by Lynn Lorenz
“He’s a big, handsome lad, Your Grace. He does your name proud.” Jackson took the last remaining chair.
“Thank you. And what of you, Jackson? I’ve heard no news about a marriage for you. Will, you must tell the duke he has a duty to continue his line.”
Will stared down into the fire as his hands clenched the arms of his chair. His throat tightened so completely he was unable to speak the words that formed in his mind. Words that would betray him to his father, announcing his and Jackson’s love, and declaring that no woman would ever come between them.
Jackson coughed and cleared his throat. “There has been no time for such matters, Your Grace. The state of my holdings has been my first and only priority.”
“Of course. There will be time. You are still a young man and most men can father children well into their later years.” Walter stood and held out his grandson. “Take him, Wallace. I must go upstairs now.”
Wallace took his son, Will stood, as did Jackson, and they watched as the elder Holcombe made his way to the stairs, climbed them, then disappeared. Though blind, he knew the placement of every piece of furniture in the great hall, the count of steps to the stairs, and the number of stairs to the top.
Will leaned back in his chair and sighed. Jackson sat, reached out, placed his hand over Will’s, and gave it a squeeze.
“Will, you really must tell your father.” Jackson let his hand drop.
“And lose him? Never.” Will shook his head. “His love means too much to me.”
Wallace paced in front of the hearth, his son in his arms. “I think you should keep your secrets, brother. There is more at risk than our father’s affection for you.”
“Indeed. If Da knew that you and Lady Ellen had knowledge of my ways and that you allowed me to remain at the keep, his anger could turn toward you. And your children. I won’t have that.” Will shook his head.
Jackson nodded. “Forgive me, Wallace. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s a problem Will and I have dealt with for a long time. Secrets are best kept secret.” Wallace wrinkled his nose and grimaced. “My son needs changing.”
“Oh. I thought the wind had shifted,” Will drawled and gave Jackson a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t look to me, Lord Holcombe.” Jackson shook his head.
Wallace laughed. “Go take seats at the table, call the servants, and break your fast.”
“Will you join us?”
“No, Ellen had our meal brought up to us early so she could eat and tend to the new babe. I’ll speak with you later, Will, at your convenience. Your Grace.” Wallace gave Jackson a short bow and left, taking the stairs two at a time, his child giggling and bouncing in his arms.
For a long while, they stared into the fire, just content to be with each other. Then Jackson’s stomach rumbled like an empty wagon going over a wooden bridge.
“Let’s break fast before your stomach brings the rafters down.” Will laughed and stood, slapping Jackson on the back.
They walked to the long tables at the far side of the great hall and sat. Jackson at the head as was due his rank, and Will at his right, in the place of honor, and on Jackson’s blind side. Ever since Jackson had lost the sight in his right eye, Will never failed to put himself between his duke and any danger. No one but Will knew of the injury Jackson suffered at the hands of Jackson’s half-brother Hugh.
One of the servants brought bowls of porridge, thick slices of warm fresh bread, and a carafe of goat’s milk.
“How do you think life at Baymore proceeds without you and me there?” Will wondered as they ate.
“Marcus has the men doing close drills, most likely,” Jackson said, a wide grin on his face. “You have to say this for the old duke, he picked the men in his service well. I’ve been most pleased with Marcus as master of arms. I’m glad he chose to stay on.”
“Shame, Morris couldn’t have picked his son,” Will drawled.
“At least in the end, he picked the right one.” Jackson looked up into Will’s eyes.
Will nodded. “He did. The best man ever to carry the Baymore name.” He took a bite of his bread and chewed, enjoying the flush that rose in Jackson’s cheeks at Will’s affirmation.
“What time is the ceremony?” Jackson looked around the still empty hall. “Where will it be?”
“I’m not sure. After the noon meal and before supper.” Will shrugged. “It’s at the church in the village, then back here for a celebration.”
“All day then.” Jackson yawned. “If I fall asleep, you must nudge me.”
“Can’t. I’ll be standing up at the altar with Wallace, Ellen, and my namesake.”
“Oh.” Jackson bit his lip. “I snore, you know.”
“Do you? I hadn’t noticed.” Will winked. “Don’t worry. I’ll seat you with my father.”
Jackson smiled. “I’d like that. Do you think he’ll mind?”
“I’m sure he’ll welcome you.” Will knew his father would never give offense to another duke, much less Jackson, whom he considered a friend.
“Well, then, that will be good.”
After they finished eating Will and Jackson took a tour of the keep. It had been two years since Will had been there, but little had changed. They checked on the men they’d brought along to see if their needs were being met, which they were. Then they stopped in the stables to make sure the stable lads would have their mounts ready with the others for the celebration.
The lads were getting the carriage and tack ready. A stable boy brushed one of the two matching black horses that would pull it as a young girl stood on a stool, braiding spring flowers into the gelding’s mane.
That done, with nothing else to do, they returned to the hearth, to sit with feet stretched out to the fire, and took their ease until the others appeared.
»»•««
Marcus, master of arms at Baymore Castle, strode across the bailey toward the barracks. His gaze slid around the courtyard at his men stationed on the walls of the stone keep. With the duke and Lord Holcombe away, the care and keeping of the castle had fallen to him once again.
Not for the first, second, or hundredth time, he praised God that Jackson Baymore had claimed his rights as Duke of Baymore, and William Holcombe had killed that bastard Hugh.
William knew how to run a keep and its lands, and Jackson knew how to run the castle’s armsmen. Best of all, he knew how to let Marcus have control and command of their soldiers, something Hugh and his father had had no skill with.
“Captain!” One of the men on the wall yelled down to him.
Marcus halted and looked up, shading his eyes against the sun with his hand. “Aye?”
“Someone approaches, sir.”
Marcus nodded and headed to the stairs and up to the catwalk. Taking position next to his man on guard, Marcus leaned out over the thick wall and his gaze followed the guard’s arm as he pointed to the road.
A young lad made his way to the castle, having turned off the main road to the village beyond. Clearly, he was bound for the keep. Marcus observed the boy as he trudged closer, his steps determined but slow, as if he’d traveled a great distance. Marcus put him at about ten years of age. He was dressed better than most, but the clothes he wore were dirty, covered in black. Soot most likely. The lad’s hair was black, and he was tall and lanky for his age.
He came to the great closed gates and stopped. He carried a sack over his back and little more. Looking up, he brushed long straight bangs from his forehead. His face was streaked with the same black soot that stained his clothes, and his eyes looked dark, hollow, and weary.
“Is this Baymore Castle?”
Marcus looked down at the boy. “Aye. It is.”
The boy nodded and then collapsed.
“Damn!” Marcus turned and bolted down the stairs. “Open the gate!”
The guard at the gate raised the beam that barred the gates, and pushed it open. Marcus dashed through the gap, and fell to his knees at the lad’s s
ide. He rolled the boy over and picked him up, with only a soft groan from the child.
“Call the healer,” he ordered one of his men. Followed by two of his guards, he carried the boy inside to the barracks and placed him on the nearest cot. Pulling off the sack, he laid the young lad’s head back on a small pillow.
The boy roused, looked around him, fear widened his eyes. “Who are you?” he whispered.
“Marcus. Master of arms here at Baymore. And you?”
“I am Liam.” His soft voice barely croaked out his words, as if he had no moisture in his mouth to ease his speaking. His eyes shuttered closed.
Marcus snapped his fingers at the bucket of water on the floor by the door, and one of his men snatched it up and brought it to him. He lifted the ladle from the side and dipped it into the cool water, then slipped an arm under the child and raised him up enough to take a sip.
The boy drank until he could hold no more and the water ran from his mouth over his chin. Marcus laid him back down, covered him with a blanket, and stood.
“Keep an eye on him. When he rouses, if he’s hungry, feed him. After that, bring him to me and we’ll hear what he has to say.” With those orders, Marcus left the barracks and made his way to the great hall of the keep.
It would be another sennight before the duke and his steward returned. Marcus was positive neither of them would begrudge his taking in the young boy. Once the child was well, there were enough chores to keep him busy.
Of course, all that might change once Marcus heard what the lad had to say.
»»•««
“Duke Baymore. Jackson!” Lady Ellen descended the stairs, carrying the new babe against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry I was not able to greet you last night on your arrival.”
Jackson rose to meet her and gave her a half bow. “Lady Ellen. We arrived late and I did not expect you to attend us.”
“Will!” Lady Ellen beamed at Will. He’d stood with Jackson and now he strode to accept her kiss on his cheek and place a kiss on hers.
“My lady. You look well.” He took a step back to admire her. “I’d swear you’d never had a child to look at your trim figure.”
She giggled. “Will. Your tongue is still as smooth as my baby’s bottom and just as cheeky.”
Will laughed. “I’ve missed you, Ellen.”
“And I you, brother.” She changed her hold on the child and cradled him in her arms. “Here. See your namesake, Uncle William.”
Will stepped up to inspect the babe. Swaddled in a small cloth, his little face was all Will could spy. “He’s tiny. And handsome. No doubt he’ll be as clever as his older brother.”
“No doubt about that. Walter is far beyond his age, the other ladies tell me.” Her pride in her child showed in her loving gaze, and in her soft sigh. “I’m so happy, Will. Two sons.”
“That leaves only three more,” Will reminded her.
“And two daughters,” she added.
“Right. Now tell me. Are you able to stand another birth? I’ve heard they’re hard, brutish things.” Will shuddered and Jackson laughed.
“It was easy, both times.”
“Then I’m glad and look forward to the rest of Wallace’s legion of offspring.”
Jackson motioned to a chair. “Will you sit with us, my lady?”
“I will. Wallace will be down shortly with his father. We’ll have the noon meal then leave for the church.” She cooed at the sleeping babe. “Here, Will. Do you want to hold your nephew?”
“Hold him?” Will sat back. Having the child at a distance seemed safer to him. Children were small and fragile, and he had no want to get any closer.
“I’ll take him, if I may.” Jackson stood. Will stared at his lover and nearly choked.
∙•∙
“Of course, Jackson.” Ellen smiled. “Now, you put your hand under his little rump like this, and the other hand under his head. Not too tightly.”
Jackson took the babe in his arms with care. “I won’t drop him.” He glanced up at Will, and Will had no choice but to smile back.
“I never thought you would.” She looked up into Jackson’s face. “Not for a moment. If your arms are strong enough for Will, they will hold the babe safe, too.”
Jackson nodded. He’d never held a child before. “Little William. He’s aptly named.” His gaze caught Will’s. “He’s a beauty.” He brought the child closer to his face and inhaled. “And he smells so good. Do all babies smell like this?”
“Only when they are fresh from the bath, Jackson. But it is a wonderful aroma and one that I dearly love to inhale.” She stroked the child’s cheek.
“Wallace is a lucky man.” He handed the babe back to his mother.
Ellen stared at Jackson for a moment as if thinking, then nodded. “And I am a lucky woman. I have a man who loves me above all others, a father who dotes on me, a brother-in-law who treats me as his own sister, and two beautiful children.”
“I envy you both.” Jackson gave her a bow and returned to his seat.
Will stared at him, one eyebrow raised. It was Will’s look when Jackson had done something wrong, and Jackson knew it meant, “We’ll talk later.” For the life of him, he didn’t understand what he’d done, but he was sure Will would inform him as soon as they were alone.
That moment came all too soon when Lady Ellen left for the kitchens to check on the food for the celebration.
“What did I do wrong?” Jackson leaned toward Will, but kept from taking his hand.
“Nothing, Your Grace. I’m just out of sorts today.” Will rubbed his eyes. “My head aches.” Perhaps Jackson had misread his lover’s expression.
He grimaced. “Shall I get some cool water for you?”
“No. I’m fine. It will fade after I eat.” He gave Jackson a brief smile meant to reassure him.
For the moment, Jackson let it go. He glanced around to make sure they were alone, then placed his hand over Will’s and gave it a squeeze.
“My lord, I hunger,” Jackson growled.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to do with what the kitchen is serving for now. I won’t be served until later,” Will drawled, the lazy look in his half-lidded eyes matching his voice.
“Then later it shall be.” Jackson pulled his hand away and sat back.
When the others came down to the hall, they found Jackson and Will dozing in their chairs.
Chapter Three
The procession to the village church was a happy one, with the carriage and horses decorated with fresh spring flowers. Villagers lined the narrow road, waved, and tossed flowers at them as they passed. Jackson and Will rode on one side of the carriage that carried Ellen, the children, Duke Holcombe, and their driver. Wallace rode on the other. Many of the children skipped behind the carriage, laughing, and singing.
At the small but crowded church, the ceremony lasted forever. At least, it seemed that way for Jackson. He’d never been one for formal affairs, and that included his own claiming of Baymore. Thank God he’d had Will to guide him through that torturous event, and in the same way, Will guided him through this one as well. Jackson had never been to a christening, although he’d been to church often as a child with his mother.
Will had arranged for Jackson to sit next to his father in the very first row of the church. Jackson couldn’t help but watch his lover as Will’s namesake, wailing as if being held upside down by his tiny foot, was christened. Jackson doubted there were many women, much less men, who could take their eyes off Will’s beauty. He was tall, well built, and his long blond hair pulled back and braided. Dressed in his finest clothes, Will was the very picture of nobility. Only Jackson knew how hard Will could fight, how completely Will loved, and how sweetly he moaned.
They shared many secrets, but none more dangerous to the both of them than their love for each other. But as Jackson’s steward, Will was placed in the perfect position. His duties kept him at Jackson’s side during the day and late into the evening. And Will’s room adjoini
ng Jackson’s let them spend the nights together.
Once the ceremony was over, the priest paid, and Wallace and Lady Ellen had tossed out the coppers to the children of the village, the procession made its way back through the village to the keep. Another celebration awaited them.
Wallace had spared no expense at his second son’s christening. Barrels of ale, kegs of wine, almost more than Jackson had served at his own ceremony, decorated the tables of Holcombe’s castle. Torches and candles lit the great hall as a small band of musicians played, and the invited guests danced.
Jackson begged off the few women who had been either brave enough or drunk enough to approach him. In the past, Will had tried to teach him some of the simpler country and court dances, but Jackson had never been able to get his feet moving in the right direction or in time with the music. Will had eventually given up in exchange for sparing his toes any more damage by Jackson’s boots.
Now Jackson watched as Will, graceful, effortless, every move coordinated and flowing, danced in and out of the torchlight and shadows. Aroused by Will, Jackson leaned his elbows on the table to hide his body’s reaction to his lover.
For the most part, Will only glanced occasionally at Jackson, locked gazes, then skittered off, always aware of the people around them. Between dances, Will returned to sit at Jackson’s right side, drank wine, and listened as his brother told stories about his children. Wallace was nothing, if not a doting father. Duke Walter, who listened and nodded agreement of his grandson’s merits, was every inch a loving grandfather.
Once again, Jackson felt a flicker of envy for Wallace. He had a large well-sighted keep, a loving wife and father, and his children. As Duke of Baymore, Jackson now had a keep, greater even than Holcombe, and he had a man who loved him. But his father had been murdered by Jackson’s half-brother, Hugh, two years ago. Despite his lifelong denial of Jackson, in the end, before his death, Morris of Baymore had acknowledged Jackson. His eldest and best son was named the rightful heir. That Jackson had heard Morris call him “son” would have to be enough.
And he’d done what his father had asked of him—restored Baymore’s good name, kept the coffers filled, and kept his love for Will a secret. The only other thing his father had asked, Jackson couldn’t do, and that was to provide an heir. He’d told his father that his heart was taken by a man, and confessed his love for Will to the only man whose respect he longed to earn.
