The Madmen of Beldon Hall

by K. Sterling

  “Let’s get cleaned up and see if we can’t be productive today,” he said and Byron hummed as he leaned close and pecked at Alastair’s lips.

  “We were very productive but we should try to get some work done,” he replied and Alastair chuckled.

  “We don’t want to forget why we’re here,” he said but his eyes hardened as they swung to the door and Byron wished they could lock it and forget about the house and everything in it. Even Bede’s journals.

  Chapter 15

  “I’ll go clean up breakfast, they’ll be delivering lunch soon,” Alastair said as he buttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and Byron’s lips twisted as he tied his towel around his waist.

  “You don’t have to do that, I’ll just be a few more minutes,” he said as he tilted close and pressed a kiss to Alastair’s cheek.

  “Stop behaving like a servant,” he scolded as he fought the absurd curving of his lips.

  “I promised Mrs. Canter I’d take good care of you,” Byron argued as his lips brushed against Alastair’s ear and warmth spilled down his body. He coughed softly as he pulled Byron closer then kissed his temple.

  “You took very good care of me. Now, let me feed you. I know how important food is to you and I’m sure you’re hungry,” he murmured and Byron winced as he leaned back in his arms.

  “I wouldn’t say it’s important to me. I still tend to horde food when I have it, because I was used to going without it so often as a kid. I should stop, it’s a terrible habit to have as an adult,” he admitted and Alastair shook his head as a dull ache spread in his chest. As much as he prayed to have any other child’s life, Byron’s was in many ways harder and more painful than Alastair’s.

  “You’re fine. Eat whatever you want,” he insisted and Byron snorted as he turned to the mirror and used the edge of his hand to wipe away the steam then reached for a brush.

  “It’s going to catch up with me one of these days and start sticking. Not that I would mind. I know it sounds weird but I’ve always wanted to be just a little overweight. I’ve always been skinny, even when I was eating regularly. But I keep thinking that if I can gain enough weight to need new clothes or feel bad about myself, I might stop worrying about my next meal,” he explained. Alastair nodded and made a mental note to request more decadent dinners and puddings. He thought Byron looked perfect. He was on the leaner side but it suited his tall, lithe frame. But if putting on weight would help satisfy some neglected, starved thing within Byron, he’d shovel pies and puddings down his throat until he was in a fat and sugar coma.

  “We’ll see if we can do something about that. I’m going to get everything ready for lunch, we’re behind schedule today,” he scolded teasingly and Byron pulled a face.

  “I won’t take too long,” he grumbled then waved for Alastair to get out. He laughed softly as he slipped out of the bathroom. His lips tilted into a wide grin as he pushed his hands into his pockets and hurried through the kitchen. Alastair whistled softly as he strode through the hall, past the stairs and was marveling at the healing powers of sex (even not-quite-sex in a bathtub) when he caught a glimpse of Byron out of the corner of his eye at the top of the stairs.

  The blood drained from Alastair’s face and the warmth leeched from the world as Byron twisted at the end of a rope. His skin was ashen and pale and his eyes were milky as they stared blindly back at him.

  “Byron!” It was a hoarse, strained cry and Alastair’s hand clapped over his mouth to hold in a sob as he backed away from the stairs. He jumped when he knocked over a chair and the gallery was empty when he looked back at it.

  “Did you call me?” Byron asked as he entered the hall then raised a brow at Alastair and pointed at the overturned chair. “If you keep breaking them for firewood, we won’t have anything left to sit on,” he said and Alastair nodded quickly as he turned and picked up the chair.

  “Sorry. I thought I saw something,” he muttered then hurried around the table and gathered their breakfast dishes. He felt Byron behind him and shut his eyes as panic and fear swelled within him.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked gently then kissed his neck, just above his collar. Need and sorrow crashed within Alastair as he nodded.

  “Everything’s fine,” he said as his stomach became cold and heavy. His eyes went to the gallery and the large window and he felt sick. “We should try to get some work done today,” he added. The sooner they found Bede’s journals, the sooner they could leave Beldon.

  Chapter 16

  “Do you want to finish this off?” Alastair asked as he held out a wine bottle. Byron looked up from his book and shook his head.

  “I’ll be lucky if I’m not miserable tomorrow,” he said and Alastair shrugged then raised the bottle to his lips and finished it in four large gulps. Byron blew the hair out of his right eye then silently cursed as Alastair’s pecs and abs bunched and stretched beneath his thin grey t-shirt. It clung to his shoulders, chest and stomach and Byron had no idea what he was reading. He’d spent the last two hours peeking at Alastair around his book and he’d be mortified if he had to stand up for any reason.

  “Does that mean you won’t be helping me with this bottle?” Alastair asked as he stood and reached for the bottle opener. He leaned across the table and Byron’s head tilted as he admired Alastair’s ass. His ass will kill me and my spirit will wander the halls of Beldon, pining over it for eternity. He sighed softly and his eyes swept around the hall as he considered. He decided there were worse places to spend eternity then returned to his book.

  “You’re on your own,” Byron warned then slouched in his chair so the tenting in the front of his sweatpants was less obvious. Alastair snorted and Byron stifled a whimper as he worked the cork out of the bottle. The twisting and flexing of his arm and shoulder muscles was very distracting. The fire cracked and popped in the hearth as it wrapped Alastair in golden warmth, making him even more tempting.

  It was maddening. Byron was trapped in his own romantic gothic fantasy with the brooding hero of his dreams (a GAY brooding hero) but nothing had happened since the bath. Alastair was definitely flirting and there were long looks and lingering touches but the moment would pass. They’d been nothing more than tender, affectionate companions since their shatteringly erotic bath and Byron was ready to rip his hair out.

  Alastair was living up to his role as the dashing lord of the manor. He was so perfectly stoic and restrained, yet potent and commanding. There was a barely leashed power beneath his polished British facade that made Bryon tingle in some very shameful places. He shivered and Alastair frowned as he looked toward the gallery, out the great window at the top of the stairs.

  “The wind’s picking up, I’ll build up the fire,” he said as he reached for a chair leg from the pile by the hearth. He was slowly working his way through the dining room. Once the flames were large and loud, Alastair pulled a wool blanket from the armchair by the fire and shook it out. Byron was breathless and brainless as Alastair draped it over his shoulders. His hand tightened around Byron’s arm for a moment before he reached for the bottle. “Don’t stay up too late,” he said gently and Byron could only nod as he stared up at him.

  Byron watched Alastair stretch out on his bed then fold his arm behind his head. He took several sips from his bottle then sighed as he shut his eyes. They were drinking a lot of wine. It was helping Alastair cope with the monsters of his past but it was making the monster in Byron’s pants nearly unmanageable. He didn’t know what to do! Alastair was sending so many different signals. He could be so intimate and familiar but he wouldn’t make a move, no matter how obviously Byron wanted it. It was almost as if Alastair had skipped over all the awesome tension and sex and went straight to the easy affection.

  It didn’t help that Alastair was so much more…everything than the men Byron dated. He’d dated fellow professors and doctors, a few very wealthy and successful business men, a mayor, two well known musicians and a famous lawyer. Being
a young, attractive, social media savvy academic garnered invitations to some very interesting parties. He was just famous enough to be recognized from History Channel documentaries but people rarely remembered his name. But Alastair was in an entirely different realm of Man than Byron was accustomed to. He was the pampered aristocrat Bryon imagined but that was the comfortable mask Alastair wore to impress the world. Beneath the immaculate grooming, impeccable clothing and perfect manners, was a tortured yet compassionate soul and it was starving. He’d kept so many secrets and stayed so strong for so long, no one understood the toll it was taking.

  Alastair was the perfect romantic hero and Byron felt a bit too average and too unremarkable to be the other leading man. He didn’t know if Alastair regretted what happened in the housekeeper’s bathroom or if he’d just decided he wasn’t interested but it was hard for Byron to think about anything else. It was monumentally pathetic. After years of incredible focus and hard work, Byron barely thought of Bede and his journals, he was such a mess over Alastair.

  “I think I’ll move a little closer to the fire,” Byron mumbled to himself. Loudly. He gathered his book, the blanket and the lamp and quietly made his way around the table and dropped into one of the armchairs by the fireplace. His brain would probably boil in his skull but he could stare at Alastair without being too obvious.

  Chapter 17

  “Are there anymore scones?” Byron asked as he looked up from his book and Alastair chuckled as he kicked his feet on the table and reclined in his chair.

  “You finished them earlier then ate the cream and jam with your fingers, you heathen,” he murmured as he turned a page. He rather enjoyed watching Byron suck his fingers clean as he moaned, though it did make sitting more uncomfortable. Alastair glanced at Byron as he refolded his newspaper. He made sure to change pages and articles every now and then so he’d be less obvious. How could he focus on politics or the market? Byron was slouched in his chair in front of the fire and scratching his head as he muttered Latin under his breath. He brought something up from the cellars to “entertain” himself and Alastair truly questioned his own sanity. He could think of a thousand better ways to entertain Byron, it was such a terrible waste of time, privacy and a perfectly good mattress. Then again, it was Alastair’s sanity that most concerned him. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off Byron. The light from the flames would dance across his face, casting shadows that made his dark features more dramatic. “Did you always want to be an academic?” Alastair asked and Byron looked up and his eyes narrowed as he focused.

  “I wanted to be Han Solo but I got a lot of pushback so I decided to go with history,” he said and Alastair marveled at how easily his lips pulled into a smile. It was becoming a habit around Byron.

  “You’re quite beautiful. Did you ever consider modeling or acting?” He asked and Byron’s eyes flared slightly and he looked a bit confused as his eyes swung to their beds before he looked back at him.

  “If you’re hitting on me… You don’t really have to,” he said slowly and Alastair discreetly gripped the arm of his chair as a plume of need swirled within him.

  “I’m being completely serious,” he replied and Byron’s cheeks puffed out as he blew the hair away from his eyes. Every time he did that, Alastair’s fingers tingled as he imagine running his hands through his hair.

  “My looks never really did anything for me, you know?” He said and Alastair shook his head. He couldn’t imagine anyone being able to resist him. The strain of it was taking years off Alastair’s life. “When I was a kid, it didn’t make the other kids want to be nice or play with me. Children have a way of being cruel, when they know a kid’s parents didn’t want him. When I got to high school, it didn’t make the girls want to talk to me or the guys want to be my friend. I was still a kid no one wanted. And nothing changed when I got to college. I’m clearly not getting in the door of any frat house, especially at Harvard. The only thing that’s ever taken me anywhere was my mind. I learned to rely on that more than anything else at an early age,” he explained and Alastair frowned.

  “The other children were told to be nice to me and make friends but they were always warned not to upset me or give me anything sharp,” he said and Byron’s lips twitched. “That’s actually not very far from the truth. I couldn’t be shunned or snubbed because I’d be Waldeford one day but the other boys’ parents knew who my father was, they were strictly cautioned that I was to be handled with care. I never bothered with trying to be friendly,” Alastair said and Byron nodded.

  “I understand. What’s the point when people have already made their mind up about you? I still didn’t let that stop me from enjoying what I was doing. Actually, it was liberating, in a way,” he said and Alastair’s head pulled back.

  “How was being an outcast liberating?” He asked and Byron grinned.

  “You can act like as big of a nerd as you want if you know no one’s paying attention. They can’t make fun of you for wearing a My Little Pony t-shirt if they’re ignoring you.”

  “What?” Alastair asked and Byron winked.

  “Friendship is magic,” he said and Alastair blinked back at him.

  “I think academics was a wise decision.”

  Chapter 18

  “This one really doesn’t want to budge,” Byron ground out as he leaned on the crowbar until the lid separated from the crate. He put all his weight on the bar until Alastair could aim his flashlight into the gap then shook his head.

  “Latin Bibles and they’re not old enough,” he said as he sat back and Byron’s cheeks puffed out as he looked around.

  “That’s it for this room. There’s just that last smaller chamber beyond this and the other radio bunker,” he said and Alastair nodded. A bell peeled in the distance and ricocheted through the kitchen and they both jumped as they looked toward the front of the house.

  “That should be our dinner,” Alastair said and Byron shrugged as he pointed his flashlight down the tunnel and squinted.

  “Go ahead and let them in, I’ll move all our stuff over and we can make a start on that last chamber before we call it a night,” he said and Alastair grabbed his shoulder.

  “Why don’t we start in there tomorrow? Let’s quit early and get a head start on drinking, we can play cards and I’ll try to cheat you out of your clothes,” he offered and Byron was about to tell him he wouldn’t have to cheat when the bell cut him off.

  “Fine. Run up there and let them in before they leave with our food. I’ll pick up all of our stuff and be right behind you,” he said and Alastair shook his head quickly.

  “I’m not leaving you down here alone,” he insisted and Byron rolled his eyes as he pushed him toward the stairs.

  “We’ve been working here for weeks and there’s nothing even remotely scary down here. Go before my food leaves!” He ordered and Alastair looked way more distraught than he should have. “Go!” Byron laughed as he shooed him.

  “Just leave everything, it’ll all be fine for the night,” he said over his shoulder and Byron glared playfully.

  “Go. I’ll be fine,” he said as he pointed and Alastair growled in frustration before he turned and ran down the main tunnel to the entrance. “I swear, if he’d just relax…” Byron muttered to himself as he turned and pointed his flashlight toward the deeper end of the tunnel.

  They were nearly to the end and Byron mentally checked the map as he reached for one of the lamps. The strange alcoves Alastair refused to acknowledge were just beyond the last vault. Byron looked over his shoulder and the cellar was still and silent, Alastair had probably reached the upper courtyard and was supervising the caterers. Byron bit his lip then shrugged as he followed the tunnel past the last of the crates and trunks. The path became narrower and he had to stoop as the walls, doors and sconces became medieval and primitive. He raised the lantern and his eyes swept around the carved stone walls and ceilings. He was in the most ancient part of the estate.

  Byron turned a
nd his head tilted as he inspected three ancient, narrow doors. They were heavy and thick and sat snugly in their carved doorways. He leaned closer and he was shocked to discover they were made of a heavy metal, not wood. It took all of his weight to turn the lever handle and he was out of breath and exhausted by the time he pulled the door open enough to look inside.

  “What the hell…?” He rubbed the back of his neck as he frowned at the narrow cell. It would have been a better candidate for a closet but there were shackles bolted to the wall and light spilled into the tight space from an overhead window carved through the rock. Byron stepped inside and squinted as he rose on his toes. It was like staring up, into a chimney. It wasn’t uncommon for old castles and larger manors to have cells, noblemen often acted as judges, jailers and executioners before magistrates were created. There were a few larger cells in Beldon’s cellars but Byron had never seen cells this tight with long, narrow windows in the ceiling. He had to pull his arms against his sides to turn and he looked down when his foot kicked something small and solid. He swept it out of the cell and hopped through the door then squatted to inspect it. It was a shoe. “A child’s shoe,” Byron noted. “There were never any other children at Beldon…” It was definitely a boy’s shoe and made of modern materials.

  “Byron, please get away from that.”

  He jumped to his feet and Alastair was pale and shaking. His voice was shredded and broken as he leaned against the wall for support.

  “What are they?” Byron asked as he gestured toward the three doors and Alastair stretched and twisted his neck as he slid along the wall, away from them.