The Madmen of Beldon Hall

by K. Sterling

  “I doubt that’s happening,” Alastair muttered as he threw an arm over his eyes and reached into his pajama pants and squeezed the unfortunately timed hard-on pushing against the front of his boxer briefs. “That’s definitely not happening,” he grumbled.

  Chapter 13

  “This crate is definitely not it,” Byron muttered as he dropped on his ass and rested his elbows on his knees.

  “We have at least a dozen more to go through on this side of the room,” Alastair pointed out and Byron stretched his neck, it was stiff and tight from the cold and hours of searching. His eyes burned and itched from all the dust and he was exhausted. They’d both agreed that aside from the priceless wine collection, there was nothing in the cellars. Everything of value or interest had been removed from the monasteries’ crates and trunks, aside from Bede’s journals. Byron hoped. He chewed on his lip as he looked around the room, trying to estimate how many more hours it would take to finish when his eyes caught on a smaller, flatter crate behind a large trunk. He leaned to get a better look and it was quite thin.

  “What’s that?” He asked as he got to his feet and Alastair squinted up at him as he crossed the bunker. Byron reached behind the trunk and frowned as he lifted it. It was light. There was a crest spray painted on the front and he recognized it immediately. “This is your family crest,” he said as he turned and held it up and Alastair gasped excitedly as he stood and wiped the dust from his hands.

  “I was hoping we’d find that,” he said as he went for his backpack. He found a flathead screwdriver then waved for Byron to bring the crate to the table. “I said I never returned to Beldon but that was a lie. I came back by myself after it was locked up and I thought I’d found all of these,” he stated as he pried the side of the crate open with the screwdriver. “We were never sure how many there were but I was hoping this was down here,” he murmured and the suspense was killing Byron.

  “What is it?” He demanded as Alastair cleared away packing paper.

  “It’s the portrait of the artist,” he said as he stepped back and Alastair’s brain couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

  “Is that?”

  “Raphael,” Alastair said and Byron reached for him.

  “The last time this was seen it was hanging in Hitler’s apartment in the Reich Chancellery,” he whispered and Alastair hummed in agreement as he picked it up and tilted it toward the lamp.

  “My grandfather was a Nazi. He volunteered Beldon’s cellars for the bunkers and secretly fed the Germans everything that came into the Hall. Once it was obvious the cause was lost, my grandfather helped himself to as much of the Nazi’s art as he could as they smuggled it out of Germany.”

  “I’ve never read or heard anything about Nazi’s in your family,” Byron said in stunned shock and Alastair nodded.

  “It was just my grandfather and it was a very closely guarded secret, for obvious reasons,” he said and Byron snorted.

  “That would be a pretty major scandal,” he said and Alastair’s lips pulled tight.

  “I will never make excuses for any of my ancestors’ deeds and I’ll bear the burden of my family’s reputation but the one thing I can’t stomach is being the grandson of a Nazi. That’s why I came back here by myself and spent a day going through the cellars looking for these. As scared as I am of people finding out I’m a bastard, I couldn’t allow this to stain my name,” he explained and Byron thought that was understandable.

  “What are you going to do with this?” He asked and Alastair sighed and it came from a place of content so deep in his soul, Byron felt it.

  “I can finally return it to the Czartoryski Museum in Kraków, Poland,” he said and Byron had never wanted another human being more in his life.

  “That’s amazing,” he said and Alastair shook his head.

  “That’s the right thing to do,” he corrected. “I can live with my family stripping the monasteries because I can’t feel sorry about depriving the Catholic church of money it never missed. And it would have just gone to pay for Henry’s wars if the Crown had taken all of it. But art and treasure stripped from Jewish homes and museums doesn’t belong in Beldon Hall or with the Waldeford Estate. I’ve quietly worked with the British government and various other countries to get everything back to their rightful places. It’s taken years, the survivors of the Holocaust and their families are spread around the world. But this is the last piece and this will be the easiest to return. The challenge will be to do it without bringing my family’s name into it because of how sensational this discovery will be,” he said and Byron shook his head.

  “And I thought finding Bede would be shattering,” he murmured and Alastair laughed. Byron’s lips pulled tight as he glared at him and Alastair winced.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you were joking,” he said as he patted Byron’s arm soothingly.

  “Whatever. Let’s call it a night and take Raphael into the house. I’m cold and tired and I don’t like you very much anymore.”

  Chapter 14

  “I was thinking we could work in one of the radio bunkers today,” Alastair declared as he changed the batteries in a lamp and Byron bit his lip as he looked up from his breakfast. Since Alastair’s bombshell about his illegitimacy, the question of who his father was had become almost as fascinating as finding the journals. And Byron wanted to repay Alastair in some way for his sacrifice.

  The depth and breadth of Alastair’s sacrifice was becoming more and more obvious with each passing hour. He was sleeping but every morning he appeared more exhausted and brittle than the day before. After days of searching in the larger, older chambers beneath the house, Byron was beginning to feel guilty for exposing Alastair to such haunting memories. Aside from the Raphael, all they’d uncovered were hundreds upon hundreds of years of administrative ledgers and records dealing with taxes and the food and wine consumption of the monasteries’ residents. If Byron could do something to truly make it worth Alastair’s time…

  “I won’t need more than half an hour to get ready, but what if we looked for something else today?” Byron asked cheerfully and Alastair’s brows pulled together as he looked at him.

  “What are you talking about?” He asked and Byron stood and reached for his shoulder.

  “Bede’s missing journals aren’t the only mystery at Beldon,” he said then gave Alastair a shake. He still looked confused.

  “There are several but I’m mostly concerned with Bede, as I can’t leave until we’ve found his journals,” he stated dryly and Bryon gave him a very loaded look.

  “What about your real father’s identity?” He asked and Alastair’s head pulled back before he shook it.

  “That would be quite pointless,” he said and Byron gasped.

  “What do you mean? Don’t you want to know who your real father is?” He asked as he hurried around the table and Alastair shrugged as he fixed the back of the lamp.

  “What would be the point? Do you imagine my new daddy will take me to the zoo and introduce me to my new brothers and sisters?” He asked and Byron’s mouth fell open. Alastair snorted. “It wouldn’t change anything, if I knew and he was still alive and not someone disappointing. I’d have to keep it to myself because I can never admit that Richard Fiennes-Hatton wasn’t my father,” he explained. Byron shushed him as he grabbed him by the shoulders and ducked so he could see his eyes.

  “But you’ll know. Imagine all the things you could learn about yourself just by knowing who your father is!” He urged but Alastair looked unconvinced as he stared back at him. Byron exhaled loudly. “I don’t know why my parents left me. I choose to believe they did it because they absolutely had to. Because of that, I never allowed myself to complain or feel bitter because I don’t know how much worse it could have been for me. But I do wish I knew if the men in my family had heart conditions or cancer or if baldness runs on my mom’s side of the family. I’m left handed and I don’t know where that came from,” he said and ha
d to take a deep breath as a whiff of sadness drifted through him. Alastair’s jaw twitched and he cleared his throat gently.

  “You’re right but it might take a lot longer to find the answer to that than Bede’s journals,” he said and Byron shrugged as his eyes went to the east wing.

  “I don’t know, we’ve got a much bigger lead, from an investigative standpoint,” he argued and Alastair gave him an expectant look as he waited. Byron waved impatiently. “Your mother obviously knew and we have a reasonably good idea where she would have left that information,” he added and Alastair nodded.

  “Ah. You think we should check her rooms,” he said and Byron pointed and smiled.

  “You’re catching on!” He teased and Alastair became taut and slightly grey as he turned and looked beyond the stairs. It was as if someone had snuffed out a flame and the hall became colder as the house held its breath.

  “We can look, if you’d like,” Alastair said as he headed for the stairs. His voice was hollow and low and his hand shook as he reached for the rail. Byron frowned as he followed. Something screamed for him to tell Alastair to stop, to turn back. The overwhelming dread and foreboding had his stomach clenching and cold as they reached the gallery and turned into the hallway on the right. Byron didn’t need Beldon Hall’s floor plan to tell him the lord and lady’s chambers were located in the east wing. He immediately sensed Alastair’s hostility, he could feel the fear and tension radiating from him as they slowly made their way down the hall and into the wide, circular center of the master’s chambers. “That was my mother’s room,” he said as his hand stretched toward the door but he didn’t step closer or reach for it. Byron’s pulse became heavier and slower as he noticed the charred edges of the door and the black soot staining the frame. He swallowed hard as he stepped closer then pushed against the door and it slowly swung open.

  “What happened?” Byron demanded as he stepped over the threshold then ducked warily as the room groaned around him. A large patch of grey sky gaped from the right corner of the room and pigeons flapped their wings in protest and hopped on burnt beams. Crumbled plaster and stone littered the floor as Byron scanned faded and scorched upholstery, wallpaper and rugs.

  “The “Wild Fire of ’88”,” Alastair said quietly and Byron rubbed his forehead as he did the math.

  “You would have been six. Your mother died when you were eight,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “This happened while she was alive?” He asked and Alastair’s eyes shimmered as he backed away from the door.

  “This happened while she was asleep in her bed,” he whispered then looked to his left, toward a spot in the hall. “They held me back, they knew he’d kill me if I tried to get to the door. He was there,” he said as he pointed at the entrance to the bedroom. “He had two pistols and he would have killed anyone who tried to get past him and let her out. We could hear her screaming,” he breathed and Byron was shaking as he turned and looked around the room. “One of the maids was able to get to her through the dressing room. He beat the hell out of us after that,” Alastair said and Byron had never felt so much hatred toward a dead man. He looked back and Alastair was gone. Byron found him in the gallery, staring at the large window.

  “I understand now and I’m so sorry,” he said gently as he reached for Alastair. His eyes clung to the window as he turned to Byron.

  “You’ll never understand but thank you,” he murmured distractedly. Byron cradled his jaw and pulled Alastair’s eyes to his.

  “You shouldn’t be here. Go back to London. You can watch me remotely and we can chat through FaceTime as much as you want. I’ve given you every legal assurance I can that I won’t reveal anything I discover here unless it’s about Bede’s work. And I give you my word, as a friend,” he said slowly and firmly. “Your secrets are safe with me. All of them,” he added and Alastair’s eyes softened as they searched Byron’s. His lips curved gently as he shook his head.

  “And leave you here, alone?” He asked. “I’d be crushed if you were hurt or if you disappeared,” he said and Byron felt like he was melting and falling as he leaned closer. Which was strange. Could a thing melt and fall? Like lava? He was quite hot all of a sudden.

  “I hate what this is doing to you,” he panted as he leaned closer and Alastair’s arm wrapped around him as his hand pressed against Byron’s back.

  “Do you know what you do to me?” He growled. It was a deep, grating sound and it made Byron’s knees weak as warmth pooled in his groin.

  “I know what I’d like to do to you,” he groaned as his fingers pushed into Alastair’s hair and twisted. Their lips crashed and Bryon gasped as Alastair’s tongue thrust and tangled with his. He tasted crisp and minty and there was so much hunger, Byron wound his arm around Alastair’s neck as he became dizzier and lighter. Need and lust raged within Byron and he moaned as Alastair backed him against the glass. His hand locked around Byron’s ass and his eyes widened in shock and delight at the hard, heavy heat of Alastair’s erection as he ground his hips. “We could do it here,” Byron rasped as he became intoxicated with desire and anticipation.

  “What are we doing?” Alastair asked as he leaned back then held Byron away from him. “I can’t be with you like that. Not here,” he said then released him and stepped back. His chest heaved and his eyes were lost as they reached for the countess’ suite. Byron nodded weakly as he backed away.

  “I’m sorry, I understand,” he offered quickly then looked behind him as he reached for the rail. “I’m going to get ready and we can get to work on whatever you’d like,” he added then turned and fled. He jogged down the stairs and didn’t look up as he rushed around them and into the dining room. Byron swore and scolded himself as he pushed the kitchen door open and hurried past the long work table. “What kind of creep hits on a guy after he shares something that horrifying?” He grumbled as he heaved a pot of scalding hot water off the stove and steered it through the housekeeper’s quarters. “Way to be an insensitive dick.” He poured the pot into the tub then set it down so he could turn the faucet. “At least you gave him a convenient excuse to leave,” he muttered as he pulled his shirt over his head then tossed it at the stool. He grabbed the pot and continued his tirade as he switched it for another pot of simmering water. Byron added it to the tub then turned off the water. He kicked off his sweatpants, boxers and socks then carefully stepped into the tub and lowered. “Maybe he’ll be gone when you get out,” he sighed as he pulled his knees to his chest and folded his arms over them. He rested his forehead on his arms and pulled several long, steamy breaths into his lungs.

  “What if I’m actually happy here?” Alastair asked and Byron gasped as his head snapped up. Alastair’s eyes were hard and dark and drilled into Byron’s as he leaned against the door. “What do I do if this is good?” He demanded as he pushed away from the door. Alastair tore at the buttons of his shirt then flung it aside and water splashed over the sides of the tub as Byron jumped to his feet.

  “Let me make you happy,” he begged as he pushed at Alastair’s clothes. They kissed frantically as Alastair twisted and hopped until he was naked and breathless.

  “I want you and I want to let you try,” he huffed against Byron’s lips as his fingers swept over his face adoringly. “But I’m afraid this house will hurt you and make me sick,” Alastair confessed shakily and Byron shushed him as he sucked on his lip and pulled him with him as he sank into the tub. They gasped and panted as their lips and tongues tangled and their hands gripped and slipped frantically.

  “Honestly, I’m not that worried about the house at the moment,” Byron admitted and Alastair raised his head and his brows rose as he looked down at him. “I’m not worried about anything, really,” he added and Alastair laughed as he settled Byron against his chest and pulled his legs around his waist.

  “This does seem bit more important,” he agreed breathlessly as his hands tightened around Byron’s ass as he rocked him, causing their erections to rub against e
ach other. “I think the house could burn down around us and I wouldn’t let you leave this tub,” he teased and Byron grinned as he wrapped his hand around their cocks and stroked them together. Heat and lust flooded his groin and made his limbs heavier. Alastair groaned as he rested his forehead on Byron’s.

  “We can stay for as long as you want,” he promised as he tightened his grip and Alastair hissed as he bucked his hips.

  “I don’t think this is going to take very long,” he groaned and Byron panted against his lips.

  “I know. This feels really good,” he whimpered as his nerves wound tight and heat and pressure gripped his sack.

  “It’s so good,” Alastair said as he thrust into Byron’s hand. “Really good,” he babbled and Byron could only nod as his hand slid around Alastair’s shaft. He was hard and large and hot, a gnawing, aching tingle filled his passage and Byron vowed to always have a condom within arm’s reach.

  Their lips and tongues lapped and swirled hungrily as Byron wrapped both hands around their cocks and rolled his hips in time with Alastair’s as they became frantic. He stroked faster and sucked on Alastair’s tongue as his nerves twisted tighter, tighter, tighter then gasped and arched as they snapped and his body exploded. For a moment, he felt like he was made of water. Pleasure and relief rippled from his body as he became liquid. Alastair cried his name as he bucked hard and was suspended above him. He was frozen and blind before he shuddered and another ribbon of come slipped from between Byron’s fingers and dissolved between them.

  “Thank you. This is the first time I’ve ever felt happy here,” Alastair said as he took Byron’s hand and raised it to his lips and kissed it. His tongue was shockingly hot as it washed over Byron’s palm and he moaned as he nodded.

  “Me too,” he said as his eyes clung to Alastair’s then cringed as he mentally slapped himself. “I mean, I’m happy because I could make you happy,” he explained and Alastair’s smile was content and gentle as he pushed the hair away from Bryon’s face.