In the Company of Men Boxed Set

by Lynn Lorenz

  Still, something was amiss, she just couldn’t say what it was. Even her brother seemed odd. Sad, even. Well, sadder than usual.

  “I’ll miss you, brother. You know that, don’t you?”

  He looked up at her. “And I will miss you. And Anne.” He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. His warm smile reassured her.

  “Will you come and visit once I’m settled?”

  “Of course. I plan to attend the baby’s christening.”

  “The baby?” She startled. “What baby?” Anne had been christened shortly after her birth.

  “Well, you and your new husband’s child, of course.”

  “Oh, that baby. After all, that’s what I’m here for.” She stared over his shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, sister. I see many days of happiness in your future.” Basil grinned at her, cut a piece of meat from his chicken, and ate it.

  »»•««

  Liam sat against the wall in the corridor outside the duke’s room. Should the duke need him, he’d be ready. Earlier, the duke had sent him with the message for his new bride and hours had passed since then.

  Across the hall, Liam stared at Lord Holcombe’s door. Liam wasn’t sure how he felt about the man. When he wasn’t with the duke, he kept to himself, working in his room at that great desk of his. Liam had seen it once or twice when the door had opened.

  Footsteps vibrated on the floor and Liam turned. Marcus came down the hall, gave Liam a nod, and knocked on Lord Holcombe’s door.

  The door opened, and Liam took the chance to peer inside.

  “Marcus?”

  “William, I must speak with you again.”

  Holcombe glanced down at Liam, who shifted his gaze to his own shoes.

  “Of course. Come in.”

  The door shut.

  Liam sighed and leaned back against the wall.

  It looked like it would be a long, boring day, but there would be a feast tonight, and his belly rumbled with eager anticipation.

  »»•««

  Marcus slumped into the chair as Will leaned his hip on the desk. “Speak, Marcus.”

  “I wish to beg off from the feast tonight. Would you tell His Grace?” He couldn’t bear to see her, sitting next to Jackson, knowing she would be his bride in a few short days.

  “Beg off? Nay, I’ll not have it, nor will the duke.”

  “But, it would be impossible. Have mercy, William.” He groaned.

  “You’ll have to face it, just like I will. After all, you could have stopped this.” William’s lips seemed unable to decide if they would smile or frown. Perhaps William took pleasure in his pain, but then, William would suffer similar pain when Jackson married.

  “Don’t remind me.” Marcus rubbed his face in his hands, then looked up. “I’m not sure I can stay here.”

  Will cocked his head to one side. “You’d leave?”

  “Surely you’ve thought of it, also?”

  “Aye, I planned for it. I just never thought you would.”

  Marcus laughed, bitter and hard. “A fine pair we make, William. Shall we run away together? Where were you heading?”

  “Me? Over the ocean, on a fine sailing ship.” William crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.

  “I hadn’t thought of that. I was going to head north, until I ran out of land.”

  “Perhaps neither of us will go far.” William shrugged.

  “You’re right. What does distance matter? There would be no escaping your own heart.” Marcus stood.

  “You’ll be there tonight, then? I insist on it.” William stared at him.

  Marcus nodded. “I’ll be there.” He’d choked down every bite of food and every sip of ale, even if it killed him. He wasn’t a coward. “I owe much to Jackson and to you.”

  William walked with him to the door and opened it.

  Marcus held out his hand for William to take. “I’ll never regret the day you killed that bastard Hugh and brought Jackson to the title.”

  William frowned, then shook his hand. “Neither will I.”

  »»•««

  Liam’s mouth dropped open and he stared at the door as it shut. Blinking, he replayed the exchange he’d just heard.

  After shaking his head, he pushed to his feet. The hall spun around him, and he forgot how to breathe. He closed his eyes, then opened them.

  Lord William Holcombe had killed his father?

  Not Jackson?

  Not the duke?

  Unable to think clearly, Liam staggered down the hall to the stairs, then out the door of the keep. As soon as he hit the cobblestones he ran, straight to the one person he knew he could talk to and get the truth.

  Weaving between the people he passed, Liam made for the back of the keep, past the baths, to the laundry house and slid to a stop. A sweet song floated on the air of the small courtyard, and the laundry hung out to dry danced to the tune.

  He crept to the doorway and peered in.

  “Mistress?”

  The old woman stopped her song and looked up. “Why it’s Master Liam! Come in boy, come in.”

  He entered and sat on the bench near her.

  “What brings you here?” Her smile dropped. “Not beaten again, were you?”

  “Nay.” He shook his head. “I have to ask you something. Something important.”

  “Go on. If I know the answer, I’ll tell you true.” She started scrubbing the clothing she’d been working on. Without her looking at him, the words bubbled up in his throat.

  “Who killed Hugh Baymore?” he blurted out.

  “Who killed Hugh? Why it was that handsome young Lord Holcombe, the duke’s steward.” She chuckled.

  Liam sprang to his feet and dashed out, ignoring her call. He had his answer, knew the truth, and now, finally, his father could be avenged— without killing the man Liam had come to admire, respect, and even love.

  He held Lord Holcombe in no such esteem. He was merely the steward, although the duke’s good friend.

  He ran through the back alleys, but slowed as he reached the rear of the barracks and the armory. As he passed the open door of the armory, he paused, an idea blossoming in his mind.

  Quick as a cat, he darted inside, and threw himself against the wall by the door. The place was empty of soldiers, but filled with their tools of the trade. Against the walls stood pikes, maces, crossbows, swords, and even on a shelf, daggers.

  Liam crept to the shelf, picked out a dagger, and slipped it into his trousers, then covered it with his shirt and vest.

  No one would know he had it until it was too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The great hall had been readied for the feast. All the lanterns and candles had been lit, and platters of bread, meats, and vegetables covered the center of the tables.

  Will came down the stairs, with Jackson at his side, and surveyed those present. Behind them, the duke’s page followed, dressed in his finest uniform. Several of the duke’s liege lords were present, as were the other masters of the castle, such as the horse master.

  Will and Jackson took their places at the duke’s table and waited.

  “I’m so nervous I don’t think I can eat a bite,” Jackson whispered to Will.

  Will clasped his shoulder. “Never fear, Your Grace. You could go without a meal or two,” he drawled.

  Jackson shot Will a look and then rubbed his belly. “You’re right, my lord. I should work out more on the practice field. I’ve lost some of my muscles.”

  “Not the ones that count, Your Grace.”

  “But”—Jackson’s gaze danced to the stairs—“what will Lady Beth think?”

  Will growled deep in his throat. “I don’t think I really care.” How could Jackson be so vain as to wonder what the woman thought about his body? How could he mention it, remind Will of it? Good God, he wanted to punch the man in the belly.

  Jackson pulled on his arm, dragging Will closer. “Forgive me, Will. I’m just so upset. I can’t do this. I can’t mar
ry her.” Panic bloomed in his dark eyes and Will’s heart tripped.

  “Fear not, Your Grace. It may not come to that. There is still time.” He patted Jackson’s hand, holding his arm in a crushing grip.

  Marcus came through the door of the keep and marched over to them. He took his place at Jackson’s left.

  “Your Grace.” He bowed to Jackson and then shot Will a look of such spitefulness Will nearly burst out laughing. Oh, his men were in for quite a surprise tonight.

  Jackson let go and exhaled. “We’re doomed.”

  “Doomed,” Marcus echoed.

  Will shrugged. “We’ll see.”

  A clamor, then a shout went up and all heads turned to face the stairs. Lady Beth, with Lord Clayton at her side, descended the stairs.

  “She’s quite beautiful,” Jackson muttered. “I should be happy.”

  Marcus groaned.

  “She’s not my type,” Will drawled. “I prefer dark hair and eyes.”

  She smiled at everyone she passed, giving them nods of acknowledgment, until she and Lord Clayton reached the table and the duke.

  She dropped a deep curtsy. “Your Grace.”

  “Lady Beth.” He bowed to her, then extended his arm to her seat. Her brother led her to it and got her seated, just on the right of Will, then went around the table to stand next to Marcus.

  Jackson sat, and all of the men in the hall sat also and the feast began.

  Will engaged in the chatter, all incredibly boring to him. It was far more enjoyable to share knowing looks with Basil Clayton, and watch both Marcus and Jackson suffering.

  His heart went out to Lady Beth’s plight. She picked at her food, speaking only when spoken to, and avoided everyone’s gaze.

  The meal had come to the end. It was time for him to reveal everything.

  Will stood, and pulled the folded parchment from his vest and held it up.

  “Quiet! Lord Holcombe speaks!” someone shouted.

  The crowd grew silent, all attention on him. He opened the document and began to read.

  “It has come to the duke’s attention that Lady Beth Clayton’s affections have been given to another, and that those affections are returned.” He paused as Lady Beth sputtered and choked.

  Marcus glared at him, his hands curling into fists. Will glanced at Jackson, whose color shaded from red to pale. Good. Well done so far.

  “Since Duke Baymore is a man of honest intentions, good will, and understands the meaning of love, he and Lord Basil Clayton have come to an agreement suitable to both parties.”

  Basil nodded and waved Will on.

  Lady Beth glared at her brother and mouthed, “What did you do?”

  Jackson glanced from Basil to Will to Lady Beth, and gave them a weak smile.

  “The marriage contract between Lady Beth Clayton and Duke Jackson Baymore is rescinded. Lady Beth has been granted all the tenets of the previous agreement, and her brother declares her free to choose her own husband.” He dropped the letter and smiled.

  “Basil!” Lady Beth squealed.

  Marcus slammed his hands on the table and stood, knocking over his chair. “Your Grace!”

  Jackson burst into laughter and pounded the table. “You should see your faces!”

  Will leaned down and drawled, “You should have seen yours.”

  “Never mind mine, my lord. I want an explanation,” he whispered behind his hand.

  “Later, Your Grace.”

  For her part, Lady Beth nodded. “But Duke Baymore, where does this leave you?”

  Jackson shrugged. “For now, brideless and heirless. But have no worry for me, I have all I need.”

  “Marcus, now’s your chance.” Will nudged his master of arms. “If you don’t ask first, you may not get the chance to ask at all.”

  Marcus colored, then nodded. “Lady Beth? May I have a moment?”

  She smiled at him. “Of course, Master Marcus.”

  They put their heads together and spoke quietly for some time. Then Beth sought out her brother, motioned to him, and he joined the couple. They stood, hands clasps, grinning as if they had a secret.

  Will didn’t think the secret would stay a secret for long.

  The celebration broke up later that evening, with everyone wandering off to their rooms, leaving Basil, Lady Beth, and Marcus to discuss their futures.

  Jackson clapped Will on the shoulder, “I’m to bed, my lord.”

  “Good night, then.” Will gave him a sharp bow.

  He leaned over and said in a soft voice so none could hear, “I expect that explanation. Tonight.”

  “You are welcome anytime, Your Grace. My door is always open to you.”

  With that, Jackson signaled to his page and headed up the stairs.

  »»•««

  Liam followed his duke to the stairs, then looked back over his shoulder, searching the last of the revelers for Lord Holcombe. The man was hard to miss, with all of that pretty, long blond hair and his beautiful face.

  Liam sniffed, and reached into his shirt to touch the hilt of the dagger.

  “Come along, Liam.” Jackson motioned to him with his hand, and Liam trotted up the stairs.

  They went down the corridor to the duke’s room and entered.

  “My boots, lad!” The duke fell into a chair and stuck out one foot.

  Liam dropped to his knees and pulled the boot off, then did the other one. He placed them near the door so he could shine them in the morning, then halted. If his plan worked, he wouldn’t be here in the morning, he’d be long gone.

  Runaway.

  With a price on his head, no doubt.

  “Here, lad. Take my sword.” Jackson held it out for him. He carried it to the wall rack and hung it up. By the time he returned to the duke, the big man had his vest off and had loosened the strings of his shirt.

  “Is that all, Your Grace?”

  “Aye, you can go. Get a good night’s rest, Liam.”

  “I will, Your Grace.” Liam went to the door, opened it, and stepped out. He pulled it closed then tiptoed to the stairs and crept down part of the way to see whether or not Lord Holcombe had come upstairs yet.

  The castle’s steward still sat at the table, speaking to another man. Good enough.

  Liam trotted back up the stairs, down the hall, and to Lord Holcombe’s room. He opened the door and slipped inside.

  »»•««

  Will finished the last of his ale, gave his regards to Lady Beth, a slap on the back to Marcus after the man thanked him again, and a quick smile to Basil Clayton. The man was indeed good looking, but more importantly, he had proven to be a man of honor, and that was far more important to Will than looks.

  The trials of the long day took their toll and Will climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. His lover would be along later, and he had much explaining and perhaps a little celebrating to do.

  Thinking of his duke, he opened his door and stepped inside.

  The room was dark, and the light that shone in from the corridor only made shadows dance on the wall. The lantern on the table near his desk needed to be lit so he could see better, and he moved toward it.

  From the side, he felt more than saw a movement. Will startled, jumping to the left and pulling his short sword, but a blade raked his hip and buried itself deep in his thigh.

  “Christ!” Will cried out, as he tried to drag himself away from his attacker. Too dark to see clearly, he stumbled into a chair and nearly fell to the floor, but he found the edge of his desk with his hand and held himself up. “Who goes there?” he shouted.

  A small dark figure moved across the doorway, then the door slammed shut, plunging Will and his attacker in darkness.

  Will moved away from his last position to the back of the desk. The sound of a blade meeting wood, followed by a muffled curse, said his attacker had tried and missed.

  Blood ran down his leg and into his boot, his sock soaked with it, and the pain of the wound now overpowered the surprise of the attack. />
  The man would soon realize where Will had gone. Time to move again. Circle to the door and get out. But that might be what he was thinking also.

  Will froze, listening.

  Shuffling footsteps and ragged panting came nearer.

  Just there, to the left of the desk.

  Will lunged to the right and hobbled toward the door, only to be tackled from behind, and pushed to the floor. He fell on his undamaged side, but managed to bring his sword up and block the blow, the tip of the blade just nicking his chin.

  He inhaled with the sting of the cut. “Unholy bastard!” His free hand grabbed the body on top of him and he rolled, pinning the man beneath him. Man? If it were, he was small of stature and light of weight. Will knew of no such man in the castle.

  Harsh panting, a sob, and his attacker went limp. Will squeezed the much smaller hand holding the dagger and it clattered to the floor. He brought his sword to the villain’s throat.

  “Don’t move or I’ll kill you where you lay.”

  A knock sounded at the door, then the room was filled with light, blinding Will. He blinked, squinting up at the dark shape framed in the doorway.

  “What the hell? Will, in God’s name what are you doing to Liam!” Jackson bellowed.

  Will looked down into the red and sweating face of Liam, Jackson’s page. Now the small size of his attacker made sense. Not a man at all, but a child.

  “Good God!” Will cried out. “The boy tried to kill me.” He rolled to the side, and sat up, his sword still holding the boy to the floor. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Liam clamped his lips together.

  Will shifted toward Jackson. “Give me a hand, Jackson. I can’t stand without help. No, wait! Light the lantern first, we need some goddamned light in this room.”

  Jackson rushed to the desk, grabbed the lantern then took it to his room, lit it and returned, holding the light high over his head. He didn’t know what had happened, but damn it, he’d get some answers before long.

  Now he could see the damage, and the sight stabbed him in the gut. Blood ran down Will’s leg, his breeches had been ripped and his flesh torn.

  “Will, sweet Jesus, you’re wounded!” He rushed to Will and helped him into a chair, then he turned to Liam and picked him up by the arm. “And you! What the hell were you doing? Did you not know it was Lord Holcombe?”