by Lynn Lorenz
And as much as Morris ranted, he still accepted Jackson as his legitimate son. Jackson knew the only alternative was his half-brother Hugh, and no one, not Morris, not Baymore’s old steward Withers, and most assuredly not the people of his lands, wanted that lunatic to become duke.
Jackson had won Baymore by default, and he’d known it. He’d been the lesser of two evils for Morris to choose from—Jackson, a sodomite who harbored a deep-seated honor and an innate sense of nobility, or Hugh, an insane sodomite, perverted and drunk with his own power.
He’d sworn to himself that he’d prove to Morris, even as he lay rotting in his grave, that he, Jackson Baymore, had been the right son to choose. That despite whom Jackson chose to love, he was a man of quality, a man of honor, a man who could gain his subjects’ respect and goodwill.
Jackson smiled at Will, who listed slightly in his chair, having certainly drunk too much. Will played in a teasing manner with his long braid as it lay over his shoulder. When Will’s gaze lingered too long on Jackson, caressed Jackson’s body, and landed on Jackson’s lips, Jackson decided it was time to retire for the night before Will did something neither of them could explain.
“Let’s abed, Lord Holcombe.” He rose and pulled Will to his feet. Will swayed, laughed, and clapped him on the back.
“Aye. I’m the worse for the wine, I’m afraid.” Will turned to Wallace and his father. “I must beg your forgiveness. The dance has gone to my feet and the wine to my head. I should go to my room before my duke has to carry me up the stairs.” He grinned at them.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve carried him up, Jackson.” Wallace laughed.
“This time I won’t be unconscious,” Will replied and took a last drink.
“If you don’t stop now, I may be called to duty again,” Jackson warned and took the cup from Will.
“Good night, son. I’ll see you in the morn.” Walter reached out and touched Will’s arm. Will placed his hand over his father’s, and leaned down to brush a kiss on his cheek.
“Night, Da.” Will turned to Jackson. “Up the stairs, Your Grace.”
“Up the stairs, my lord.” Jackson grinned, and nodded his farewell to those seated at the table, and walked Will away.
“Any more drink, and I think you would have made quite a fool of yourself.” Jackson chuckled.
“Any more drink, and I would have been unable to keep my hands off you,” Will muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Jackson’s ears alone.
“My lord.” Jackson pulled him tighter as they took the stairs. His cock stirred at Will’s words and husky voice.
“My ass, Your Grace. It calls for you.” Will sighed, making Jackson’s rod ache with want.
Jackson laughed, bold and loud, as he pulled Will tighter under his arm. They made the top of the stairs, and then turned down the hall toward Will’s room. Once at Will’s door Jackson leaned him against the wall.
Will gave him a wicked smile, then grabbed Jackson’s loins through his breeches and rolled Jackson’s stones in his hand. Jackson groaned, closed his eyes, and pressed his hips into Will’s touch.
“Seems we arrived at my room just in time,” Will whispered.
Jackson tilted Will’s head up and slanted his lips over Will’s. Their kiss deepened as Jackson’s tongue begged entrance, and Will’s lips parted. Will whimpered and squeezed Jackson’s sac tighter. Jackson groaned.
“Will?” Walter Holcombe stood at the top of the hall. He faced them at the far end, brows furrowed over unseeing eyes, then his lips thinned, and his face darkened.
Jackson broke from Will’s kiss, as Will’s hand slapped over Jackson’s mouth. Will’s eyes begged Jackson for silence.
“Aye, Father?” Will swallowed.
Duke Holcombe took a deep, ragged breath, his hands clenched tightly, and turned his back to them. He reached his door, opened it, and paused. “I will see you in my room. Now.” Then he went inside, leaving the door open.
Will slumped against the wall, locking his knees to keep from falling to the floor. “Oh God, my father.” He moaned. “God’s tears. He knows.” Everything in Will’s world tilted, twisted, and gave way beneath him. The wine and food he’d taken in threatened to explode from his gut with that dreaded knowledge.
“You don’t know that, Will.” Jackson held Will up with a firm grip on his arms. “He can’t see. How would he know?”
“Oh aye, he knows. My father may be blind, but he can hear and smell better than you or I. He knows.” Will shook his head. “All is lost, Your Grace. All.” Will’s eyes filled with tears, and he blinked them back. All his life as a man, he’d tried so hard to keep his secret from his father, and now the one person in this world he wanted to keep his proclivities hidden from knew. “I must go to him. Face him.”
“I’ll go with you.” Jackson stepped back to give Will room to move.
“No. I won’t involve you.”
“Too late. If he can smell and hear, then he heard my voice and smelled me. I’m going with you. We’ll face him together, Will. Perhaps we can change his mind, perhaps convince him—”
“That we’re not perverted creatures? Damned? An affront to God?” Will shook his head. “No. I love my father, but I know him. This he will not forgive.” Will straightened his clothing, tossed his braid over his shoulder, and gave Jackson a sharp nod.
Jackson followed him down the hall to the open door.
Will rapped on the door twice, then stepped inside. “Father.”
His father sat on the chair next to his hearth, chin on his fist as he stared into the flames. Brows drawn together, mouth turned down, he wore the familiar expression Will recognized as perplexed. It was the face his father made when he struggled to work through some problem, and did not like the taste of it.
Will advanced into the room, Jackson at his back, and came to a halt in front of his father.
“Good. The Duke of Baymore is here also.” Walter nodded as if he’d come to some decision. “William, I want you and your duke gone on the morrow.”
“Gone?” Will croaked. Would he be given no chance for explanation, no chance to speak in his defense?
“Never to return to Holcombe.” Walter sat back, his folded hands rested in his lap, his decision final.
Chapter Four
Will fell to his knees. “Father. Please.”
“Not a word, William.” His father turned away from him.
“But you have to understand. You have to listen to me,” Will pleaded.
“For how long?” Walter shook, his grip on the arms of the chair so tight his knuckles went white.
“What?”
“How long?” his father roared. “How long have you been a—”
Will looked at Jackson. His father was lost to him, but he’d be damned if he’d fail Wallace and Ellen. Tears threatened again, and he put his face in his hands. There was nothing for it but to lie and keep them safe.
Jackson stepped forward and put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Since he came to Baymore, Your Grace.” Will’s head snapped up and he stared at his lover.
“What?” Walter turned back to them. “At Baymore? Not before?”
“Nay. It was I, Your Grace. I seduced your son.”
Will frowned at Jackson’s attempt to take the blame, and shame himself before another duke, thus saving Wallace. God, he loved this man. Was there no end to Jackson’s honor or his love for Will?
“No, Father.” Will got to his feet. “That’s not true. It started before Baymore, but there was no seduction. No forced taking. I fell in love with Jackson when he saved me.”
“Love? You love a man?” His father’s head snapped back as if struck.
“Aye.” A new strength flowed through Will, a power that filled him with the courage to take whatever came his way, as long as he had Jackson by his side.
His father fell silent. Closing his eyes, he clenched and unclenched his hands as his jaw worked. Then he opened his eyes and da
shed away the tears that fell.
“I loved you, William,” he whispered.
“And I love you, Father.”
“Then leave Baymore. Come back to me, and our home. Stay here at Holcombe. Forget this madness, and marry.” His father leaned forward, his hand outstretched for Will to take.
Will took a step back. “I can’t do that. I can’t. He is my heart. My soul. The only thing in this world that I need or want.”
“And Jackson? Does he—”
Jackson moved next to Will. “Love your son? Aye. Will is life to me. He sees inside this rough exterior to the true man hiding there. I am all I am because of him and his love.”
“Love,” Walter sneered. “There can be no love between men. Only depravity.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Father, to convince you of the depth of our feelings for each other. We are sworn, I to Jackson and he to me.”
Walter stood. “This is too much to bear. Go away from me, William. Duke Baymore. Leave me.” He straightened his back and pointed to the door, hand trembling. Will could only imagine the pain his father must feel. It had to match his own anguish, but Will had always known it would come to this if he were discovered.
Jackson gave him a short bow—“Your Grace”—and backed out of the room.
Will stood for a moment longer drinking in the last look of his beloved father. His heart hurt so bad he thought it would cease to beat. “Fair well, Father. I pray one day you will forgive me for the hurt I’ve caused you.” Then he turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.
Jackson leaned against the wall. “Are you all right?”
“Nothing is right.” Will shook his head and staggered down the hall to his room. He pushed open the door, fell into the room, and shut the door behind him, leaving Jackson standing in the corridor.
∙•∙
Jackson paced the length of the hall, his boot steps sounding on the stones. Duke Holcombe had banished Will—that was the worst of it. He’d said nothing of exposing them or disowning Will. Will still had his title, and thank God, no breath of blame had fallen on Wallace or Lady Ellen.
But his Will? Jackson stood outside Will’s door, his hand raised to knock. He bit his lip, working the problem in his head, but there was no way out of this. Will wouldn’t give him up and return to Holcombe. If Jackson thought everyone would be happy with that solution, he’d insist Will stay. But neither he nor Will could survive that.
Jackson lowered his hand. Will could wait. Jackson needed to talk to Wallace. He had to be warned.
Turning away, Jackson strode down the hall to the other wing of the castle, to the rooms of Lord and Lady Holcombe. As he passed the stair, he paused, leaned down, and surveyed the great hall. The guests had all gone, the servants were cleaning, and the torches and candles had burned low.
Jackson went to Wallace’s chambers and rapped on the door. A few moments later, Wallace appeared, still dressed, but bootless.
“Jackson? What brings you here?” Wallace frowned.
“I must speak to you. Now. It cannot wait.”
“Of course.” Wallace stepped aside and Jackson entered. The room was a study, with a desk, chairs, and table set before the hearth.
There was no point in wasting time telling the story or in planning what he would say, so Jackson just let the words tumble out. “Your father has found us out. He came upon us. Will was drunk, and I wasn’t thinking clearly. He looked at me with those blue eyes, and I forgot myself and kissed him in the hall. Your father heard us.”
“Oh God.” Wallace sat heavily in a chair and ran his hands through his hair. “He knows?”
“Of me and Will. Aye. Of you and your lady’s part? No. I told your father it started at Baymore. That I seduced Will.” Jackson stood a little taller.
Wallace stared at Jackson, his eyes raking over the big man. “I thank you for that lie. I know it came at great personal cost to you.”
“I have no wish to hurt anyone here at Holcombe, Wallace.” Jackson swallowed. “You are Will’s family, and as I am sworn to him, I am sworn to you all, though some may not want or care for it.”
Wallace stood, stepped to Jackson, threw his arms around him, and held him in a tight grip. Jackson stiffened, then relaxed, and put his arms around Wallace to return the embrace. “And I to you, Jackson. I’ve never seen my brother happier. Never. He glows with his love for you, and I believe in your love for him.” Then he let Jackson go.
“Your father has sent Will away. Back to Baymore. We leave in the morn.” He went to the door. “Please give Lady Ellen our farewell.”
“Jackson. Before you go. About Will.”
“Aye?”
“Watch him. If he slips into malady or melancholy, you must take care. I fear for his life.” Wallace’s concern was echoed in his blue eyes, so similar to the pair Jackson loved.
“I will watch for it, rest assured.” He nodded.
“Fair well, Jackson. Tell Will I love him. Nothing will ever change that. I can’t offer hope for our father’s forgiveness, but I’ll set myself to that goal. Trust me.”
“I do, and I pray one day, Will and his father will be reconciled.”
With that Jackson left and returned to Will’s room.
“Will. Open the door.”
There was no sound. Jackson lifted the latch and pushed the door open. Will sat on a chair near the hearth staring into the fire. His bags lay open, clothes strewn about them as if he’d begun to pack and then given up.
“Let the servants do that in the morn.” Jackson went to Will and kneeled beside him. He put his hand over Will’s hand. “Come to bed, my lord. You need your rest. It will be a long ride back to Baymore, and we must start out early.”
“Like thieves running away in the night.” Will nodded and rose. “At least we aren’t running from the noose.”
Jackson took him by the arm and led him to the bed. After undressing him, and putting him between the covers, Jackson sat in the chair to wait until Will fell asleep.
For a very long time, Will lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his hands limp at his sides. At last, he rolled over and closed his eyes. Jackson waited another hour until Will’s breathing became regular and steady, then he left to the stables to order their horses ready in the morn.
That done, he returned to Will’s room, pulled off his boots, and crawled onto the bed next to Will. They spent the rest of the night, Will in restless sleep, and Jackson in deep contemplation.
»»•««
Dawn came soon enough. Jackson had the servants pack their bags and bring them down to the stable to be loaded on the packhorses. He roused his men in the barracks, and had the entire group in their saddles an hour after the sun’s rays warmed the cobblestones of the keep’s bailey. They would take their morning meal later while they were on the road.
If there was one thing Jackson knew how to do, it was get his men on their feet and moving, a skill he’d honed leading men on the battlefields over the last twenty years. He hadn’t needed his rank as duke to get them going—his deep, commanding voice, his firm manner, and his intense glare were more than enough.
Getting Will up and moving proved harder. But Jackson, intent on being long gone before the rest of the keep woke, had him dressed, down the stairs, and on his horse soon enough. By the time Jackson swung up into his saddle, he looked forward to the ride if for nothing other than to get some rest. Sleeping in the saddle came easy to a mercenary, and Jackson had learned over the years to take his rest when and where he could find it.
He gave the command. The gates swung open, and their band filed through to the road, on their way to Baymore.
Only the stable lads and the guards of Holcombe watched them leave.
»»•««
Liam woke, coughed, and found his way to the latrines at the back of the barracks. When he returned, the early morning chill bit his bare feet as he stepped onto the cobblestones and crossed the small yard back into the barrack’s
heat. Twenty-five men lay sprawled on stomachs, backs, and sides, their covers pulled over them. As Liam passed each cot, he listened to the unfamiliar sounds of men asleep.
If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would never have gotten to sleep with this racket. He passed a man on his back whose snoring rattled the rafters and Liam stifled a giggle. His ma had never made such a noise. Amongst these men, Liam felt small and lost, a stranger in a strange place.
But a warm, safe place. He sat on his cot and looked around. Someone had placed his sack next to the bed. He picked it up and went through it, searching for what few scraps of clothing he’d salvaged. He stank from the fire, his hair singed, his face streaked with soot. Stripping off, he quickly changed, wiped his face, and shoved the soot-covered breeches, shirt, and vest he’d worn for the last two days to the bottom of the sack. Perhaps later, he’d wash them.
He rubbed his sore feet, unwilling to put them back in his boots until necessary, but he knew he’d have to get up soon. There must be much to be done in a great keep like Baymore. If he planned to have an audience with the duke, and ask to be recognized, he’d best find something he could do to earn his bread, and prove himself worthy of a title.
If the duke let him stay. He hadn’t allowed himself to think what he’d do if Duke Baymore refused him and sent him away.
Liam’s eyes filled with tears and he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep back the great drops that threatened to fall. Like a frightened babe, he longed to call out for his mother, to feel her arms around him, comforting him. But she would never hold him again.
He sucked in a deep breath, his chest tight and aching. He was alone now. Best if he accepted it and got on with it.
As he pulled on his boots, a man wearing a tunic with the Baymore coat of arms came through the door banging on a copper pot. “Wake up, you lazy sots! Duty shift!” he yelled. The men of the barracks groaned as one, and someone threw a boot at the officer, but he ducked, and it missed its target. Several others swore, using language Liam had never heard except once when the smithy had smashed his hand with the great maul.
