The Lion of Kent

by Aleksandr Voinov

  They looked at one another for a heartbeat, then Robert glanced away and made a dismissive gesture. “If you are truly worried about your immortal soul, you may leave now.”

  William remained where he stood. A shrug, and the drying-cloth slipped from his body, leaving him naked. “My lord, teach me what you learned.”

  He moved forward, and Robert met him halfway. They kissed, a tentative touch, more a caress of breath than an embrace. William murmured, changing the angle and increasing the pressure. Robert responded, stepping closer so their bodies crushed together. William pushed a hand through Robert’s hair, gripping it to bring him down into a longer kiss.

  Robert opened his mouth, his lips soft and warm. William nipped at him, ran the tip of his tongue over Robert’s lower lip, then deepened the kiss. The sweet, spicy taste of wine rolled across his tongue, a familiarity that excited him. He felt Robert dance his fingers down his spine. The sensation of his lord’s hands cupping his arse made William hard in an instant.

  Robert stroked up his spine, a rough caress, then placed his hands on William’s shoulders, pressing down. William resisted for a moment, puzzled. When the pressure came again, stronger and more insistent this time, he glanced up.

  Robert smiled. “There are times, William, when a man must be on his knees.”

  A jolt of lust seared through him. William let out a shaky laugh, hurriedly dropping his gaze. He drew in a breath and sank down, rubbing his face against Robert’s chest like a cat as he slid lower, feeling the shirr of the silk robe against his cheek. Once on his knees, William tilted back his head and smiled at Robert, who stared down at him with a hungry expression.

  William lowered his gaze in a teasing suggestion of subservience and nuzzled at the growing bulge beneath Robert’s robe. He slid his hands up Robert’s thighs, rested them at his waist, then untied the silken belt. Moving with slow deliberation, William pushed the robe apart. Robert’s cock stood erect, long and thick with a slight curve, the flaring head glistening with moisture. William smiled, half closing his eyes as he inhaled the odour of sex, the potent mix of salt and musk.

  Deliberately, he glanced up and ran his tongue over his lips, watching Robert’s expression blaze with violent heat. Robert gave a muffled groan and thrust forward. Remembering what Robert had done to him in the stables, William pressed a hand against his thigh, keeping him back, and then knelt forward and licked from root to tip. He took a breath, high on the scent, and rubbed the cockhead against his face, breathing hard as it jerked against the soft pout of his mouth. It dirtied his lips with a sticky trail, and he chased the wetness, curling his tongue to catch the spooling pre-come.

  Robert groaned aloud as William ran his tongue around the rim of the head before opening wide and taking him in deep. William felt the answering echo of lust with each movement he made, his own cock painfully tight. Saliva flooded his mouth as he worked his lips up and down Robert’s shaft, leaving a wet trail of his own. He circled his thumb and fingers around the base of Robert’s prick and jerked him off, his fingers meeting his lips as he drew the foreskin over the swollen head then pushed it back in a strong, steady rhythm.

  He hummed slightly, his concentration intense. The taste of the salty fluid of pre-come leaked across his tongue. Robert’s balls rose high and tight; his hands stroked through William’s hair, grasping it, scrabbling for a harsher grip, shoving William’s face hard against his groin. William nuzzled through Robert’s pubic hair, licking at the rough curls and probing at his balls.

  Robert urged him on with incoherent moans. He swayed where he stood and tried to move a few steps to the bed, but William refused. A sense of power filled him, better than the taste of musk, better than the reality of hot, hard cock thrusting into his mouth. William sucked, riding the wave of his own pleasure, his hand pumping around the base of Robert’s cock. A moment later, William felt the tremor of orgasm approach, tasted the initial squirt of semen—then, with a hoarse groan, Robert pulled free of him.

  William cried out in disappointment and then gave a second, startled, yelp as Robert came over his face and chest. His seed was warm and sticky, a thick rain spilling onto his skin. Moments later, Robert exhaled on a deep, contented sigh, and then he chuckled.

  Still surprised, William peered up at him. He didn’t know how he felt, and could only imagine how he looked with Robert’s semen dripping from him. He snaked out his tongue and licked a drop from the corner of his mouth. Glancing down, he saw the thick white trails over his chest. He thought he should feel dirty, but instead the sight made his heart beat faster.

  Robert stared down at William with a smile. “Now it’s your turn. You may use your hands.”

  William gazed at him blankly, uncomprehending for a second. He lifted a hand to touch the semen decorating his chest, smearing it, rubbing it into his skin with slow amazement.

  “I want to watch you pleasure yourself,” Robert said softly.

  William tried to speak, but no words came. The request robbed him of rational thought. Obediently, he sat back on his heels and wrapped his hand around his cock. Pleasure built immediately. It wouldn’t take long. He fixed his gaze on his lord’s face, but soon he had to close his eyes, too self-conscious to be so bold. He gasped, jerking his cock with harder and rougher strokes as he chased climax. His erection throbbed and strained, oozing trails of wetness to smooth his grip.

  He gasped, his head falling forward as he came, his free hand cupped over his cock to stop the spurts of semen from splashing everywhere. His hands and thighs caught the torrent of hot seed. He quivered, his breath rasping in his throat, and then he gave a sob of surrender and slumped to rest his head against Robert’s knee.

  “My lord,” he said when he could speak coherently. “My lord…”

  Robert stroked his sweat-streaked hair. “That’s enough for tonight, young lion. Save the rest of your strength for the hunt.”

  Though kindly said, it was a dismissal. William crouched on the floor, his mind spinning, as Robert pulled the embroidered robe about him, belted it, and walked out of the room.

  William cleaned himself on the drying-cloth then crawled toward his discarded clothes and dressed. It was only as he crept from the bedchamber that he realised he hadn’t warned his lord about the dangers awaiting him tomorrow.

  Chapter Four

  “The boar is of the devil.” Stephen’s high-pitched voice rang out. “A good Christian meets the devil’s minion at danger to his soul.”

  William glanced up from his breakfast, forcing the food down even though he wasn’t hungry. He’d awoken much too early and lain awake thinking of—what else?—Sir Robert. His touch. His words. The rare revelation of his master’s thoughts.

  He wished with all his heart that he could have been old enough to go on crusade with his lord. But he’d been an untested youth when Sir Robert left, not yet ready for the pursuits of men or warriors. Fighting at his side against the beastly heathens, seeing all the wonders of Constantinople, praying at the sites hallowed with the blood of the Messiah…what a wild and wonderful life, and he’d missed it.

  He looked at Sir Robert, who ate calmly in silence, his features betraying nothing as Stephen continued to bray his opinions like a donkey on a village green.

  “But youth of course is too busy making cow-eyes at worldly men to see the dangers awaiting their souls. And what dangers they are!”

  The murmur in the hall silenced, and William only caught it when John elbowed him in the ribs. He glanced up at the high table and saw Stephen’s stare directed at him.

  Shifting uneasily on the bench, William noticed for the first time that Stephen had a stare of similar power as his brother. No wonder the junior king Young Henry had fallen under Stephen’s spell. William blinked. What was the churchman on about? Worldly men? Cow-eyes? He met the stare, unsure how to defend himself. He was destined to be a warrior, a knight, not a priest. Chastising him for it seemed an unjust allegation.

  “You should know that men
killed by the boar lose their souls,” Stephen said, his hard gaze still on William, who felt a shiver run down his spine. “The boar is a pagan beast, a devil that was worshipped in the dark forests of Germania before the Lord’s missionaries tore it from the darkness.”

  “Well, but they are Germans,” Robert said with the hint of a smile. “Baron Albi, what do you think?”

  “I’m curious to meet a proper English boar. There is excellent hunting at home—we have sangliers there, fierce black pigs that taste very good. You will have to visit and see if they are to your taste, Robert.” Albi grinned and raised his cup of wine, observing his host over the silver rim. “And you have quite the reputation for lion hunting, I have heard.”

  Robert lifted his cup in response, eyes gleaming with humour. “I’ve found the lions of Damascus to be a match for a good English boar. Yet I’ve seen more men killed by boars than lions, and the boar is more dangerous than the lion, for he is the only beast that kills a man with one blow. And where the boar charges blindly in its rage, the lion demands you meet him as an equal, noble encountering noble on his terms, on his lands.”

  William’s heart raced and he lowered his gaze, desperate not to reveal what he felt at those words. Every syllable seemed like half praise, half gentle mockery, and made his blood surge. He wanted Robert’s touch again, desperately, but knew he’d have to be patient. After last night, he no longer thought that Robert found him wanting, but it was no consolation knowing that his lord was in mortal danger from somebody in this hall.

  “Well, here’s an English lion that he’s tamed rather than killed,” John said under his breath at William’s side, and William shot him a glance.

  “What?”

  John grinned at him. “You’ve been a kitten ever since Sir Robert returned.”

  God’s teeth, the last thing he needed was the other squires talking about them. William’s hands tightened into fists while his mind raced. But anger had a way of making it difficult to come up with a good retort. Everybody seemed eager to rile him, and he didn’t know how to defend himself against that. He couldn’t talk back to Sir Robert’s brother, but John was a different matter. A shame he couldn’t find the right words, not right now.

  “I just want my spurs,” William ground out. “I don’t know what it is you want, but if you’re content to fuck whichever wench happens to cross your path, that’s your decision.”

  John’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed William’s tunic right under the throat. Immediately, William was on his feet, needing distance to even have a chance against the larger, heavier man.

  “You arrogant bastard,” John spat, quick anger in his eyes, and then shoved hard at William’s chest, letting him go and forcing him to stagger back.

  The last word rang loud around the hall. Dazed with anger, torn between attack and flight, William saw Robert’s watchful gaze on him. It was the only thing that could bring him back from the verge of mindless rage. Lion. Not boar. He suddenly understood Robert’s words and felt deeply ashamed of his temper, but the fury didn’t fade. It simmered within him, and William took deep breaths to calm himself the way Ulric advised them to do before a fight.

  Robert stood, a signal for everyone to rise and make ready for the hunt. The little spat was ignored and seemingly forgotten, like the tussle of two dogs playing between the feet of the nobles. Vaguely amusing, but of no consequence in the larger scheme of things.

  The lords had already decided which boar to hunt. The chief huntsman had brought news of the black beast that had been terrorizing the countryside for a while, and fresh tracks had been found.

  Excited chatter broke the tiredness of a very early morning as the kennel-men took the dogs outside. Horses still warm from their stables steamed in the crisp, dark autumn morning, and weapons gleamed. Some of the guests had chosen strange-looking hunting swords to fell the beast, sharp at the tip and blunt at the top as to not injure the horse with an unfortunate miss.

  William, like Robert and the other Englishmen, chose a good short spear with a broad blade at the tip and a metal cross section that held the boar at bay when it impaled itself on the blade. The wood was old seasoned oak, the hilt well-worn and solid in William’s grasp, reassuring him that it would withstand the attack of a boar even of the monstrous size given in the reports.

  Men killed by the boar lose their souls. Should he make his confession? With all those thoughts he’d had of Sir Robert, with what they’d done, wouldn’t it be better if they both confessed?

  But his goal wasn’t the black beast, no matter how much he longed to be the one to bring it down. This spear was for the murderer.

  William mounted the horse he’d borrowed from Sir Robert’s stables and sat for a while in the saddle as the rest of the party prepared to ride out. Finally, the chief huntsman blew the signal to leave, and the assembly left for the forest.

  It was a short ride of about half a mile to the start of the woodland, and William spent the time surreptitiously studying the guests. The Frenchmen laughed and joked in their barely comprehensible tongue, the strangely musical way of speech growing more pronounced the longer they spoke amongst themselves.

  Ulric rode up to him, staying by his side for a little while. “You’ll join the noble lords on the chase, William?”

  “Yes. To ensure the beast finds enough spears to stop him.”

  Ulric nodded, his hand on the crossbow across his saddle. “Remember, he’ll kill you if he knocks you down. The boar spends all day sharpening his tusks. That’s why he has a pair in the upper jaw, too—they sharpen the ones in the lower jaw. Just two years ago, they brought down a boar like that…he resembled a hedgehog with all the spears and crossbow bolts sticking out of him, and yet he’d killed six dogs, two horses and one man, splitting him from thigh to chest.”

  Did that man lose his soul? Another anxious chill ran over his skin. “Why aren’t they hunting deer?”

  “You hunt the noble hart, and it’s a king’s beast, but only a special bone in his heart keeps it from dying with fear when it’s chased. The boar, now…” Ulric grinned, baring all his teeth in a snarl. “He’s a warrior in battle rage. You beat him in single combat. He’s much more like our lord, who enjoys the combat more than the chase. Are you planning to bring down the boar yourself?”

  William locked gazes with his instructor. “I have my eyes on the most dangerous, blackest beast in the forest today.”

  Ulric urged his horse on. “You do that, lad. You do that.”

  * * *

  A well-appointed tent awaited them in a clearing. The sun was rising now and cast a fresh, clean light over the silvery frost on the blades of grass, which melted at its approach. In the distance, the barking of the lymers sounded through the trees. The dogs sought the trail of the boar while the hunters drank hot wine and waited, more or less patiently, for the report.

  Robert stood between his guests, sipping steaming wine in measured mouthfuls, while his brother already showed signs of drunkenness. Maybe Stephen would be too drunk to go out on the hunt. At least that would spare them his shrill voice and endless hectoring, which would make it easier to guard Robert from the murderer.

  Baron Albi stood near Stephen, encouraging him to drink more of the heated wine. William shook his head but couldn’t help but smile a little. It seemed the baron had his own way of incapacitating an unwelcome addition to the hunting party.

  One of the huntsmen came running. “We found his bed, my lord.”

  Robert’s eyes flashed with excitement and he mounted his horse, the other hunters following his example. Stephen was a little unsteady on his feet and needed help lifting his bulk into the saddle, but he managed, much to the chagrin of Baron Albi, who gave William a comical resigned grin when their eyes met.

  They followed the huntsman deeper into the forest, where, in a thicket, the man knelt to touch the boar’s bed with his hand. “It’s still warm, my lord.” He blew the horn to signal the opening of the hunt.

  The ho
unds were released, barking and yipping with pleasure at being let free, and Sir Robert touched the flanks of his horse to follow, short spear at his side, eyes seeking the target. William, a less experienced rider, struggled to keep close to him during the chase. Robert’s whole attention was on the hunt, while William sought the underbrush for a hidden murderer, a stray arrow or a traitorous blade from the other hunters. If he’d only known whom to watch! How foolish of him to believe he could guard Robert from an arrow or crossbow bolt trained on him. He was just one man, he couldn’t watch every tree and every angle of attack.

  There!

  In front of them, the boar broke cover.

  It was an enormous, ugly beast, its blood-coloured mouth bristling with yellow teeth. Unlike any other hunted creature of the forest, it turned immediately and charged the dogs, tossing one of the hounds to the side with only so much as a flick of his neck, and hurling aside the next animal with another vicious attack.

  The dogs’ snarling persistence faltered under the fierce assault, and they scattered in disarray, allowing the boar to make his escape. The beast was already foaming at the mouth, eyes wide and full of evil, the gleaming, horrifying tusks bared and ready like a man’s drawn sword.

  Robert galloped forward, but he kept his spear low, for now merely intent on not losing the boar. He rode so swiftly and without warning that William had to hurry to catch up with him, fearing for Robert’s life now worse than ever. He should have told him so Robert would take better care and be able to defend himself. Worried, William glanced over his shoulder, but the Frenchmen were in hot pursuit, and even Stephen had kept up. The priest was a keen horseman; William hadn’t expected that.

  The chase led them deeper and deeper into the forest, every yard bristling with danger to his lord, but there was no time to catch up with Sir Robert and confess his worries to him. The boar ran without fatigue, only turning against the dogs when they tried to cut off his path or drive him down a path he didn’t want to follow.