as wisps of fog curled across them. “I lived in a Catholic orphanage for almost a year and there were Bibles everywhere, obviously. I loved the history and the stories, initially. But as I got older and learned more about the wider world, I couldn’t get away from just how huge the Bible is. There’s nothing it hasn’t touched,” he stated and Alastair nodded tightly.

  “We wouldn’t be here without The Reformation,” he said and Byron chuckled softly as he extended his foot and kicked Alastair playfully.

  “That might turn out to be a good thing,” he offered and Alastair’s eyes softened as he grinned back at him.

  “It might but it’s still a bit early to tell. I think our tea should be ready.”

  Chapter 12

  “Let go of me!” Mama whimpered as she twisted away from father and swatted at his face. His eyes were red and wild as his nostrils flared and strings of spit hung from his chin. She begged and kicked as she strained to get away.

  “Look at me, Delilah!” He ordered then roared when her heel connected with his knee. He released her and grabbed his leg as she dashed for the stairs.

  “Run, mama!” Alastair cried as he ran from behind a chair and dove for his father’s legs.

  “Get off, you bastard!” He hissed as he grabbed Alastair by the neck. Hard, crushing pain gripped Alastair’s throat and it began to burn as the pressure in his head became intense and his toes came off the floor.

  “Richard!” Mama howled and the room swung around Alastair before he slammed into a wall and his vision blurred. “I’ll kill you!” She sobbed as she stumbled and climbed and father snarled as he lumbered toward the stairs.

  “Who was it, you whore?” He demanded as he grabbed her ankle and jerked hard. Mama screamed as she clawed at the rug and the banister but was helpless as she was drug down the steps.

  “He isn’t yours, that’s all that matters!” She yelled then blocked her face with her hands as father’s arm swung and swung and swung and the muffled claps echoed and bounced off the hall’s ceiling.

  “Stop!” Alastair screamed as his arms flailed wildly and his eyes swung frantically around the dark hall.

  “It’s ok! Everything’s alright, Alastair,” Byron said soothingly as he gripped his shoulders before he pulled him close. His arms tightened around Alastair and his heart immediately settled into a strong, steady pace. “It was just a dream,” he promised as his hands swept over Alastair’s back, making him feel calmer and drowsier. Alastair nodded as he p
ressed his nose into Byron’s shoulder and breathed him in. He smelled soft and clean. Safe.

  “I’m fine. Thank you,” he said as he sat back and Byron’s eyes were warm and seeking as they spilled into Alastair’s.

  “You’re sweating and you’re as white as a sheet,” he said as he brushed the hair away from Alastair’s brow.

  “It was just a bad dream. I just need to catch my breath,” he whispered and Byron’s lips curved seductively as his head tilted toward Alastair’s.

  “I know what you need,” he sighed and goosebumps rushed down Alastair’s arms as their lips touched.

  “I need you,” Alastair breathed as his tongue traced Byron’s lips. He hummed and Alastair’s sack tightened.

  “I’d love you to love me!” Byron sang and Alastair’s brows fell.

  “What?” He asked then gasped and jumped as he looked around. He was sitting on the floor in the main hall but it was black and empty. Alastair turned and squinted into the darkness around him. He was alone and all of their supplies and equipment were gone. “Byron?” He called as he pushed off the floor and stood. “Byron!” Alastair yelled. There was a loud crack of thunder in the distance and Alastair spun and his eyes swung to the great window at the top of the stairs as light filled the hall. His legs almost gave out and Alastair clapped his hand over his mouth. Nausea and horror clawed at his throat as Byron hung from the third floor banister. He twisted and swung lazily as his vacant eyes stared limply. “No!” Alastair cried as he sat up. His eyes were wide and darted around the hall as his heart slammed from one beat to the next. An ember popped in the hearth and Alastair’s body jerked as he watched it glow weakly before it slid into a pile of ash.

  “Back to sleeeep, Alastair,” Byron mumbled groggily before he pulled the covers over his head and burrowed into his pillow.