The Lion of Kent

by Aleksandr Voinov

  A heavy sigh. “Yes. I will do it.”

  “Good. Now, as for payment…” The voices trailed off and the words became indistinguishable as the two men moved away from the chapel window.

  William remained frozen in place, his mind whirling. His first instinct was to tell Sir Robert, but as soon as the thought entered his head, he crushed the idea. It would do no good for him to go running like a tattletale. Time he thought with his head rather than charge into the situation at full tilt. He had no clue as to the identities of the whisperers and the details of the plot, and to admit as such to his lord would be embarrassing. A man like Sir Robert demanded certainty and proof, not rumour. Besides, he’d been eavesdropping, and though the danger had sounded real enough, it could just have been idle talk between disgruntled men.

  It would surely be better if he investigated the matter discreetly, tried to uncover at least the names of the whisperers. Alerting even one other person could lead to loose talk, which might scare off the plotters. It was best to let them go ahead and think they were safe with their plans, and then he, William Raven, would step in and destroy them.

  He lifted his chin as if going to do battle with his unknown foes. This was his chance to prove his loyalty, to show his worth as a knight. Winning the knife fight was child’s play in comparison to protecting Sir Robert’s life. He’d been given the opportunity to show his devotion to his lord, and he would not fail in his task.

  His anger faded as he considered his own plans. The slam of a door on the other side of the light well brought him out of his daydreams, and he hurried back to the great hall. Perhaps he could draw up a list of suspects by checking who was missing from the gathering.

  Noise and heat washed over him as he entered the great hall. The smell of wine and ale hung in the air, mixed with the stink of sweat and the cloying notes of perfume. Several of the trestle tables had been shoved back against the wall, and people were dancing to a jaunty tune. The village girls had been admitted as extra entertainment, and the Frenchmen were trying to out-gallant the English knights for the women’s favours.

  John shoved a mug of ale into his hand and shouted an invitation at him. Distracted, William nodded and followed him, glancing around the hall to see if anyone obvious was missing from their place. It was impossible to tell—with half of the French knights flirting with the village girls and castle maids, and the other half carousing with the English knights, the careful seating plan of earlier in the night had been abandoned. Even the Viscomte de Murat had come down from the dais to sit by the minstrels, and was requesting songs with the interest of a musical connoisseur.

  A door opened to one side of the hall close to the high table, and William’s pulse leaped. That door led through a suite of rooms and adjoined the chapel—perhaps this was one of the killers? His spirits sank when Baron Albi entered the hall with an unsteady gait, his face wreathed in a beatific smile, his arm around a pretty maid and his clothing askew. He stumbled into the nearest chair and patted the maid’s backside before tossing her a silver coin.

  William closed his eyes in frustration. Already in the drone of noise surrounding him, he’d forgotten the exact phrasing and intonation of the two men. There was no way he’d be able to identify the murderers like this. He’d just have to keep his wits about him.

  “Raven! Over here!” The squires beckoned him over to their table.

  He fixed a smile to his face and started across the room. He almost tripped over Stephen, who sat on a bench with a flagon of wine addressing a large wolfhound. The dog was the only living creature interested in what Stephen had to say, but even then it was probably more concerned with getting its paws on the meaty chunk of thigh bone Stephen held in his free hand.

  Stephen was regaling the dog with boasts about his close friendship with Young Henry and how the junior king had promised him a bishopric. “I have my eye on Chichester,” Stephen slurred, waving the bone close to the dog’s nose in emphasis. “It’s not Winchester or York or Canterbury, but it will do nicely for a start. When Old Henry departs this life, his son is sure to elevate me. An archbishopric would be a just reward. His Young Majesty trusts me absolutely. Many times he has told me how invaluable he finds my advice.”

  William rolled his eyes and turned away, only to see Sir Robert watching him from the other side of the hall. They locked gazes, and William felt a jolt of awareness go through him. His emotions of the past week coalesced. His thoughts blurred as if he were drunk, and a moment later he realised the feeling wasn’t concern for his lord’s safety—it was lust, pure and simple.

  Stunned by the strength of his feelings, William covered his confusion by raising his ale in a silent toast. Robert didn’t respond but continued to stare at him, his bright gaze stripping away the layers William wore until he felt naked. It was an oddly pleasurable experience, waking hungry urges and giving him a shiver of anticipation.

  “William! Don’t just stand there, come and tell us how you defeated the Frenchie!” John swayed over to him and slung an arm around his neck before dragging him toward the table of squires and knights, who saluted him with raucous cheers and the clashing of ale mugs.

  William grinned. The squires made a space for him on the bench and his mug was topped up with frothy ale. He glanced back at Robert one more time, but his lord had gone.

  Chapter Three

  William staggered outside in the grey hours of morning. The air carried a hint of frost, a first taste of winter. In the hall, the carousing had died down. Most people were getting ready to sleep, which, in some cases, only meant they collapsed where they sat or stood. He inhaled the crisp air deeply, relishing how the cold bit into his lungs and sobered him.

  There. A flash of colour near the stables. Without thinking too much, William followed.

  The door was open. He peered inside, breathing in the smell of horseflesh and straw, then moved forward, his feet silent on the beaten earth floor. “Anyone there?”

  His eyes gradually adjusted to the semi-darkness after the wakening light of day. Horses shifted in their stalls, whickering softly. William looked for a movement that would betray another’s presence. The horses knew him, but from their quiet reaction, they also recognized the other man.

  Who would be hiding in the stables at this time of morning? There was no need for anyone to come here…unless it was one of the conspirators. A chill shivered down his spine as he recalled the Frenchman speaking about a lamed horse. Surely no one would tamper with one of Sir Robert’s animals in the stables? Now the thought was in his head, William couldn’t shake it. He ventured farther into the darkness.

  His hand touched the knife, but he didn’t draw it. It would be giving away his suspicions. He walked past Robert’s mighty destrier, the war horse’s hoof thumping loudly against the wooden box. But William wasn’t worried about the stallion. For the hunt, a lighter horse would be used, so he moved on toward where the riding horses stood asleep, their heads hanging.

  A creak of a wooden board above his head might be from the weight of a man. The ladder into the loft was close by. William reached blindly for it, then began to climb up. Here, the smell of hay was even stronger.

  Dust motes danced through the air in a faint shaft of light as he reached the top of the ladder. The loft stretched away, heaped piles of hay concealing shadows and who knew what else. William took a steadying breath, blinking at the light and trying to focus on what lay beyond. He strained to hear any betraying noise, but the thundering beat of his heart distracted him. Now he was certain that whoever was here with him intended some evil purpose. A servant or squire would have announced themselves by now.

  He stood, moved away from the edge of the loft, and circled the nearest pile of hay. A shadow shifted, and William held his breath.

  “Are you alone?” the man said, turning toward him.

  William paused, too taken aback to reply at first by the realisation that the man was Robert. Relief filled him, but immediately he grew tense again, t
hough this time for other reasons. He forced himself to respond as he tried to control his reaction. “Yes, my lord. I’m alone.”

  Robert seemed to accept that as truth, because now he came toward him with a sudden speed and force that made William almost breathless. He wondered for a moment whether Robert would hit him when he raised his hand, but that was only to take his chin with gloved fingers. Robert was suddenly close, and drew closer, their breath mingling.

  William stared, at a loss to say anything. That lust welled up in him again, leaping like fire. It rendered him weak, yet the power of his desire burned through him, and he knew this was a feeling to treasure, to feed from. Now he understood why squires would often pledge their lives, their very souls, to the service of their lord. William trembled with the force of his need.

  “You wonder about your reward, young lion?”

  “No. I…have it here.” Recollecting himself, William was about to touch the knife at his side, but Robert took his hand in a firm grip.

  “Yes, you do.” Robert’s mouth quirked into one of those smiles, and he came close enough that their lips almost brushed. William moved forward, completing the kiss, suddenly hungry for it like never before. His lover of the other night had been his lord, not one of the knights, then. He remembered the taste, the wine and spices, but also the other taste that was all Robert.

  It had been him all along, and that sudden knowledge was heady like strong liquor. He’d been lured and baited, and now they were here together, alone. William’s head swam with possibilities, and he reached for Robert’s powerful neck, pulling him closer, pulling himself closer. It didn’t matter, because now they were body to body, locked together by hands and lips, and William couldn’t help but push against his lord.

  The heat of the kiss only made him hungrier for a touch. The memory of Robert’s hand around him, giving without taking anything in return, made him dizzy with need. “What…whatever you want,” he whispered, voice rough. “This time it should be your pleasure, my lord.”

  Robert nodded for him to move over to the hay, and William lay back in the rustling softness. The sweet scent of the hay tickled his nose, mixing with that spicy fragrance he already knew so well. Anxious and eager to please, he began to remove his clothes, kicking off his shoes, unbuckling his belt, pulling the plain woollen tunic over his head, but he paused when Robert didn’t follow his example. William crumpled the tunic in his hand, wondering what to do. Had he displeased his lord somehow? What else did Sir Robert expect from him?

  “Continue,” Robert said, watching him intently.

  William pulled off the rest of his clothes, conscious how naked he was in his arousal. In contrast, his lord’s rich splendour, velvet and fur and jewels, made his nudity seem more sinful.

  Robert unclasped his mantle and placed it down on the hay, motioning William to get on top of it. It was soft and still body-warm against William’s skin, and smelled of Robert, who now knelt down near him, but not touching, merely regarding him. Robert took off his rings and gloves. William lay back, breathlessly waiting for his lord to undress and claim him any way he desired. Any way William wanted, too.

  “Calm, William.” Robert smiled, placing his fingers against William’s chest, as if ordering him to stay there. “You won’t win your knighthood on your back.”

  “I didn’t—”

  The protest was only half formed before it choked off. William gave a cry of surprise as Robert bent down and took his cock in his mouth.

  The sensation, so warm and wet, reminded him of the few village lasses he’d fucked, but this was different—completely different. The heat and tempo, the clasp of lips around the base of his cock, the slow slide to the tip, the flicker of tongue against the sensitive underside…He groaned, grasping handfuls of the velvet cloak, fingers tightening into fists. It would be too easy to spill his seed this way, and the idea of it made him blush.

  Shocked to the marrow, William made another feeble attempt at a protest, but his voice lacked conviction and his words ended in an incoherent moan. This was surely the most wanton, sinful thing he’d ever experienced, and while he trembled at his wickedness, his cock jerked and grew harder between Robert’s lips. Arousal stabbed at him, stronger than any desire he’d had before.

  This must be a taste of pure heaven. The blasphemy only made him harder, and he shifted restlessly on the cloak.

  William lifted his head to watch his lord sucking at him. Robert’s eyes were half-lidded, his expression one of deep contentment and concentration. His silver-touched dark hair tumbled forward, obscuring his face, and William brushed it back, an instinctive response that made Robert draw him in deeper.

  He’d never felt anything like Robert’s warm, wet lips and mouth, his tongue that teased him. William pushed toward it, greedy for more, wanting to control the rhythm, before Robert took his hips in a firm grip and held him motionless while he sucked.

  William bit down on the groans, teeth clenched as if he were in pain, but it was the most delicious, excruciating feeling he could have imagined. Sheer lust jolted through him as Robert looked up, seeking and holding his gaze while he did this. William all but squirmed, soon breathless, beyond thought or reason. If this was the beginning of whatever else Robert wanted, his lord could have it all. William vowed to give anything, to do anything Robert wanted, as long as he didn’t stop now.

  Desperation gave his cries a sharp, frantic edge. William arched and thrashed on the cloak, his limbs trembling, sweat sheening his body. He strained toward his climax, feeling it build in his balls, feeling the power of it coil around his spine. He bucked, breaking free of Robert’s grasp, his hips thrusting harder and faster, driving his cock into his lord’s mouth. William gasped, his chest tight, his breathing short. He shuddered, sheathing himself a final time, and cried out as he came.

  He tried to withdraw, but Robert held him close, fingers digging into his thighs to keep him still. William stared when Robert simply swallowed his seed and then pulled back.

  “It’s a sin to let it fall onto the ground,” he said with a smug expression.

  William gave a half-laugh, breathless and disbelieving at what he’d just felt, what he was still feeling. “Why? Not the seed…I mean, why did you do this?”

  “Your reward.” Robert’s eyes glittered. “And it pleases me, too.”

  “And it was you. That…that night. You.”

  Robert lifted an eyebrow. “Did you expect someone else? Is there anyone else, William?”

  “No.” William sat up. “No. I didn’t…expect anything.” He hesitated, dozens of questions crowding his mind, but the only one he could say out loud was, “My lord, why me?”

  Robert smiled again at him but didn’t reply. He ran his fingers down William’s heated cheek, and William thought he might stay, might do more, take something in return, but he collected his gloves, got to his feet and stepped away, twisting the rings onto his gloved hands as he did so.

  Conscious that their time together had ended, William rolled off the mantle, stood and offered it. Robert accepted the garment, stroked a hand over the disordered nap, then turned and left.

  William ventured to the edge of the loft and watched his lord walk out of the stables without a backward glance. Though he wanted to call Robert back, William knew he had no right, none at all. He had no words to offer more, and he’d thought—no, expected—that Robert would claim and take whatever pleasure he wanted from William’s body. Instead, he was left in confusion, torn between shame and pleasure.

  He dressed in a hurry, more bewildered than before, and the nagging feeling arose that he should have told his lord about the hired murderer in his hall, so Robert would be prepared.

  Just as quickly, he pushed the thought aside. No. He would deal with this matter himself. He would prove how loyal and responsible he could be. He wanted Robert to look at him with admiration and respect as well as desire. He wanted—and William shied from the thought like a nervous horse—he wanted to win his l
ord’s love.

  * * *

  William emerged from the stables still shaken. His body seemed sensitive to the simplest touch, be it the morning breeze or the brush of his clothes against his skin. He picked a stalk of hay from his hair and gazed at it with a half smile, then tucked it inside his tunic. A moment later, he tossed the keepsake away. God’s wounds, but he was acting like a lovesick maiden!

  Chuckling at his foolishness, William strolled across the courtyard. Now the sun was up, he had to be about his duties before someone remarked on his absence.

  The day was almost upon them, and though they’d been preparing for the hunt for a full week, there was still too much to do. Arrows had been fletched especially for the event, and last eve Lady Alais’s gentlewomen had been called upon to stitch strips of fur onto mantles and riding cloaks for added warmth against the chill of the autumn air.

  William paused at the gateway to the yard. A handful of French knights were practicing with short spears, stabbing at bales of straw. A couple of bleary-eyed English squires stood and commented on the performances, hoping for the chance to impress with their knowledge. Usually William would stay and watch with his fellows, but today he had other thoughts occupying his head.

  He rushed up the staircase and snatched a roll of warm barley bread from the kitchen, ducking away with a grin as the cook shouted after him in mock anger. William stuffed the bread into his mouth, chewing quickly as he entered the great hall. A few hours ago, drunken and inert bodies had lain scattered about, but now everyone was awake, if not entirely sober, and the soiled rushes were being removed so the servants could scrub the floor.

  No one needed him for the moment, so William went to the far end of the hall and pushed open the door to the adjoining suite. The sacristy and chapel lay this way, the light dim and the air bearing traces of incense and snuffed beeswax candles.

  He wasn’t sure why he’d come here. Perhaps to stand in the same spot as the conspirators, to see if God would grant him the illumination of their identities. The thought of the Almighty made William uneasy even as he turned the iron handle and opened the door to the chapel. He was walking on consecrated ground and had committed a sin not one hour ago. By rights he should seek out Father Andrew and ask to make his confession, but William wanted to treasure the memory of what Robert had done to him. Such pleasure might indeed be a sin, but if so, William would atone for it in his own way by unmasking the bastards who plotted against his lord.