by Lynn Lorenz
“If it was with a man of no import, then I would squash it”—he slammed his fist on the table, and the platters jumped—“like a bothersome insect.” He leaned toward Marcus, his threat clear.
“And if the man had means?” Marcus cocked his eyebrow.
Basil regarded him, from toe to head. “Well, if he had means and she loved him, that might be different.” He stood and Marcus followed. “I tire of talk, Master Marcus. I’m more a man of action, as I think you are. We shall speak again in the morn.” With those words, he turned, strode to his tent, and entered.
Marcus stood at the table and scratched his chin. What had just transpired? What had Basil been trying to say to him, and for that matter, what had he said to Basil?
What action did Basil hint at?
His gaze flicked to Lady Beth’s tent. A soft glow came from inside, a lantern no doubt.
Basil was right. Marcus was indeed a man of action. Give him an enemy to fight, a wall to breach, a field to cross and he was your man.
But women? Ye gods.
He swallowed, pulled his tunic straight, and headed toward the tent.
Chapter Eighteen
Liam’s heart raced as they rounded the wood. Ahead stood the low stone wall that bordered the road back to Baymore. The duke’s men surrounded him and Duke Baymore as they cantered across the wide field.
The group gathered speed as the wall approached. The duke’s hand slipped around his waist, pulled him tight, then the great horse’s hindquarters bunched, and it leapt.
For a moment, Liam was flying. He threw his arms out, secure that the duke had him safe, and he forced his eyes to remain open. They were so high in the air, the ground so far away. In the next heartbeat, the horse landed, Liam’s body rocked forward and he let out a whoop!
“To Baymore!” the duke called out.
The horses slowed to a trot, and Liam bounced in the saddle. He looked up at the duke and laughed. “Ye gods! What sport!”
The duke laughed again. “Aye. Grand sport to be riding hard for the pleasure of it. Not so grand if you’re being chased by men hell bent on killing you.” He winked at Liam.
Liam’s eyes widened and wrapping his hands in the horse’s mane, he envisioned the excitement of a mercenary’s life. One day, he might become a mercenary, fighting in battles across the land. Perhaps even across the ocean in a foreign country for his king. For glory and honor, and a fortune in treasure.
The castle appeared over the hill. The pennants flew and the gates stood open to welcome them home. Liam imagined they’d returned victorious from a battle, and everyone at the castle would be waiting for them to arrive. There would be a great cheering crowd.
But only a lone figure stood under the lintel of the gates, hands on hips, long hair blowing in the breeze.
“Uh oh,” the duke whispered.
“What is it?” Liam looked up at him. The duke’s eyebrows had drawn together, his mouth down turned.
“I fear Lord Holcombe is not pleased with us.”
“He isn’t?”
“Nay.” The duke chuckled. “It seems we must face his wrath.”
The duke had been right. Lord Holcombe blocked their path. The men pulled their horses to a stop. The duke edged his closer with a tap of his heels on his steed’s belly.
“Lord Holcombe.”
“Your Grace.” Any fool, even a small boy such as he, could see his lordship wasn’t happy. Indeed, he fairly burned. Liam wondered if he’d feel the lash for daring to displease the man, but why the duke feared the wrath of a lower-ranked man?
“I longed for a ride.”
“With only four men?” Holcombe’s gaze swept over the company, and then landed on Liam. “And a page.”
“Aye.” Baymore nodded.
“What if you’d come across bandits?” He squinted up at them.
“That would have been most jolly, eh, men?” Baymore pulled his sword and looked around at his men, a great grin on his face. The men imitated him, laughing and crying out, “Aye!” Liam joined them, raising his hand in the air as if it held a sword.
“No, it would not!” Holcombe roared, then wiped his hand over his face. “Your Grace. How many times have I asked you not to go outside the castle without a full guard to accompany you?”
“Many times, my lord.” Baymore nodded as he sheathed his weapon. To Liam, he whispered, “I’ve lost count.” Liam bit his lip so Lord Holcombe didn’t see him laugh.
“Many times, aye.” Holcombe stared at him, then sighed. “Come in, then. The horses need their rest and care.” He stepped aside and waved them in.
The duke chuckled and kicked his heels, urging the warhorse forward.
Liam let out the breath he’d been holding as the duke’s horse entered the bailey, sad that his marvelous ride had come to an end.
Grooms ran out to take the reins of the horses. The duke slid off his horse, then reached up and took Liam under the arms and hoisted him down. His feet hit the cobblestones and he wobbled, unsteady. His legs didn’t seem to want to do his bidding.
“You’ll be fine. Just walk about a bit, lad.” Duke Baymore clapped him on the back. Laughing, Liam tried to walk a straight line, but veered off course. He tried a circle and did better.
Lord Holcombe approached the duke. “Jackson, really.” He shook his head.
“My lord?” Baymore seemed to have won his way back into Holcombe’s good graces with a smile.
“You know I worry.” Liam listened to the two men as they walked toward the keep. He had to jog to keep up with them.
“I know.” The duke rested his hand on Holcombe’s shoulder. His lordship put his hand over the duke’s hand for just a brief touch.
“My horse needed a run. And my page, Liam, had asked about my steed.” Liam’s head snapped up at the mention of his name.
Holcombe stopped and turned. His cool gaze flicked over Liam and in that instant, Liam wanted to run and hide, but he was frozen to the spot.
“Did he?”
“Aye. I thought what better way to show him my horse but to let him ride.”
“That’s true enough.” Holcombe nodded, then he returned his attention to the duke. “Next time you are so moved, don’t leave without telling me, Jackson,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m sorry, Will.” The duke looked very sorry and again Liam wondered why the duke should seek his steward’s forgiveness. Holcombe’s gaze flicked back to him, then he cleared his throat.
“You know, if you leave without telling me, there may be some piece of business about the castle and lands I might need your say on. Or some document you need to sign.”
The duke nodded. “You’re right. The business of Baymore comes before pleasure. Right, Liam?” He grinned at Liam.
“Aye, Your Grace.” Liam nodded, pleased the duke had asked him.
They entered the keep. The duke and his steward made for the chairs in front of the hearth. Baymore sat and stuck out his boots. “Lad, take these off me.”
Liam kneeled and pulled off the boots. “Yours also, my lord?”
“Nay,” Holcombe said, and waved him away. “Go, take His Grace’s boots and shine them. They look as if they’ve gathered all the dust from the road.”
“Aye, my lord.” Liam knew when he was being dismissed. He gathered the boots in his arms and left the men.
He’d climbed the stairs halfway, when he turned and looked back.
His Grace had his hand on Lord Holcombe’s leg as they spoke in hushed tones.
Then both men laughed, and Liam smiled. He continued up the stairs to get his kit and work on the boots.
Humming with happiness, he held out his arms, a boot clutched in each hand, and remembered their ride and the feel of flying.
»»•««
“She’ll arrive tomorrow,” Jackson whispered, as he stared into the fire. His fingers tightened on Will’s leg.
Will patted his hand. “I know. Have no fear, Your Grace. I have been giving the matter great thought.�
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“So you’ve found a way out?” Jackson sat up.
“Perhaps.” Will nodded once. Pinning their lives on his desperate plan had been insanity. Marcus’s ability to charm and woo the woman intended for his lover had been a foolish mistake. He prayed it wouldn’t be a deadly mistake.
“Out with it, then. What plan have you?”
“Nay, I cannot say. Not yet. Can you trust me on this, Your Grace?” Will looked into his eyes, seeking Jackson’s belief.
“I can. I do. You know that.”
“Then let’s not speak of it. The evening meal will be served shortly, and worry has aroused my hunger.” Will glanced at Jackson from under his half-closed eyes. Jackson knew what that look meant, and what hunger Will spoke of, and it wasn’t for the cook’s venison stew.
“Truthfully, my lord, I had not wanted to cause you such worry. It’s just the boy…well, his spirit needed the ride. Like me, he had no father, and now I fear he has lost all. I was but a lad of ten and six when I left my home to make my way in the world. And I was a big lad.” He shook his head.
“Liam seems a big lad also. At least for his age, if I judge it right.” Will closed his eyes as he thought. “And he has a familiar look about him, but I can’t quite place it.”
“Perhaps someone you came across in your travels?”
“Perhaps. Where did he say he was from?” Will opened one eye and frowned at Jackson.
“From Barley Fields, I think.”
“That’s at the far edge of your land, is it not?”
“Aye.” Jackson crossed his leg and scratched at his foot through his woolen sock. “I have a hole, Will.” He chuckled as he pointed it out, sticking his finger into it.
Will glanced over. “So you do. Make sure Liam knows to bring it to the seamstress to have it mended.” He paused, then asked, “Have you ever been there?”
“Where?” Jackson now inspected his other sock.
“To Barley Fields.” Perhaps it was time to learn more about their new page. Marcus hadn’t finished that small task before he left.
“Oh. Aye, many years ago. Passed through on my way to a hiring.” Jackson shrugged.
“I’ve never been, that I can recollect.” Will shrugged. “Is it pleasant?”
“Enough. Just like a hundred other villages I’ve passed through.”
“Did you stay long?”
Jackson shrugged. “Don’t remember. It was a long time ago, Will.”
“When you were younger and your memory better?” Will teased his lover.
“Aye.” Jackson nodded. “Younger, more handsome.” He patted his belly. “And much thinner.” He laughed.
“Nonsense. You’re still the man I first met, Your Grace.” Will gave him a wink. “And you grow better with each year.”
Jackson burst into a great laugh, warm and shining, and it echoed off the stone walls of the hall, filling the great room and Will’s heart.
“You must want something to flatter me so, my lord.”
“Only what is my due, Your Grace.” Will turned away to look into the fire. “In good time, all in good time.”
Jackson sat back and scratched his belly as it rumbled. “I hunger too.” He stood and faced the door to the kitchens. “Where is my meal?” he bellowed.
A servant girl came out of the door, blinked at her duke, and then giggled. She ducked back in and a moment later, out came the old cook.
He waved a copper ladle at Jackson. “The meal is on the fire, Your Grace. If you can’t wait, I can serve the chickens bloody.”
Jackson made a face, and rolled his eyes at Will. “Can you wait a while longer, my lord?”
“And not eat bloody chicken? I think I can last without dropping,” Will drawled.
Jackson waved at the cook, shooing him back into the kitchens, then he fell into his chair and stuck his feet toward the fire once again.
“Fine. But later, I want you to drop in front of me,” he whispered, still staring at the fire.
“On my knees, or on my hands and knees, Your Grace?” Will whispered back.
Jackson growled and ran his hand over his growing erection, wondering if they went upstairs right now, would he have time enough for Will on his knees.
“There are some papers upstairs that you should attend to, Your Grace.” Will stood, one eyebrow raised, as he glanced toward the stairs, then back to Jackson’s bulging leathers.
“Indeed. Let’s take care of them before our meal.” Jackson rose and without waiting for Will, strode to the stairs and took them two at a time, until he reached the top.
Will, who seemed in no rush, took his time climbing the stairs, no expression on his face other than a sly smile.
Chapter Nineteen
Marcus stood at the entrance to Lady Beth’s tent and held his breath. He had lost his mind, of that he was well aware. To enter the good lady’s tent, unbidden, would give her brother every right to kill him where he stood. If Lord Clayton found out.
Marcus parted the drape and stepped inside.
Across the dimly lit room, her maid lay asleep on a pallet in a dark corner. At least she wouldn’t cry the alarm. Not yet, anyway.
Lady Beth sat on a low stool next to a child’s crib, rocking it with her hand. She looked up, and fear flashed on her face as she stood, her hand flying to the hilt of a small knife at her waist.
Marcus dropped to his knee and bowed his head. “My lady,” he whispered.
He heard her move toward him, quick steps, and the rustle of her gown on the carpets that had been laid to cover the ground beneath her tent. He didn’t dare to look up. If she meant to kill him, so be it. He braced himself for the blow.
He would fail his mission—whether now or later, that much he knew.
She was beautiful, born to be a duke’s woman, not the wife of a second son.
“Master Marcus, what brings you to my tent?” Her soft voice came from just in front of him. He opened his eyes and looked down upon the toes of her slippers peeking out from the green velvet gown.
“You, my lady.” He swallowed. Where did he begin? How does one woo a woman? He looked up.
Lady Beth held her blade at his throat.
How did one woo a woman who held your life in her hands?
She waited.
He glanced toward the pallet where the nurse still slept. “Forgive me. I could not stay away.” It was true. He had to come, had to do something to begin his mission, even if it were this badly thought out act. Even if before he’d only wished for success for his duke’s sake, now that he’d seen her, he prayed for success for his own sake.
“Indeed? And why is that?” The blade never faltered. She was brave beyond his hopes. Everything a true duchess should be, in his mind.
“Your beauty and spirit amazes me, my lady.” He gazed into her face, memorizing it. Blue eyes, blonde hair touched with pale red, a small splash of freckles across her nose as if painted by the fairies. Those full, pink lips. If it were the last thing he ever saw, he’d be happy it had been her face he’d take with him to whatever hell he’d earned.
“You are the duke of Baymore’s man, are you not?”
“I am. Oath sworn. He holds my life in his hands, as do you.”
“And he charged you to bring me to him?” Her eyes narrowed.
“He did, I’m afraid.”
“Afraid, you? The master of arms?” She gave the smallest hint of a smile to him, and his heart snatched up the crumb like the starving man he was.
“You have a blade at my throat, my lady. A man would have to be a fool not to fear.”
“Well said, Marcus. You have no need to fear me.” She removed the blade and slipped it back in its sheath. “Stand.”
He did. She came just to his chin. If he held her, he could rest his head on top of hers, feel her breath on his chest, her body warming his.
“So, my beauty and spirit pleases you?”
“Amazes me, I said.”
“So you did.” She took a st
ep back. “Come. Take a seat.” She pointed to a nearby bench. “My maid is a bit deaf and sleeps hard, have no fear. We can speak.”
She returned to her stool, sat, and checked on the babe. Marcus sat and leaned forward to peer inside the crib, his hands clasped between his knees.
“How old is she?”
“Almost three.” She gazed with open love at the child. “Her name is Anne.”
“She’s as beautiful as her mother.”
Lady Beth’s gaze flicked to his. “She has her father’s eyes.”
“She should have something of his.” Marcus nodded.
“Have you a wife, Marcus? Children?”
“No, my lady.” He shook his head.
“Does the duke like children?” She chewed her lip as she watched the babe sleep.
“I am not privy to his views on children, my lady. We’ve never spoken on the subject.”
“Oh.” She sighed. “But he wants a child of his own, does he not?”
“He does. To carry on the Baymore name.”
“I understand. This is a marriage of convenience, you are aware of that?” she asked, as if his opinion mattered to her. “At the time, I had been offered no other choice.”
“I am. I have no doubt that if you had fallen in love, you would have married. Your brother assured me of that.”
“Did he also assure you that he has only my best interests, and of my child, in mind?”
“He did. Just as a good brother and uncle should. I cannot fault him there.”
“No. The contract was most generous.” She sighed.
“And the chance to be a duchess too good to let pass.”
Their gazes locked across the crib and he was pulled into hers by some unknown power. He went willingly, without struggle. Then, she broke away, looking down at her child.
“Indeed. Made all the easier for my lack of suitors.” She laughed a warm, gentle, sweet laugh that tickled his ears and made his heart sing.
“They must never have seen you, my lady. If they had, they would have done their best to woo you.” Perhaps his tone had been too harsh, for she looked up at him.
Lady Beth stared into his eyes, and he melted. Gazes locked, the tent shrank to only him, and she, even the babe was lost.
