Feeling His Steel

by Brynn Paulin

  Feeling His Steel

  Brynn Paulin Disgraced and disowned, Sir Alwyn fled his village and certain death, vowing to make a new life. He’ll never forget his lost lover Tobias, but he’ll do what he must to survive. Little does he know, fate has destined his future will be far from anything he’s imagined.

  Toby never suspected his study of medieval history would come to life, but he can’t overlook the knight who appears before him, claiming to be his long-lost lover. Firmly in the closet and in danger of losing his job if his sexual orientation is discovered, Toby is stunned by his instant lust for the warrior from the past. Could Sir Alwyn truly have time-traveled to reunite with Toby? Niggling memories tell him the man might be telling the truth.

  Inside Scoop: A professor finds his destiny with the hunky medieval knight he loved and lost centuries ago in this scorching male/male tale.

  A Romantica® gay erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  FEELING HIS STEEL

  Brynn Paulin Prologue

  England 1340 Alwyn angrily shoved his way through the branches hanging over the nearly obscured path leading deep into the forest beside his father’s keep. No one had trodden down this path since he’d last been here. That was before the adventures of knighthood had consumed him. Before he’d taken up arms to fight.

  His jaw locked.

  He’d never take up his sword again. It lay broken on the steps of the village church, a symbol of his disgrace and the shame he’d brought upon his family. His teeth ground together. It was a dishonor his own sire had revealed, dragging Alwyn’s desires to the village square and shouting them for all to hear.

  “Sir Alwyn the sodomite, I will see you removed from your exalted place of honor. You have sinned before God and his people.”

  His own sire. The man leered at every nubile female who passed and tumbled into bed with every maiden who would have him, but he had no compassion for his second son, the “travesty to men”.

  Alwyn felt no remorse, only anger. He’d done no sin.

  Yet now he was a dishonored knight. Homeless. Impoverished. Without weapon, steed or name. An angry horde followed his footsteps, though he’d done the people no wrong. Only through cunning had he evaded them thus far. That might not last.

  His only hope for a future lay deep in this forest where he and his first lover had discovered their need for each other. Tobias, his dear companion, had been slain eight years past. Trained as a knight, yet from a poor family that could not afford to outfit him for the position, Tobias had served as Alwyn’s squire so that they might be together. And they had been, until Tobias’ death. Verily Alwyn was unsure whether he would ever traverse beyond the loss or his guilt over his lover’s death.

  As he moved deeper through the trees, his memories grew stronger. He and Tobias had often hidden here. He knew they’d left some of their belongings in the small shelter they’d erected. It was unlikely most had survived the elements and time, but his first sword would still await his hand. It would do until he could replace it with better.

  He mightn’t be a knight in these parts, but he could travel to places uninformed of his disgrace. His father had seen him well educated in languages and ensured he learned to both read and write. He could travel to the continent. There was always a lord in need of steel. All was not lost.

  Time was precious. Alwyn could not tarry or his plan might end in his excruciating death. He’d heard stories of what was done to men like him.

  Determined to escape that fate, he fought his way through the overgrowth and into the shelter where his love for Tobias had flourished.

  “Tobias,” he whispered, sinking to his knees within the hidden clearing, safe for the moment. “I need you.”

  Faint laughter tinkled behind him and he twisted around to look for the woman from which it had come. There was no one there. As the wind whistled through the trees, he decided the sound must merely have been a gust from the impending storm. No one had found him.

  He crawled toward the heavy chest he and Tobias had left in the corner of the shelter. The weathered wood was cracked, much like his soul. His hands smoothed over the two letters carved in the top of the lid above the latch. They were barely visible after all this time, but he knew them. T and W. Tobias and Wyn. That was what Tobias had called him. Wyn.

  Oh Tobias. The humiliation that had been piled on Wyn that day, the mud that had been hurled at him, the spiteful words, all of it…all of it came to this. It came back to his need for Tobias. The one who had always been his true strength. Tobias. With his love by his side, Wyn would have been able to endure this humiliation. He could have endured anything. Now he could not. He carried too much pain already, pain that lingered. It remained fresh though eight years past.

  Sometimes the ache stabbed at him so sharply, he thought he would curl into a ball and give up. But he forced himself to go on. Tobias would mock him thoroughly for his weakness. The day Tobias had died, he had told Wyn to go, to fight those who had reviled men like them. Together, he and Tobias had been stronger than the emotional frailty that now crushed Wyn daily. It seemed half his strength had left him.

  His arm went around his middle as the pain, which always seemed fresh, rushed through him again. Wyn gritted his teeth and pulled a facade of strength around him. He’d pretended for years. He could pretend for the short amount of time it took to gather his things and escape this place.

  The hinges of the chest had rusted and they creaked as he pushed open the lid. The curved cover immediately fell to the earth with a dull thud, the metal pulling away from the old wood. It was no matter. The box had served its purpose.

  Wyn looked inside, hoping it was as he remembered.

  The blanket within the trunk had seen better days, and looked as if a colony of small animals had found it. Beneath the deteriorating fabric, steel wrapped in oilcloth peeked out at him. Alwyn reached for it then lifted it free.

  His first sword. He drew his finger along the tarnished blade and sighed.

  Tarnished like his life.

  He set aside the weapon and dug through the chest to see what other treasures it might surrender. Tobias had always been the one to fill the recesses with things he’d wanted them to remember. With care, he’d retrieved those things Wyn would throw aside as useless. Now Wyn was thankful.

  His fingers laced through a chain and he removed a pendant with his lover’s family crest. Reverently, he drew it over his head, tucking it inside his tunic and chainmail.

  Quickly he pawed through what remained. Nothing else seemed of consequence.

  He grabbed the sword and shoved it into the empty scabbard at his waist. It was

  time to leave. Even this place that had once been a haven for two lovers would not conceal him from bloodthirsty men who called him a sinner and demanded his death. At one time, he might have questioned why he couldn’t be normal and love women. But who was to say what was normal? He would rather wonder why others couldn’t understand that love was love. This was his way. God had yet to smite him for it.

  Tobias was taken from you.

  He scowled at the unbidden thought. Tobias had been taken by an angry horde, not God.

  My love, I will await you. Come for me.

  Wyn scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Come for Tobias? How? Die?

  Only Tobias knew. He had possessed the gift of visions. Alwyn did not. He had no

  idea what the next day would hold. Or what his lover had meant.

  “He means to wait for you through eternity.”

  Alwyn leaped to his feet and swung around at the sound of the ethereal voice. His

  arm went before his eyes at the woman standing a few paces away. Light emanated from her, casting her in a glow. And he could see straight through her! An an
gel… His hand moved automatically to cross himself, but he stopped the useless action, remembering the scene in the church less than an hour past. Pulling his foolhardy cloak of pride around himself, he stood erect and faced his destiny. He’d awaited this moment since Tobias had been taken from him.

  “They come for you,” the woman said. Her translucent arm indicated behind her. Wyn followed her motion and saw points of firelight through the trees. They would find him in minutes.

  The glow around the woman seemed to increase, drawing his eyes back to her. She looked at him with kind eyes. “You may go where I send you, or you may await your fate at their hands.”

  “I will run.” He would leave this place. He would leave this country and the land so near his father’s home. He had no future here. He would not tarry and wallow in the grief that had surrounded him for so long.

  “Fleeing will take you nowhere. You will be at their mercy before the hour dwindles.” He swallowed. Death was death. And, surely, she was its angel. Did it matter which choice he made? Did it make him cowardly to want to take her choice, the easy way? His jaw hardened. He did not fear death. He feared life and the loneliness it offered. He was weak without his lover, but it was not weakness to follow where this angel led.

  “I will go with you,” he told her. She laughed, and he heard the tinkling sound he’d heard earlier—such a gleeful sound from such a harbinger. Who would have thought the messenger of demise would be as bright as the noonday sun and full of mirth?

  With an amused tilt of her head, she smiled. “I do not lead you. I send you.” “Where?”

  Amusement shone in her glowing blue eyes. “There,” she said simply as if it

  answered everything. He suspected she was being purposely difficult and evasive. The overarching trees shifted on the wind, and rain pelted down on him. Water streamed down his skin, and his hair stuck to his face and neck, increasing the discomfort of this place. The angel, if that was what she was, appeared untouched by the weather.

  She tapped his shoulder. “Do not fail him.”

  Fail? What—

  Before he could ask her meaning, a flash blinded him and shot into his arm,

  exploding through his body. Lightning… Had he finally been blessed with death?

  Chapter One

  Dear Lord save him…

  “Miss Fremont, please get your hand off my a—body.”

  “You almost said ass,” she breathed, looking ready to swoon. “Professor Woods, I

  love it when a man talks dirty. And your accent. As hot as Colin Firth at the end of Bridget Jones. Say it again!” “Oh for the love of God!” Toby Woods rushed into his office and shut the door firmly before the girl got any more ideas about clutching his backside. He leaned his head against the solid wood. His eyes closed and he sighed. Teaching first-year English hadn’t been his intention when he’d come from Northern England to this small private college on the outskirts of downtown Grand Rapids, Michigan, in the United States two years ago. Neither had he intended to teach class after class of horny, barely eighteenyear-old girls.

  His degree was in history with a minor in English. He’d jumped at the chance to teach the courses Origins of Modern English and Medieval History at the college near Levey Museum, the home of a huge collection of medieval documents—documents he’d often been contracted to translate since arriving here. The kicker was the freshman English courses that had been thrown in as part of the package. They comprised most of his work. There just wasn’t much call for the other two classes.

  A little research on the college would have been good, Tob.

  Some days were far worse than the rest. Like today.

  In his defense, he’d thought Grand Riverside College had been the other school to

  which he’d applied for a teaching position—the one with a coed student population. He’d been shocked to arrive and learn the truth. Idiot! But he’d gone with the flow, knowing he’d be instructing in his chosen field with his beloved documents nearby. Well, not his documents. He just liked to think of them that way.

  So he’d attended meetings and his orientation with nary a word about his mistake and had almost laughed aloud when the dean of the English Department, Gerald Palmer, had sternly commented, “The girls aren’t easy targets for young professors on the make, so don’t get any ideas.”

  As if. They couldn’t be more safe from him. He was the one who wasn’t safe. Two years later, Palmer still looked at him sideways, as if Toby would jump one of the girls at any time.

  He rubbed his backside and strode to his desk to deposit his text and lecture notes. Bloody hell, the girl outside his office just now wasn’t even the worst today. He would have a beastly bruise from someone else’s groping. He didn’t know that student—she wasn’t his pupil—or he’d certainly mark down her grade.

  Not taking any chances on a return engagement, he went back to the door and turned the lock. No office hours today, ladies. And none of the attention you seem to want from me either.

  What would good old Dean Palmer say if he knew Toby was gay? Toby could guess. He grimaced. Palmer would see him fired—probably for some trumped-up reason too—then send his “gay ass” packing back to England.

  Toby had observed enough at the college to know exactly what would happen. The administration would privately vilify his sexual preference while publicly finding fault with his teaching or record-keeping or something else equally false. They’d get rid of the oddity in their midst despite his complete lack of interest in the students’ bodies.

  Bunch of stupid pricks.

  Not for the first time, he considered quitting his job, but leaving Grand Riverside would mean giving up the Levey document collection. Unacceptable. He scowled and pulled out his cell phone to check his messages. Maybe the curator from Levey had called to tell him they had some work to fill up his weekend.

  Or maybe not… He didn’t have a single message. If that wasn’t a sign of his lackluster life, he didn’t know what was.

  He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair. Maybe he should hop on his motorcycle and take another weekend trip to Chicago to hook up with some guy—any guy. Just a guy. Someone he could fuck. Someone who wasn’t from around here, where the grapevine was more far-flung than the one in the small town in upper England where his adoptive family had raised him.

  He wished Levey would just hire him full time to do work on their documents. He’d leave the teaching gig behind in an instant. But Levey wasn’t hiring in this economy. Nobody was. And especially not a full-time linguist to translate documents that had been around for centuries and would be for several years more.

  He was stuck unless he wanted to go back to England with his tail between his legs. That wasn’t happening. Not in this century. Closing his eyes, he lifted his face toward the ceiling and prayed for strength to get through another year of teaching or the guidance to find a job somewhere more…liberal.

  His entreaty was interrupted by the sound of musical laughter floating through his office. He jerked around, checking to be sure none of his students had sneaked inside. He winced at the thought of the girl he’d had security escort out last week and the unmentionables he occasionally found on his desk and on his chair. It didn’t seem to matter that he locked his door. They still got inside…somehow.

  This time, the room was empty. He sighed, turning back to his desk to get ready to leave for the day. If he hurried, he could throw a few things in a bag at home and be in Chicago by seven. Maybe six thirty if he—

  Thunder crashed outside, startling him from his thoughts and rattling his office. The windows vibrated and the floor shook. Toby’s phone tumbled out of his hand and onto a pile of books as he stumbled and grabbed the top of his desk. Papers flew to the floor.

  Damn! That lightning strike had been close. What the hell was that? It had been clear skies when he’d crossed campus five minutes ago, and his office had shuddered more like an earthquake than a nearby storm. He’d never heard of quake
s in Michigan. And that sound had been like an explosion.

  Pushing away from the desk, he straightened and turned. He should see if everyone was okay. As a teacher it was his duty to—

  Holy shit!

  “Oh my God…” he whispered.

  Standing in the middle of his office, between the fichus plant and one of the visitor chairs, was a man in full armor with a smoking sword in his hand and a strange, glowing white aura around him.

  A white knight. In his office. Go figure.

  Toby’s vision blurred and to his utter humiliation, his knees buckled. He slid to the floor in a very unmanly manner.

  * * * * *

  “Tobias…” Toby struggled back to consciousness through a fog of strange visions from the past. Confused by the peculiar pictures, he opened his eyes and stared into the whiskybrown eyes of the man leaning over him. Toby blinked at him, wondering why he was on the floor and why the oddly dressed man’s words were a garble. A muzzy haze seemed to surround them as Toby struggled to put everything together. Confusion, fear and arousal intermingled as he stared at the man…a man he knew. A man who would never forgive him.

  No! This stranger couldn’t know Toby. There was nothing to forgive. That had all been fantasies, nightmares, a past lost in the ether of childhood. Toby had never lived in the Middle Ages, though he’d once thought he had. It had all been the overactive imagination of an unwanted orphan who’d been cast aside by his family. If not for his adoptive family, he’d be dead or institutionalized as a crazy freak.

  Still he’d had recurring dreams of that time and…this man was in them. He was slightly older than in Toby’s dreams and Toby knew this knight’s name was Wyn— Alwyn of Cine Nerung. Toby had no reason to believe otherwise. His dreams had always been accurate. He knew details about history that he shouldn’t. His mom called him sensitive to the shadows of the past. Did that make him some sort of weird psychic? He spoke Middle English as easily as if he’d used it since childhood and no one could explain that either. He just knew it, though reading and writing the ancient language had been more difficult.