by Lynn Lorenz
∙•∙
Will slumped forward, his knees buckling, unable to hold Jackson’s weight any longer.
God, he’d been fucked well and good. Jackson’s taking of him had been just as he’d wanted, hard and fast. Will loved feeling the power of the big man, the strength of his grip on his cock, the absolute control Jackson had over him.
But his lover hadn’t finished with him—that Will knew.
Jackson rolled off and turned Will over.
“I need to see your face, my lord. Look into your eyes, see your soul in their blue depths.” Jackson nuzzled Will’s throat, his tongue painting its way up to Will’s ear, then taking the lobe between his teeth. A shiver ran through Will, and a soft echo stirred deep inside his loins.
Will gasped as Jackson nipped him.
It was too soon for his rod to stiffen, but he enjoyed the feelings that danced over the sensitive skin that sheathed it, and in the slight tightening of his stones and the sac that held them.
Jackson crawled between Will’s legs, spread them open, and pushed Will’s knees up and apart, splitting him open.
“Fuck me, you’re beautiful, Will.” Jackson gazed at Will’s ass. “See? Just there.” Jackson touched his finger to the soft skin between Will’s hole and his sac. “No. You can’t see. Pity. If you could, you would be as taken with the sight as I am.”
“What do you see, my love?”
“Your tight ass.” Jackson licked his lips. “It’s perfect. Pink. It resembles a young rose, closed tight to the world, not yet unfurled. I wish to open your rose. To make it bloom with pleasure.”
Will’s head fell back as Jackson’s poetry washed over him, as rain from the sky, bathing him in desire.
“My rose awaits your staff.”
Jackson leaned down, pushing up on Will’s legs, and as Jackson dragged his tongue over Will’s sac, Will cried out. Will’s cock filled with blood, and it grew hard against his belly.
His lover didn’t stop there. Jackson sucked a stone into his mouth, then pulled it away, stretching the skin until all Will could do was beg Jackson to release it.
God, the pain was so sweet and added to the strength of his erection. When Jackson moved to the other side, Will thought he’d lose his mind. The pain was so pure, so intense as it surged through his body, tingling in the base of his spine.
“Fuck me. Now. Please.” Will moaned.
“Aye, my sweet William.” Jackson pressed the tip of his cock into Will, Will pushed into it, and his bud opened. Jackson slipped inside, filling Will completely. After he let a few hammer beats of his heart pass, Will reached up and buried his fingers in Jackson’s dark red mane.
“Now,” Will commanded.
Jackson obeyed.
They rode their pleasure, each move reflected in the subtle shift of their bodies. The quiet intake of air, the harsh exhale of a cry gasped, and the shared gaze in their eyes, as they built in the climb to completion.
Blue eyes bored into brown. Hands clenched hair, skin, hips, and neck. Jackson’s breath in, was Will’s breath out. Locked together in body, heart, and soul, they joined in their love.
Jackson cupped Will’s cheek, and rested his forehead against Will’s. “My life is yours.”
“I am yours. Command me.” There was nothing Will would not do for this man.
“Just love me.” Jackson gave a final thrust, stilled, and spilled.
Will joined him, painting his own belly with ropes of white.
Jackson gave a final toss of his sweat-dampened head and pulled gently out of Will’s ass, then fell to the side on the bed, one arm flung over his face.
Will settled into the crook of his arm, his head rested on Jackson’s shoulder.
For a while, they dozed.
Out of long habit, Will woke before dawn, but unlike the times before, Jackson wasn’t asleep. No soft snore filled the quiet of the room. Jackson lay awake, his gaze focused out of the window, at the night sky.
“Something troubles you, Your Grace?” Will whispered.
“Aye. I have had a thought and have not been able to escape it.” Jackson sighed.
Will ran his hand over Jackson’s broad chest. “Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
“You are the only one who can, my lord.”
“Then name it and it is done.”
Jackson fell silent. His lips turned down, his brow furrowed. All in all, a most severe look. Had Will earned his displeasure?
“If anything happened to me, Will, what would happen to Baymore?”
“Baymore?”
“Aye. This place. The land. The people.”
Will fell silent. What would happen? “I suppose, it might fall to some lesser noble, if he dared to try to win it.”
“You could not hold the land or the title.”
“Nay. Not without the armsmen’s backing and the lesser lord’s oaths.” Will frowned. “I might convince them, but it would take more than words to do so. I’d have to spend much from the coffers to ensure their loyalty.”
“Aye, as I thought. But Will, if there were someone? A true Baymore? What then?”
“Well, that would be different. The men have given oath to Baymore, and to you. That includes all who hold the Baymore name.”
Jackson gave a slow nod. “Then what must be done is clear.”
“What must be done?” Will wasn’t sure what Jackson spoke of, but he knew it pressed heavy on Jackson’s mind.
“I must have a son, Will. I must marry.”
The bed Will lay on dropped away, and he hung in the air for just a moment, then plummeted, as a dove falls from the sky, an arrow struck through its heart. His stomach rose in his throat as his lifeless body tumbled away into oblivion. His vision narrowed and all he saw was the night sky in the window receding, stretching farther and farther away, until the moon and the stars were but points of dim light.
“And you must arrange it. As my steward, you must find me a wife.” Jackson’s words echoed, as if from very far away.
Will opened his mouth, but no reasonable sound escaped—only a cry of utter destruction gathered in the pit of his stomach and roiled, burning and hot, upward in his throat. When it reached his mouth, he clamped his lips shut against it, refusing to give it a voice.
This could not be. This was insanity.
He must be dreaming. That was it, he slept, and this was nothing more than a dream, some horrible nightmare. If he could just keep from screaming, he would awaken, still held tight in Jackson’s arms.
Jackson sat up, took Will by the shoulder, and shook him. “Will. Did you hear me?”
Will stared up at his lover of the last two years. The man he’d killed for, the man he’d left his home, his family, his father for. The man he loved more than his own life.
“I said, you must find me a wife. I must have a son. I must have an heir.” Jackson’s words, as deadly as any sword Jackson had ever wielded, stabbed Will in the heart, leaving him dead.
Oh God, this was no dream. This was Hell. Damnation. Punishment from God for his past sins, for the sin of lying with another man, and for loving another man.
Of all the things Jackson could have asked him, nothing could have been more unexpected, more shocking, or more impossible for Will to do.
Will’s hands trembled as he sat up. He got out of bed, found his breeches, and slipped them on. Fighting back the tears threatening to spill, he felt the bleeding of his heart, as if cut from his chest. Yet, he still lived. Dead, but alive.
He pulled the strings tight, straightened, and faced his lover.
“Is that what you truly wish, Your Grace?” His voice didn’t shake.
Jackson smiled at him and nodded.
Will walked to the door, raised the bar, and opened it.
“Then I will do as you command, Your Grace,” he whispered, then slipped out.
The door closed behind him.
Chapter Eleven
Will staggered across the hall and into his room. As he fel
l back against the door and locked it, the anguish he’d held inside burst from him. He slid to the floor as soundless sobs of grief racked his body, and his fists pounded against the stones of the walls.
When there was nothing left but darkness and despair, Will lay curled tight on the cold floor of his room, alone and broken. Devastated. Destroyed.
Long after the sun had risen in his window, Will pushed himself upright, went to his desk, and fell into the chair.
He pulled out parchment and ink, quill and wax, and wrote the first letter in the search to find a wife for the man he could not deny.
»»•««
“Wallace. Have you read this letter from Will?” Lady Ellen thrust out a parchment toward her husband as she strode across the floor of the great hall.
Wallace looked up. “No, it was to you, not me.” He waved his hand at her.
Her beautiful face frowned, brows knitted together, chin quivering. It was not good news that made her react in such a manner.
“What does it say? Bad news?” He stood and met her halfway, taking the parchment from her. He read it over, read it again, and then met her worried gaze.
“Find him a wife?” Wallace gasped. “Has Jackson lost his mind?”
“Oh, Wallace. Poor Will.” She put a knuckle in her mouth and bit it as tears filled her eyes.
“This is…” Words failed Wallace.
“What must Will be going through?” She shook her head. “We have to help him—this is our fault.”
“Our fault?” Wallace jerked back. “What mean you?”
“You saw Jackson. How he held the babes? It must have given him these thoughts of children, family. Now he wants one of his own.”
“And why shouldn’t he have one?” Wallace’s father’s voice boomed from the stairs. “He’s the duke. He should be married and have an heir. Perhaps then, William will return home to us where he belongs.”
“Father.” Wallace sighed. “Will belongs with Jackson, you know that.”
“I know nothing about that. But once Jackson takes a wife to his bed, I dare say there will not be room for more than two,” Walter Holcombe declared.
Ignoring the elder Holcombe, Ellen turned to her husband. “Will must be devastated. But he’s determined to find a wife suitable for his duke and asks my help.”
“Good. Fair Ellen, find Baymore a wife and tell our William to come home.” Their father gave a sharp nod, turned, and climbed the stairs to his rooms, leaving Wallace and Ellen alone.
“Will you?” Wallace took Ellen’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Do you know of someone? What woman of good family would be willing to wed into such a house?”
Ellen stared into the flames of the hearth. “A woman with no other choice.” She gave Wallace a quick kiss. “I need to write a letter.”
“To Will?”
“No, not yet.” She shook her head and strode to the stairs.
“To who?” Wallace called after her.
She stopped on the stair and turned back to him. “To a woman with no other choice, of course.”
»»•««
“My lord! A messenger from Lord Holcombe,” a guard called out.
Lord Basil Clayton woke. He’d been dozing in one of several chairs in front of the hearth, his hunting dogs at his feet as the late afternoon light fell through the windows of the great hall.
“Damn,” Basil swore. He hadn’t quite finished his dream. It had been such a lovely dream. Bare soft skin over firm hard muscles tempted him. He always gave in to temptation.
Now this interruption. What could old Holcombe possibly want from him? It had been years since their last meeting. This could only be bad news.
Basil rubbed his eyes, stretched, and waved his hand. “Show him in.”
The messenger strode through the doors and across the hall. He bowed, presented the letter, and snapped to attention.
“My orders are to wait for a reply, my lord.”
Basil nodded and ran a finger under the wax seal, breaking it, and opened the letter.
Neat, beautiful letters filled the page. Basil chuckled. Not old Holcombe after all.
Women always had such beautiful writing. Not like men. He’d never paid much attention to his lessons, unless they were about music or hunting, his two passions. Well, the only passions he’d admit to or dared to be caught practicing.
My dearest cousin Lord Clayton,
I hope this finds both you and your dear sister well. Tell Lady Beth I do miss her company, and that I remember with great fondness our time together as children those many years ago.
Oh aye, Ellen, their cousin. She had married the eldest Holcombe son. He searched his memory for the man’s name, but came up empty, so he returned to the letter.
I was saddened to hear of the death of her husband, but I am sure you are happy to have her at your side once again.
Kind of Ellen to couch his sister’s unceremonious return by her dead husband’s elder brother in such a delicate way. But Ellen had always had a kindness and grace about her.
Cousin, I have been asked to inquire about a suitable wife for Duke Jackson Baymore. You and your dear sister came to my mind at first thought.
Basil’s eyes widened. Duke Baymore? Holder of some of the richest lands and the greatest wealth in these parts? He swallowed and read on.
This man is well known to me. My husband’s brother William is his steward and we have met His Grace on more than one occasion.
Both Wallace and I think highly of this man. He is good, kind, and a fair man in all things.
“Ah, Wallace, that was his name,” he muttered. The younger brother was William. So, dear Ellen has found Beth a husband? And she vouches for him? He remembered Ellen as a clear-headed and sensible woman, as far as women went.
I will speak plain. His need for a wife is to fulfill his need for an heir and nothing more. He wants that to be clear. I have enclosed the contract for marriage drawn up by Lord William Holcombe, His Grace’s steward in all matters.
Read it over. If it seems suitable and fair, please send your response to Lord Holcombe at Baymore Castle as soon as possible.
I think you’ll find the conditions most fair and generous.
Your cousin,
Lady Ellen Holcombe
Basil pulled out the second sheet of fine parchment and looked it over. As he read, he sat up, brow furrowed, barely believing the terms. They asked for no dowry. How could that be? He scanned the contract again.
He’d read it correct. He recounted his coffers in his mind, knowing down to the last copper his worth. He wasn’t without funds, but he didn’t have coins to spare. His lands were not as rich as Baymore’s, or his taxes so high he bled his people to death, either.
The terms were more than fair, and the lack of a dowry even better, because he’d paid all her bride’s dowry to her first husband and the fool had used it to fund his disastrous attempt at fratricide.
Generous terms, indeed. Any more so and Basil would have consented to marry the man himself. He snorted at that thought, then grinned.
At last, a marriage proposal Beth could not find fault with nor one that would cost him dearly.
“Wait here.” Basil motioned to a servant. “Give him ale, food, and rest.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The man bowed.
Basil rose and searched for his sister. He found her in her rooms, stitching.
“Sister, I’ve received a letter from our cousin Ellen.”
Beth looked up, the needle stilled in her hand. “Ellen? It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name.” She smiled at some memory and he could see it had been a good one.
“I’m glad to see your joy at her name.” He held up the parchments. “Perhaps what she has written will please you also.”
“Written? To me?” Beth held out her hand, her finger wiggling for the letters like a child reaching for a sweet.
“Not yet.” Basil withheld them. He wanted to broach the subject of marriage with the
utmost care. If he knew Beth, and he did, she’d either fly into a rage at the suggestion and boot him from her chambers, or laugh him down the hall.
Now she stared at him with wide brown eyes. As always, a mask of quiet curiosity guarded her true emotions as he sat on the cushioned bench next to her.
“She inquires about your disposition toward a marriage.”
“Marriage?”
“Must you repeat my words, sister?”
“I must. If you are going to utter such nonsense.” She put down her hoop and needle and folded her arms. Basil watched her gaze take on a small glint of stubbornness and a large amount of wariness.
“This is not nonsense. Nothing to take as such either.” He took a deep breath. “Ellen sends a marriage proposal to you from the Duke of Baymore. With most favorable and generous terms and conditions.” He smiled at his sister. She meant the world to him, and if he could see her safely settled as a duchess, then he will have done his proper duty by her.
“The Duke of Baymore?” She sat up. “The new duke? Well, he’s not so new this last year or so, is he?” She glanced out the window and bit her bottom lip. “What has Ellen told him about me and my situation?”
Now came the delicate part. Basil took Beth’s hands in his and rubbed his thumb across the smooth ivory skin. “She’s told him of your marriage, the death of your husband, though not the details, and he is willing to take you as his duchess.”
She sat back and exhaled. “Did she tell him of Anne?” Her eyes flicked to the small bed sitting next to hers where her daughter slept.
“She doesn’t mention the child. Perhaps the news of her birth didn’t reach Ellen.”
He smiled at the young girl curled up in the bed. All blonde curls and pink cheeks. An angel of a child in both looks and temperament.
Beth sighed. “Once he knows, Bas, he’ll rescind his offer. No man will take on another man’s child. And I won’t leave her.” Beth’s gaze softened as she looked at her little girl, the sole joy of her life. The child held Basil’s heart as well.
