by K. Sterling
“They’re made to fill with rain,” he whispered and Byron saw his lip tremble as the light from his lantern made his features harder, more stark. The shoe.
“You were in there!” He said as he pointed at the shackles and Alastair looked away but he nodded.
“I could see him, he was up there, watching me. I fought and screamed as the water rose and he just watched.”
“Jesus Christ!” Byron yelled as he kicked the shoe. He’d never kicked anything in anger in his life but he wanted to break things and scream. “Where were the other adults? Why didn’t someone stop him?” He asked loudly as he picked up his lantern and Alastair offered him a weak smile.
“Someone let me out. I don’t know who it was but I woke up in the first radio bunker with one of the old green blankets wrapped around me,” he said and Byron waved for him to lead them out of the cellars. “No one was going to take an earl’s son away from him. I did get to leave Beldon for several months. We always got to go away after he went too far,” he stated as they climbed the steps.
“Where did you go?” Byron asked as Alastair pushed open the door and they stepped out into the courtyard.
“My mother had an elderly aunt in Austria. We’d stay with her but it wasn’t what I’d call ideal either. She was a Habsburg but completely cracked. It was all very Miss Havisham at Satis House and she died when I was seven. She was the last of her family and the only person she’d turn to. My mother inherited her money but I remember her being so hopeless after that,” he explained and Byron’s lips twisted as Alastair held the kitchen door open.
“If she had her own money, why didn’t she leave him and take you with her?” He asked and Alastair sighed as he backed through the kitchen door and into the hall.
“She couldn’t leave the house without his permission. He never would have let her go and she couldn’t keep me from him. As far as the law was concerned, I was his son and his rights mattered more,” he said and Byron groaned as his heart sank.
“I hate him and I’m so sorry,” he said as he set his lanterns and flashlight on the long table in the hall.
“I know. I’m putting it all behind me and I don’t plan to return to Beldon Hall, once you’ve finished with Bede’s journals,” Alastair said and Byron reached for him then hesitated. He wanted to hold him and comfort him. He wanted to reassure himself that Alastair was strong and healthy and that he’d survived. He wanted to make him forget all the terrible things he’d suffered and show him he could be happy and loved. He wanted to cherish and worship every beautiful inch of his body.
“If you need…anything,” Byron said gently as he gripped Alastair’s arm. He cleared his throat as he nodded then flashed Byron a large and perfectly dashing smile.
“I hope you like duck!” He said as he turned and waved at the boxes on the table.
“Duck?” Byron repeated, stupidly. Alastair hummed as he lifted the lid on the larger box and revealed two roasted ducks. “Huh. Duck,” Byron repeated again. Really stupidly. Alastair’s smile dimmed.
“You don’t like duck?” He asked and Byron nodded.
“I love duck. I just wasn’t expecting it, out here,” he said and Alastair shrugged as he looked around.
“It’s not that odd,” he murmured and Byron blinked back at him. “Several earls and countesses did live here,” he added and Byron snorted.
“Right. But that was a long time ago and this is more like being on a dig than staying at an earl’s manor. I make just enough to be able to afford duck at a nice restaurant,” he explained and Alastair gave him an impatient look.
“I am still actually an earl, though,” he pointed out and Byron winced.
“Yeah but being an earl isn’t like it used to be, is it?” He asked and Alastair’s head pulled back and his mouth fell open.
“I beg your pardon?” He said as he crossed his arms over his chest and arched his brow authoritatively and Byron laughed as he pointed. He could always wind Alastair up by teasing him about his title.
“That was very earl-ish!” He said as he leaned and looked around Alastair and his stomach growled at the fig and goat cheese salads and pureed potatoes. “It used to be pretty cool, for you guys, but now you’re just like the rest of us but with more rules. A lot of the nobility aren’t even rich anymore,” he added and Alastair’s eyes narrowed.
“You guys? And I don’t have more rules,” he argued and Byron grinned.
“That’s because you’re Waldeford, you’ll do whatever the fuck you please,” he said and Alastair nodded.
“This explains so much, really,” he murmured and Byron looked at him expectantly. “You’ve always had a bit of disdain for my rank,” he said and Byron’s head pulled back.
“I have not. It’s just that you being an earl doesn’t really do anything extra for you, does it?” He asked and Alastair waved at the table.
“It gets me duck. I’m not sure if you’re getting any, though,” he muttered and Byron made a sympathetic sound as he rubbed his arm soothingly.
“I respect you and I know it’s a lot of work. I just don’t understand why titles are still important.”
“We are still the leaders of our communities. We provide and maintain the continuity of traditions that are the backbone of our national identity. England’s traditions are what keep us united and are our greatest source of pride,” Alastair explained and Byron whistled.
“Did you have to memorize that to get into the Junior Lords Club?” He asked and Alastair squeezed his eyes shut and swore under his breath.
“We should eat, while it’s still hot,” he said then stepped back and pulled out Byron’s chair. Byron eyed him warily as he sat then waited for Alastair to walk around the table and sit across from him. They were quiet as they passed each other boxes but Byron’s nerves would bubble every time their fingers touched. He would apologize later for being a shit about Alastair’s title. He’d hoped to take Alastair’s mind off the cellars. As far as Byron was concerned, he never wanted to see them again.
“Why did you order duck, though?” He asked and Alastair raised a shoulder as he prodded a fig.
“Do I need a reason? I was in the mood for duck,” he stated simply and Byron shook his head.
“Not at all,” he said as he cut off a bite of breast and skin. It was crunchy yet so tender. It was divine. He groaned as he chewed and Alastair looked slightly pained as he filled their glasses with wine. He wasn’t sure what happened to Alastair’s appetite but he kept piling duck on Byron’s plate and he barely touched his.
Chapter 19
“Alastair!” Byron called as he shook his shoulders and Alastair gasped as his eyes ripped open. “It was just a dream, I’m right here,” he said soothingly as his hand curved around Alastair’s jaw. He shut his eyes and nodded as he fought to catch his breath. The dream was so bad. He opened his eyes and Byron’s lips pushed against his. Alastair moaned as heat rushed from his lips and the cold panic of the dream thawed. He wrapped his hands around Byron’s face and kissed him urgently.
“I love you, Byron,” he confessed. He was tired of the fear and the pain. “We need to get out of this place before it hurts you,” he begged but Byron didn’t hear him. He laughed as his hands fisted in the front of Alastair’s shirt.
“I love you so much,” Byron said then pushed Alastair back on the bed as he kissed him wildly. His lips danced over Alastair’s face as his hands pushed his clothing out of the way.
“Please, we need to leave,” Alastair urged then clenched his jaw to hold back a moan as Byron’s hand found his cock and squeezed.
“I can’t I’m going to stay here forever,” he whispered excitedly. Alastair’s stomach burned and he shook his head.
“No, you can’t stay here,” he said then rolled them. Byron’s legs locked around his waist as he bucked beneath him, crushing their erections. Lust roared through Alastair as his hand tightened around Byron’s ass and he rolled his hips. He was
terrified but starving, he couldn’t pull his lips from Byron’s or take his hands off him as the NeedNeedNeed in his head was drowned out by scratching. Alastair closed his eyes as tight as he could and bit Byron’s shoulder to keep from screaming as pressure and heat swirled in his groin. A low, mournful sob filled the night. It shook the walls and echoed inside his head as lightening lit up the room.
“Alastair!” Byron pleaded and everything was dark and silent as Alastair’s face pressed against flat, hard wood. He pushed off the floor and he was alone in the hall. His heart was beating too fast and too hard as he got to his feet. More lightning brightened the hall but Alastair refused to turn and look toward the top of the stairs. He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes and begged for it to stop.
“I have to get out,” he opened his eyes then jumped at Byron’s frozen, milky gaze. “No!” Alastair screamed as he staggered back. Byron twisted slowly in front of him and a thick rope hung from his neck and puddled at his feet. Alastair reached for the door behind Byron and threw himself at it.
Thunder shook the ground and Alastair’s fingers, nose and ears burned from a frigid blast of wind as beads of rain pelted his face. He looked up at the sky and it was black and violent as clouds blocked the moon. His body shook violently as his clothes clung to him and he sagged in relief, he was definitely awake. He’d never hurt this bad or felt this cold in a dream. Alastair threw his head back and his chest heaved as he let the chill spread. His body still hummed with heat and desire but it made him feel sick and he wanted it gone. He turned and looked at the ground by the hall’s front steps and could see the sheet and the shape of his mother’s body beneath it. Her remains were in a crypt at the edge of the estate but Alastair would always feel her there. He went to her and dropped to his knees and pressed his hands against the ground.
“You’re all I ever had and he took you away from me,” he sobbed as tears poured from his eyes. They were so hot on his frozen cheeks. “Please, help me. I need him,” he begged.
“Alastair!” Byron called as he ran down the steps. “Get inside!” He ordered. His arms closed around Alastair and he pulled him to his feet. They stumbled up the steps together and Byron pushed Alastair through the door then shut and locked it. “What were you doing?” He demanded but Alastair couldn’t talk. His teeth were chattering and it made his brain rattle in his skull as he hugged his body. He couldn’t feel it but he was heavier as his wet clothes hung from him. “Let’s get all this off,” Byron said briskly and Alastair nodded quickly and shoved his sweatpants down his legs. The skin of his thighs was so cold, it stung as it was exposed to the slightly warmer air in the hall. He looked longingly at the hearth but the fire had gone out hours earlier. “Here,” Byron commanded as he turned Alastair and pushed his t-shirt up his chest and peeled it over his head and shoulders then tossed it in the direction of the fireplace. Dry cold was much better than wet cold but Alastair still couldn’t talk. He had to keep his jaw locked or he’d shatter his teeth. “Get in the bed,” Byron said as he pointed then hurried to his bed and grabbed the heavy duvet and tossed it at Alastair before pulling off his shirt. He pushed his soaked pajama pants over his hips then kicked them away before he grabbed Alastair by the shoulders and guided him toward the bed.
“Byyyyyyrrrrrron,” he warned through clenched teeth. Byron snorted as he pushed Alastair on the bed.
“We’re wet and freezing, my dick wants no part of this right now,” he muttered as he settled behind Alastair then pulled their duvets over them. The warmth was immediate but it took several minutes for Alastair’s body to stop jumping and shivering but he became lighter and the tension left him as Byron’s breath wafted against his shoulder. Peace and safety saturated Alastair and he couldn’t hold his eyelids open.
“Thank you,” he breathed then faded.
Chapter 20
“Ha! You’re a treasure, Miss Culbert,” Byron whispered as he added the housekeeper’s books to his pile of ledgers and records then carefully lifted the stack and backed into the kitchen.
“What’s all that?” Alastair asked as he tossed an apple in the air and followed him into the hall. He was acting as if the whole sobbing like a wounded animal in the freezing rain episode had never happened and Byron was doing his best to help him forget.
“This is every household account, log, letter and list from the year before you were born,” Byron stated as he gently dropped everything on the table then pulled his chair closer as he sat. Alastair frowned as he leaned against the edge of the table.
“We’re not going to look for the journals?” He asked and Byron wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
“It’s been raining all morning, it’ll be painfully cold and gross down there so I thought we’d stay in and see if we could make some progress with this,” he said and Alastair grumbled as he bit into his apple.
“Is there any point in trying to talk you out of it?” He asked and Byron shook his head as he held up Miss Culbert’s daily journal.
“I’ve got nothing better to do than dig in my heels and be a stubborn pain in the ass about this,” he warned and Alastair pulled a face as he took it then dropped into the seat next to Byron’s.
“What am I going to learn from old dinner menus and grocery lists?” He asked as he propped his cheek up with his hand and flipped open the book. Byron held up a finger as he searched then nodded as he sifted through books and documents.
“Based on your mother’s appointment book and her passport, we know she was here when she conceived you,” he murmured absently as he found the right pages then pushed them toward Alastair. His brows fell as his eyes flicked rapidly.
“How do you know for sure?” He asked and Byron grinned as he stared back at him.
“Despite my limited knowledge of the female anatomy, I was able to mathematically calculate which month you were conceived,” he replied and Alastair rolled his eyes.
“Pregnancies aren’t always exactly nine months long,” he said and Byron shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter. Your mother didn’t leave Beldon during the first year of your parents’ marriage,” he explained as Alastair nodded along.
“Clearly, I was conceived here,” he said then gestured at the books in front of him. “Why are we looking at menus and the butler’s wine log?” He asked and Byron felt a rush of anticipation as he scanned the table.
“Because a house like this prepares for guests and important visitors. And a house like this tracks every letter and caller that comes in and out of its doors. A house like this accounts for the number of plates and wine glasses filled at each meal and the number of pillow cases that are ironed each day,” he replied and Alastair looked impressed.
“We should be able to figure out who was at Beldon when I was conceived,” he said then shrugged. “It shouldn’t take too long to look through all of this,” he mused and Byron felt another jolt of excitement. Alastair’s father was somewhere on the table in front of them and it wouldn’t take more than a few hours for them to find him. He’d already searched the countess’ chambers. Byron was able to quietly hunt earlier in the morning while Alastair was still sleeping. He found one very badly deteriorated journal but Alastair’s mother wasn’t an avid journal writer. Aside from a few brief notes at the front of the book, it was empty. There were also the remains of a day planner but it was blank as well. She either neglected to keep a calendar or her days were heartbreakingly empty. Byron suspected it was the latter. Despite a very thorough inspection, Byron didn’t find any secret compartments, hidden drawers or loose boards. There was nothing to be found in Alastair’s mother’s rooms.
“If your father visited Beldon, he’s somewhere here,” Byron insisted as he pulled his chair closer to the table.
“He’s not here,” Alastair declared as he tossed the last ledger on the pile. “There were no visitors at Beldon around the time I was conceived. There were no visitors for months,” he added and Byron groaned as he pushed hi
s hands through his hair. If anything, Alastair’s parents seemed to be even more isolated at the time. Byron hissed as he scrubbed the back of his neck.
“We might need to lower our expectations,” he said gently and Alastair was still for several moments before his head fell back and he howled.
“How utterly perfect would it be if my real father was a gardener or a stable hand?” He laughed as he wiped his eyes. He slapped the table as he gasped for breath. “What if my father found out and that’s what caused his stroke?” He asked and Byron leaned back in his seat.
“Calm down. I was thinking it might have been someone in town. Maybe she confided in the vicar or reached out to a neighbor?” He offered and Alastair shook his head.
“My mother was a Habsburg. She was Catholic,” he said as he hopped to his feet. “My father made her attend private services in the estate chapel. She didn’t travel into town or have friends,” he added and Byron chewed on his thumb as he considered the estate’s employees. There wasn’t enough information on the men among the house’s staff. There was almost nothing on the groundskeeper’s men.
“I was so sure this would be an easy mystery to solve,” he admitted and Alastair hummed sympathetically as he kissed Byron’s hair.
“We have to accept that we might not find the answer, or we might not like it once we do find it,” he warned then cheered as he looked under Byron’s cardigan and found another case of wine. “Let’s play cards and get drunk,” he said and Byron’s lip pushed out as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Why am I more disappointed right now than you are?” He asked and Alastair chuckled as he opened a bottle.
“I don’t know. Why is that?” He said and Byron shook his head and pushed the question from his mind as he cleared the table. He had a feeling his motives for hunting for Alastair’s father were tied to his own abandonment as much as the need to learn about Alastair’s family history and health.