by Ranae Rose
“Yes,” Brom said adamantly. “Let me show you the pleasure I meant to give you.” He laid a hand on the rough wood of the stable door and pushed it open, stepping inside, where the familiar smells of horses and hay hung in the air. A few horses peeked out from their stalls, but there was no sign of human presence. Hopefully they’d be able to steal a few minutes for the conversation Brom craved so strongly, and – God willing – that would be enough for him to convince John to give him one more chance. That was all he needed to set things right – or at least, as right as they could possibly be after what he’d done.
“Surely you don’t mean here and now,” John said. “Not everyone has arrived yet, and anyone might come in at any moment.”
Brom sensed that John was stalling. That was a good thing – he could have refused outright. The fact that he was holding out meant that there was something he wanted to hear. But what was it? “No, not here, and not now. In the wood across from the house in an hour.” That would give Brom time to make his rounds at the party, so that he could slip away afterward, hopefully without being sought out. It would also give the other partygoers time to sip punch and ale, slipping into a state in which they’d hardly notice if Brom Bones and the new schoolmaster left.
John crossed the aisle and laid a hand on Torben’s stall door, standing face to face with the stallion. Torben extended his nose and sniffed curiously at John’s hair. “A part of me still thinks that it would be best to pretend that nothing had transpired between us, and to walk away as acquaintances – nothing more.”
Brom stepped up to stand by his side. “That would be a lie, and I dislike lies.”
John turned his head to meet Brom’s eyes, fixing him with an expression of censure. “So do I.”
Brom’s gut twisted, and he felt the invisible knife that had settled there when he’d realized that he’d lied to John when he’d promised not to harm him. The light scrape that marred John’s cheek hurt to look at. “Two lies are even worse than one. Let me atone for mine, and then we can know each other honestly.”
John’s gaze was searching, and Brom wanted badly to give John whatever signal he was looking for to let him know that he meant it, that he could be trusted. His gaze strayed from John’s eyes to his mouth, and rested on his lips, so full and so close. They were parted, inviting. Ever so slowly, he leaned forward and brushed them with the gentlest kiss he could bear to give.
A few moments of silence followed, during which John simply stood, statue-still. Torben stamped a hoof against the floor of his stall, demanding food or attention – preferably both. Then the stable door swung wide open, creaking faintly on its hinges and shattering the air of intimacy. Immediately, Brom began talking about Torben, gesturing toward him.
John played along, making remarks about Torben’s fine conformation and glossy coat as a man came inside and stabled a bay. The horse was significantly more handsome than its owner – a man who was perhaps a little older than Brom, with a queue of dark hair and small, cruel-looking eyes. Brom tipped his head lightly in the man’s direction, doing his best to appear as if he’d been doing nothing more than discussing horses with John. Fortunately, Torben was a fine animal, worthy of the praise both men were bestowing upon him.
The stranger’s gaze flickered between Brom and John, lighting momentarily upon Torben, and then he was gone, out through the stable door.
“We had better return to the party,” Brom said as a shiver ran down his spine – it chilled the marrow inside his bones to have come so close to being seen kissing John. It had been stupid of him to do such a thing in the stable, where anyone could have walked in. Still, nothing – not even such a close call – could curb his enthusiasm for meeting again with John. “Will I see you at the edge of the wood in an hour?”
John nodded mutely, his speech apparently having dried up now that he no longer had to feign interest in Torben.
Inside, Brom and John parted ways, and Brom began a seemingly endless cycle of socialization, meeting with dozens of acquaintances, many of whom he’d known his entire life. Outside of his soldiering days, he’d spent most of his life within the bounds of the sprawling fields and forests of Sleepy Hollow. The man from the stable was the only stranger, and Brom tried to tell himself that that was why he stood out from the crowd, that the man’s gaze wasn’t lingering overlong on him or John.
His first truly enjoyable conversation came when he noticed the strange man from the stable leering across the room at Katrina Van Tassel, looking as if he were about to offer her a cup of punch. Not liking the lavicious look in the man’s eyes, Brom intervened, stepping up to Katrina’s side, offering her a light bow and a drink. Looking radiant, as usual, she nodded her acceptance and he retrieved a beverage for her from the nearby table, which in addition to the large punch bowl, hosted an assortment of food. “It all smells wonderful,” he said, nodding in the direction of the buffet. “Tell me which dishes you prepared so that I can try those first.”
She smiled, her cheeks going faintly pink as she blinked her cornflower-blue eyes. Katrina had taken over all the household cooking when her mother had died years ago, and was quite skilled. Her baked goods, in particular, were to be craved. Brom had devoured many a treat she’d made while visiting with Mr. Van Tassel. “There’s an apple pie I made with you in mind.” She gestured toward a section of the table where numerous pies were on display.
“Which one?” he asked, stepping forward. Many of the local women had contributed to the assortment, and there were several apple pies; if anyone had known which one she’d baked, it would have been gone already.
“The one with the little dough leaves around the edge.”
He carved a slice and laid it on a plate, retrieving a fork from an assortment of utensils. The golden crust was just a little darker than her moonbeam hair, still slightly warm from the oven and deliciously flaky. The filling was a sweet ambrosia of tart apples, cinnamon, butter and sugar. He’d never tasted anything better. Her beauty aside, any man within a hundred miles would probably gladly marry her for her culinary skills alone. Since his mother’s death, Brom had tasted the baking of nearly every woman in Sleepy Hollow, and none of them could match Katrina’s skill. “Perfect,” he said as a burst of cinnamon melted against his tongue.
She favored him with a smile, smoothing the skirts of her fine blue gown. “I baked a pumpkin pie too, if you’d like to try that.”
“Of course.” The food warmed his insides, dispelling a little of the tension he’d been carrying ever since the day before. Though he knew he deserved to feel guilty, the slight reprieve was welcome; it was important that he conduct himself normally until he slipped away to meet John at the edge of the wood. What he’d do to him there was something he didn’t dare risk anyone else witnessing.
Brom continued to make conversation with Katrina, determined not to leave her side until the man with the cruel eyes stopped stalking her. When the stranger wasn’t leering at Katrina, he was glaring at Brom, who could feel his gaze boring between his shoulder blades, intense and jealous. Their conversation turned to horses – specifically, the mare Brom had sold Katrina’s father several months ago. “I’ve never encountered a sweeter animal,” Katrina said. “I take sugar cubes out to the pasture for her almost every day. She’s the only one of the horses who I’ll hand-feed – the others make me feel as if I’m in danger of losing my fingers.”
Brom smiled, pride swelling inside him, fighting the ever-increasing quantity of pie he’d eaten for room. When Mr. Van Tassel had mentioned that he’d like to acquire a gentle animal for his daughter, Brom had spent quite a while searching for the perfect horse. He’d purchased the mare several counties away and brought her to Sleepy Hollow. “I’m glad you’re pleased with her.”
Brom glanced briefly around the room, refusing to let his gaze linger on John, who was engaged in conversation with some farmer. It was impossible not to notice most of the other men in the room, if only because they were directing envious gazes
in Brom’s direction. “Shall we dance?” Brom asked. A farmer with a penchant for playing the fiddle had begun a lively tune and was attempting to make his music heard over the dull roar of chatter.
“I’d like that very much.”
As Brom’s fingertips met Katrina’s soft skin and the fine fabric of her gown, Brom felt the heat of at least a score of jealous stares, all directed at the space between his shoulder blades. Instead of shrugging them away, he twirled Katrina around the room. The fiddler played louder, faster, and their dance was infectious. Couples began pairing up around the room, and soon the center of the floor was filled with dancers. Those who remained lost in conversation moved to the sides, against the walls. Brom caught sight of John stepping lively with a red-headed farmgirl, whose eyes gleamed and cheeks flushed as she gazed up at John.
Katrina was an excellent dancer, light and graceful beneath Brom’s hands. As the fiddle’s music filled the room, Brom was shocked to realize that he was enjoying himself. The nervous knot in his middle had nearly been untied. Nearly – every time he caught a glimpse of John, he felt it again. He focused on Katrina for the remainder of the dance. By the time they stopped, she was breathless, and his heart was thrumming in his chest. “That was wonderful, Brom.” She smiled as he handed her a cup of punch.
“Yes, it was.” He smiled back, just as a shadow loomed dark in the corner of his vision.
It was the stranger, with a greedy look in his eyes as he sidled up to Katrina, inserting himself in the narrow space between her and Brom. “Good—”
“Sorry!” A female voice interrupted his greeting, half-laughing even as she blushed in embarrassment. It belonged to the girl who’d been partnered with John. Apparently dizzy from dancing – or with giddiness, Brom thought as he noted the way she beamed up at John – she’d bumped into Katrina’s elbow. “My apologies, Katrina,” she huffed. “I’m a bit dizzy…”
“Nonsense, it was my fault,” John said gallantly. “I’m afraid I’ve subjected you to my clumsiness for too long, Belinda.”
“Oh, no.” The girl’s – Belinda’s, apparently – eyes went comically wide. “You’re not clumsy at all, Mr. Crane. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“Either way, it’s quite all right,” Katrina said with a smile. “I think we’re all a bit dizzy at the moment.” She sipped her punch, her cheeks prettily flushed as she drank. “Mr. Van Dyck is quite the musician, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes,” Belinda said, tucking a stray lock of her rust-red hair beneath her cap. “He’s wonderful.”
John handed Belinda a cup of punch, and she beamed at him as if it were a Christmas gift.
Brom didn’t mean to catch John’s eye, but he did, and was barely able to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile. With his looks and charm, John was bound to capture the attention of Sleepy Hollow’s younger female population. Brom couldn’t blame Belinda, or any of the other girls who’d cast hopeful looks in John’s direction as he’d danced with her. John had the sort of face that was destined to break hearts, and was kind to a fault on top of it.
John gave the slightest of shrugs and flashed a tiny smile of his own.
“John, allow me to introduce you to Katrina Van Tassel,” Brom said, noting from the corner of his eye that the stranger who’d attempted to intrude upon their conversation had been butted out of the group, which had formed a tight little circle next to the buffet in order to allow more room for those who were still dancing. His face was contorted in what could only be described as a grimace, and as he stood on the outside of the small gathering, he caught Brom’s eye and gave him a bitter look. “Katrina,” Brom continued, careful to keep his expression neutral, “this is John Crane, our new schoolmaster.”
John and Katrina exchanged greetings and pleasantries, then began to discuss books – something they were both clearly passionate about – which caused the stranger’s face to turn an unflattering shade of puce. Brom nodded when appropriate and drank deeply from a cup of punch, trying not to glance at the stranger too often, or to feel guilty when he thought of how he’d brushed his lips across John’s in the barn and how close they’d come to being caught. If the man had entered a moment sooner, or – Christ, it was harrowing to consider – if he’d waited outside the half-open door and seen or heard anything… But no, surely not. Surely he was only eyeing Brom and John that way because he was jealous of their conversation with Katrina. Wasn’t he?
“Katrina, my dear.” Mr. Van Tassel materialized at his daughter’s elbow, managing to wedge himself into the circle as Belinda scooted aside in deference, her smile widening as the position forced her to rub elbows with John. “People are demanding to know which of the pies on the table were made by you.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, as if he feared being pursued by a discerning dessert-craving mob.
She laughed. “Well, since Mr. Van Brunt has had his share, I suppose it’s all right for them to know. The apple with the little dough leaves around the edge is mine, as is the second pumpkin to the right.”
Brom exchanged a few polite words with Mr. Van Tassel, speaking briefly of horses, which were often the theme of their conversations. Some other young women came and spirited Katrina and Belinda away in a chattering queue, remarking upon Katrina’s gown. Katrina flashed a last smile over her shoulder at Brom, then disappeared into the crowd with them. Belinda gazed longer at John, but finally went along, leaving the men to themselves. John slipped away too soon after, leaving Brom and Mr. Van Tassel to their horse-talk. A little while later, Brom was left quite alone when Mr. Van Tassel excused himself. That was for the best, for Brom estimated that an hour had passed.
Casting his gaze around the room, he was glad to find that the crowd was largely relaxed, with many people clutching cups, laughing and talking more loudly than usual. He didn’t see John anywhere, which was a relief; deep down, he’d been worried that John would change his mind. Apparently – hopefully – he’d already left the house. Brom did the same, slipping out the door as inconspicuously as such a large man possibly could.
Night had truly fallen, leaving Brom to make his way through the field that sprawled across from the house and to the wood at its edge by moonlight. It was amazing how quickly the coolness and darkness snuffed out the flame of mirth inside him, erasing the happy state of revelry he’d slipped into while dancing. His heart beat a little more quickly with each step, and he fought to remain calm. If he failed John this time, he would not be given another chance.
Brom listened and watched with a hunter’s instincts as he approached the tree line. If John was indeed there already, he’d know it soon.
A voice caught his attention, though it wasn’t John’s. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he sensed the unfamiliar tone, and when he made out what the stranger was saying, his entire body heated with fury.
CHAPTER 6
“It wouldn’t do for the citizens of Sleepy Hollow to discover that their new schoolmaster – the man they intend to trust with the education of their children – is a sodomite, would it?”
“Don’t touch me.” John’s voice cut through the night, edged with anger.
“I saw the kiss in the stable and heard your pathetic exchange with that great oaf of a man. You can cling to women’s skirts and keep them from the real men all evening, but I know what you are. On your knees, boy, and you’ll do exactly as I say, or the entire village will know of your true nature within minutes.”
Brom crept quietly past a towering elm, blood pounding in his ears as he entered the forest. There, mere yards away, John stood, facing the man from the stable, the one who had spent the evening leering at them and Katrina. He looked more repulsive than ever as he grinned at John, his eyes alight with malicious excitement. With one hard motion, he shoved John, knocking him back against a tree and pressing himself against him, shoving one hand between their bodies and reaching for either his or John’s groin – in the darkness and the confusion, Brom couldn’t tell which. Either way, he wasn’t g
oing to let it happen.
Just as Brom lunged forward, John reacted, swinging his fist with vicious force. With a grunt, he landed the punch on his attacker’s cheek, and the man’s excited panting turned to a groan of pain. He stumbled backward, trying to cling to John, who shoved him down onto the ground.
John straightened, stepping away from the tree as the other man floundered on the forest floor, struggling to stand again. As he began to rise, something bright flashed in his hand – a blade, gleaming in the moonlight.
Brom leapt forward just as the man swung his knife at John, the blade flying dangerously close to John’s gut. The sharp tip of it was mere inches from John’s body when Brom collided with the other man, knocking him to the ground.
John’s assailant began to struggle immediately, but Brom reached for the knife, wresting it from his grasp before he did anything else. Then he drove his knee into the man’s back, pinning him to the ground with relative ease – something that wasn’t difficult for him to do, considering that he was easily a head taller and significantly heavier than him. Gripping the knife’s handle, he pressed the flat of the blade against the stranger’s throat, letting the edge of it dig into his skin just a little, threatening to draw blood. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The man gasped and panted, his small eyes going as wide as they could with fear. “Unhand me!” he demanded, his words muffled by a mouthful of dirt.
“No.” Brom drove his knee a little harder into the man’s spine and increased the pressure of the blade against his throat. “Answer my question.” He spared a quick glance for John, who was watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes, though his lips were cracked in surprise. He forced himself to focus again on the man he was holding captive against the earth. “What did you mean by threatening Mr. Crane?”
The man drew a ragged breath, spitting out a clump of wet dirt and leaves. “Teaching him a lesson about what happens to sodomites.”
