by Lynn Lorenz
Will’s brother’s face reddened, his eyes narrowed, his hand spasmed near his sword as if he meant to draw. “That bastard seduced Will then threw him out, nearly exposing him. Will returned from Baymore shattered and despondent. He refused to eat, couldn’t sleep. Twice I had to bring him down from the keep’s walls, fearing he’d fling himself off.”
Jackson’s heart hammered at the thought of Will’s heartbreak. “I have to go. If there were any way I could do other, I would.”
At last, Wallace’s hand grasped the hilt of his sword. “I promise you, Jackson, if Will doesn’t survive this, I will find you and kill you myself. You have my oath on that.” His lips were a thin, tight, bloodless line.
“If it comes to that, my lord, I will let you.” Jackson swallowed and watched Wallace spin around and head back to the keep with long strides that covered the ground, eating the distance back to his home.
Jackson’s home, as best he could call it, lay in Marden. He’d given it up and his place in the Duke of Marden’s court as his master of arms to answer this summons. He wondered how Duke Logan fared, and how his fellow mercenary and good friend Drake was doing in his stead. If all went well between those two, Jackson would have no position at Marden. Two weeks ago, he’d thought his future lay in Baymore. Now, he prayed it might be here.
Holcombe keep was large and well placed. Jackson studied it as he walked back. Tall walls, strong gates—the fortress would be easy to defend, hard to take. When they’d first arrived, Jackson had wondered how he’d be welcomed. The welcome had been warm, if wary, and nothing had been denied him, but that was before Will’s brother knew of their involvement and Jackson’s plans to leave.
How would he survive this? He was trapped. If he wanted to be with Will, on terms he could live with, he had to have his father’s acknowledgment. But if his father refused him, just wanted him to lead his men, Jackson was unsure of what to do. Stay at Baymore and serve in hopes of gaining his father’s recognition, or go on with his life as a mercenary, without a name and without Will?
Returning to Will as a nameless bastard? Jackson’s pride would not allow it.
For Jackson, matters of the heart had always been difficult. He’d found it best to keep his heart under tight guard, especially in his line of work. Very few knew of his base inclinations, and he trusted those few with his life. He didn’t fear to be caught and killed—few men could best him—but he feared the damage his reputation would take if it were even whispered. He’d lose everything. No one would hire him. Men would fear to work with him, refuse to share the same ground they slept on, keep watch on all he said, did, even how he looked at others. All would be circumspect.
He passed under the portal and entered the bailey. Tomorrow he would travel to Baymore, see his father, and all this supposition would be over. For now, he would eat, then bring some food to Will. They needed to talk before the morn. Jackson was sure Will would not take his leaving well.
Entering the great hall, he looked around. Wallace wasn’t there, so he found a place at the table and sat. A servant brought him a tankard of ale and a trencher filled with food. He ate, drank, and thought of his speech to Will.
He’d need all his best words and his nerve. Going into battle, he’d not been as uneasy as this. As he finished his ale, he decided it was best if he got it out quick and fast. Even though Will had told him he’d sleep in his room, he scanned the hall to spot a place to spend the night. The chairs by the great hearth looked a better choice than a stall in the stables.
When the servant came to remove his things, he asked her to bring a large bowl of soup and some bread to take to Will.
“No need, m’lord. Lady Ellen arranged for Lord William’s bath and has brought him his dinner, not but a short while ago.” She gave him a brief curtsy and left.
He gathered his strength, stood, and went upstairs.
»»•««
“My lady, it’s enough!” Will laughed and pushed the bowl back across the table. Ellen grinned at him, then gave him a frown. She was beautiful and kind, and he could see why his brother had fallen in love with her.
“Will, you’ve lost so much weight.” She pointed to the clean shirt and breeches he wore. “Those clothes hang on you. You need to eat to gain back your strength.” She had made sure one of the tubs had been brought up and filled with hot water for his bath, and now she’d brought him a meal. Her concern touched him. Married only two years to his brother, Lady Ellen had made this place her home, taken firm control of the keep, and took great pleasure and pride in fussing over the three Holcombe men.
“Aye, in time, not all at once! This feast you’ve brought me is too much. I’ve eaten so little of late that it’s hard to get all this down.” He’d already eaten half a bird, some potatoes, and a heel of bread.
“Even more reason to have one last bite.” Between her slender fingers, she held up a tempting pastry, filled with fall’s last apples. Baked golden brown, the juice from the apples oozed from the cuts in the crust.
“Well, just this last one.” Will took it from her, popped it into his mouth, and chewed. It was delicious. “Wallace is a lucky man, my lady. Beauty and cooking skills!”
She sat back in her chair and gave him a serious look. “Now, tell me of this man you’ve brought home.” She folded her arms and arched an eyebrow.
“Jackson?” Will gave her a lopsided smile.
“Aye. Is he staying?”
“I believe he will. Do you mind? I’ve told Wallace that I mean him to stay here. With me in my room.” He bit his lip and looked at her. He sought her approval. After all, she was chatelaine of the keep and would one day be its duchess.
“Perhaps, for appearance sake, he should take a room next to you. His coming and going won’t be remarked on.”
“You’re right. If he lived here with me, everyone would know and all discretion would be lost.” Will nodded. “Anything else?”
“The man is a giant, Will.” Her brows furrowed. “The pantries will be bare, the larders empty. God forbid what damage he’ll do to the brewery.” She tried to keep a sober face, but he could see her brown eyes twinkling in mirth as she teased him.
Will shook his head. “No more than that family you and Wallace have planned. Five sons was it at last count?” He pointed to her rounded belly.
“And three girls.” She laughed.
“Surely one large man won’t break us. Besides, he’s very handy with a sword.”
At that, her face straightened. “Wallace told me he is a mercenary. A paid killer.” She gave a little shudder. “Are you sure? How rough might he be, Will? Would he hurt you if you angered him?” She bit her lip prettily. If he would ever want a woman, it would be someone like sweet Ellen. But he didn’t, so there was no going down that road.
“He is the gentlest soul I have ever encountered. Strong, yet kind.” He shrugged. “Wallace thinks him too coarse looking.” He lifted an eyebrow at her, waiting for her judgment. After she’d married Wallace, she’s questioned Will’s frequent absences and his lack of a wife. So when she’d arranged for him to meet a cousin of hers that would make Will a suitable bride, the truth had to come out. Wallace had been so nervous he shook, and Will had hoped desperately she wouldn’t scream her abhorrence of him, demand he be removed from the keep, or worse, return to her family. To have Wallace lose his ladylove over Will’s base sins would have been more guilt than he could bear.
Instead, she’d listened, her head cocked to the side, brown eyes intent, and then gave a short nod. “My cousin suffers from the same malady, Lord William.” That was all she’d said about it and never once had her behavior toward him told a different story.
“Coarse?” She put her finger to her lip and thought. He leaned forward, anxious to hear her words. “His face is quite suited to him, I think, and his eyes are most attractive. His lips are full and inviting.” Will’s smile turned one side of his mouth up just a bit. “And, if I’m not mistaken”—she paused, leaned in, and
lowered her voice—“you must feel quite safe and secure in his arms. Much like I feel when Wallace holds me. He’s so much bigger than I am, you see. It makes me feel very safe.”
He nodded. “Aye! That’s it. I’d never felt so safe, so secure and…” His voice failed him as he struggled for the words.
“Loved?” She gave him a tilt of her head.
There was a knock on the door and they turned to face it.
“Enter,” Will called.
The door opened and Jackson stepped in, his head just barely passing under the frame.
“My lord. Lady Holcombe.” He gave her a nod. “I meant to bring you something to eat, but the girl said your sister had brought you dinner.”
“And a fine dinner it was, Jackson. But she has overestimated my ability to eat, I’m afraid. There is some left, if you haven’t eaten.” He smiled at his lover.
Jackson came to the table, but held out a hand and made a little motion. “No, I’ve eaten in the hall.” He scanned the leftovers and his gaze stopped at the pastries. “However, I wasn’t offered any dainties, my lord.”
“The apple tarts are delicious. Lady Ellen makes them herself. Try one.” Will held it up for Jackson to take. If they had been alone, he would have fed him from his fingers, let Jackson’s lips take the delight from him, then perhaps lick the stickiness from them. The thought sent a shiver through his body.
“Thank you.” Jackson took it from Will with his fingers and popped it whole into his mouth. Both Will and Ellen leaned forward, waiting for the big man’s declaration. He chewed, swallowed, and licked his lips. Reaching for the last one, he looked at them.
“Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Ellen gave him a small wave of her hand.
He picked it up and ate it. “I have never tasted such a marvelous morsel, my lady. The crust is buttery and melts in my mouth. The filling is delicious. I wait for the next batch with eagerness.” His eyes brightened and his tongue darted out to sweep up a crumb clinging to his bottom lip.
Damn, Will wanted to lick that crumb from him. As much as he’d enjoyed Ellen’s company, he wished her gone. As if she read his mind, she stood. More likely, she’d read the hungry look in his eyes.
“It seems your appetite has returned, Will.” She gave him a quick grin, then turned to Jackson, who looked to Will—quite taken aback by her words and what they meant. “My lord, Jackson, I wish you good night.” With that, she left.
Jackson’s hands went to his hips. “Will, does everyone in this place know about us?”
“Only Wallace and Ellen.” Will pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Ellen was right. I hunger.” He slid into Jackson’s arms and bent back his head, offering his lips to Jackson.
Jackson held him, but didn’t kiss him. His eyes darkened and with a look of pain, he pushed Will away.
“We have to speak, Will. There is something you must know and I don’t wish to wait until morning to tell it.”
The room spun and Will’s knees locked. He reached out a hand behind him and steadied himself with the table. The look in Jackson’s eyes caused the secret fear in Will’s heart to explode, bathing his body in the same terror he’d felt on the mountain when he’d thought he’d been abandoned. With uncanny certainty, he knew what those words would be.
He just didn’t know if he could survive them.
Chapter Eight
Will held his breath. Time stopped.
“I’m leaving in the morn, Will. I have business at Baymore.” Jackson looked into his eyes, but Will turned from him, not wanting to see what lay there.
After letting out the breath, Will said, “Is this business personal?”
“Will, my father is the Duke of Baymore.”
Will spun around. “But, the duke has only one son, Hugh.” Will cocked his head at Jackson.
Jackson looked at the floor, then his eyes flicked up to Will’s. “I’m Baymore’s bastard,” Jackson spit out, as if to hold those words in his mouth burned.
Will’s eye’s narrowed as he saw Jackson through the eyes of recollection. “You have the look of him, similar to Hugh, in color and eyes.”
“But, I am larger. And where Hugh is handsome, I am…” He shrugged. “Baymore never recognized me. My mother was his mistress before his marriage and the birth of a proper heir.”
“You were on your way to him when you saved me.” Will gave a grunt and muttered, more to himself than Jackson, “How very odd, that I should have loved two brothers? I see God’s hand in this, I fear.” Will’s knees threatened to give and he sat back in his chair. “Will you return?”
Jackson walked to the window and looked out. “His Grace has called me home for the first time, Will. I have hopes he will recognize me as his son at last. It’s too late for my mother. She died years ago in the shadow of his keep.” Those dark eyes filled with a sadness that hurt Will’s heart to see. “If he does, then I can return bearing an honorable name. A better man than a killer for hire.”
Will looked at him and shook his head. “You don’t need his name for me to know you’re honorable, Jackson. And as far as being a better man, there is no better man than you, as you are right now.”
“You don’t understand.” Jackson shook his head. “You’ve always had your good name. Your father’s love and pride. You have everything—lands, a home, family, and an education. I was denied all of that.” His jaw set and his eyes darkened.
“And what will happen if he doesn’t recognize you?”
Jackson looked out of the window again. His hands rested on the ledge. “Will. You deserve better than me. I’m not the right man for you.”
“Don’t you think I should decide who the right man for me is?”
Jackson turned to look into Will’s eyes. “If I came back, nameless, landless, with nothing to offer you, I would be no better than the servants that clean your keep, cook your meals, and guard your walls.”
“That doesn’t matter to me.”
“It matters to me, Will. I may not have much, but I have my pride. What would I be to you then? Someone who warms your bed? What place would I hold here?”
Will’s heart felt as if it would burst. “You’d be mine. My lover.”
“But not your equal.” He drew himself upright. “How long before you tire of me or become embarrassed by my rough ways? Do I wait until then for you to put me out? I have some pride—let me keep it.”
“You think me that changing?” Will straightened and his eyebrows rose. “That I am no steadier than a leaf in the wind?”
“By your own admission, you’ve had a great number of lovers. Not exactly a history that speaks well of steadfast commitment.”
The sting burned in Will’s chest. “It may be true I’ve been with many men, but what does your lack of any commitment say for you? How can I believe that you’d stay, not move on, or lock me out, turn from me, as you did in the hut?”
The men glared at each other, at an impasse. Despite the disparity in their ranks, Jackson’s pride and Will’s stubbornness seemed an equal match.
“So, you’d leave? Just like that. Walk away, perhaps never to return?” Will wanted to ask what he could do to make Jackson stay, but he’d begged and pleaded with Hugh until his throat was raw. It would be the same now.
“I must find out what His Grace needs of me, Will.”
“So, I sit and wait. For how long, Jackson? Days? Months? Just tell me and I’ll be steadfast. But don’t leave me waiting with no end in sight,” Will implored as he stood and took a step toward Jackson.
“I don’t know how long it will take.” Jackson held out his hand. “I will send a messenger, to let you know if I return or not.”
Will looked up into those dark eyes as he took Jackson’s hand, and was pulled into his arms. “I will stand every day on the walls of the keep and wait for your word.”
“Know that I don’t want to be without you, Will. But this means everything to me.” His lips brushed Will’s temple.
/> Will melted. No matter how Jackson’s pride infuriated him, he couldn’t resist the big man.
“I know. I don’t like it, but I do understand.” He leaned back and looked into Jackson’s eyes. “But you understand this. Title or no title, name or no name, I love you.”
“I know.” Jackson placed his hand under Will’s chin to tilt it up, then, eyes locked, they kissed. As he put Will from him, he whispered, “Undress for me.”
Jackson stepped to the chair and sat, his hands resting on the arms. Will trembled as he walked to the lantern and doused its flame. Only the fire from the hearth lit the room, casting shadows against the walls. Jackson had worried that Will would think him no better than a servant but Will knew that he was the slave and Jackson the master. Jackson could order him anywhere, and to do anything, and he would obey.
Will faced his lover, taking his time as he reached for the strings of his shirt, then pulled them apart. Holding up first one wrist, then the other, he untied the strings that bound his cuffs. His hands caught the bottom of his shirt, raised it over his head, and then tossed it on the floor, baring his chest. God, the intense way Jackson watched him made his cock hard.
Jackson’s eyes glittered, dark as the night, under his half closed lids. Spreading his legs, he displayed the bulging evidence of his arousal. With slow motions that rivaled Will’s, he undid the laces of his breeches and pulled his shirt up, exposing the rippled muscles of his belly and the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath black leather.
Will’s hands reached for the strings of the loose woolen trousers he wore, and tugged on the end, but stopped. His gaze rose to meet Jackson’s.
Jackson’s tongue made a slow swipe across his lips. “Don’t stop,” he growled.
Will pulled the string, and his trousers puddled at his bare feet. Jackson’s intake of breath was music to Will’s ears, audible proof of the effect he had on this fierce mercenary, this killer of men, this slayer of his heart.
Jackson uncovered his rod —thick, dark red, stiff as a lance —and laid it against his belly. The thick vein that ran along the underside of the shaft tempted Will. His tongue craved to follow its path upward to crest the summit of its thick dark head. Will took a shuddering breath at the sight of it. Glorious. His eyes drank it in, his belly fluttered, and his ass tightened.
