In the Company of Men Boxed Set

by Lynn Lorenz

  “Soon?” he gasped.

  “Very.”

  I stroked myself, painting my shaft with the oil and then used my fingers to paint his entry. It quivered as I touched it, circling with my fingertips, dipping in, as if in a dance. So ready for me he opened without much ado.

  And that just made me even more excited. He had that effect on me, damn him. Logan could get me hard with a look, a smile, a wink of his eye, even the touch of his hand under the table.

  And he loved to do it at the most inopportune times, the devil.

  I pushed him over onto his belly. “Tonight, I take what’s mine.”

  “Oh God, please.” He canted that sweet ass of his upward as he rose onto his knees.

  I ran my hands over his skin. Soft, yet a with a man’s firmness, he was a delight to behold and to touch. I parted his globes and slipped my finger inside, watching as he bucked and thrust against me.

  “So ready, my lord.” He begged me now.

  “You’ll get it when I’m ready for you to get it.”

  He growled and clamped his tunnel around my fingers. “Damn, Logan, where did you learn that?” Now I was sorry I hadn’t had my cock in there.

  “Fuck me, Drake. No more games,” he ordered.

  “Aye, Your Grace, as you command.”

  I slipped my finger out and positioned the head of my cock against him. Wrapping my hand around his hip, I thrust forward, impaling him, as he groaned his pleasure.

  “God, you’re so tight and hot.” An inferno burned in his channel, and I would gladly roast in that hell every night, so great was my desire for him.

  He pulled away, then came back, using me for his pleasure. I was his to use, to command, to live or to die, and it had been that way for us from the very first. He was my duke, my sworn liege, and I would die for him if he asked.

  And when I had him like this, with our fingers intertwined on his hip, with his head tilted back to watch me, his stiff cock dragging on the sheets, his balls heavy with his seed, I knew by the look in his green eyes if I asked, he would die for me.

  And I knew I would never let that day come. To be without him, that I could not survive. His loss would be the end of me.

  His beauty brought tears to my humble eyes, and they burned as I held them back. I loved to hear his breathy sighs and moans, his quiet begging, and when he called my name in that moment as all let loose and he flew over the cliffs of pleasure, I knew he’d carry me along with him.

  He took his cock in hand and worked it hard and fast.

  “Drake!” he cried out and spilled over the linens, his tunnel trapping my cock, demanding I give everything to him.

  “My duke!” My seed exploded from me, shot deep into him, giving him a part of me only he deserved.

  We slumped to the mattress, tangled in our releases and our linens. Content, happy, and satisfied.

  I rolled off him, patting his ass. He groaned and rolled into my arms, resting his head on my chest.

  We kissed at last, slow and gentle, now that our passion had been satisfied. During the rest of the night, if we woke and I took him again, it would be slow and sweet and filled with quiet whispers of love.

  In the morn, before the servants stirred, I would reluctantly go back to my bed. Neither he nor I wanted to test his men’s loyalty with the knowledge of our forbidden love.

  We had sons to think of and Marden to consider.

  Oh, but I wished sometimes that we were just two common men, of no account, whom no one gave a second thought to. How different our lives would be to have such freedom.

  But I knew, deep in my heart, that freedom was an illusion. The privileges Logan and I received due to our ranks far outweighed any common man’s freedom. And who really was free?

  Logan owed his allegiance to the King. I to Logan, and through him, to the King.

  As I fell asleep, I knew freedom, no matter what or where, would mean nothing to me without Logan.

  I pulled him close, kissed his shoulder, and pulled the quilts around us.

  “Stay,” he whispered.

  “Until dawn,” I replied.

  Chapter Two

  The next day I came downstairs and found the boys racing around the tables. Joss held one of Tomas’s little carved toys high in the air, and the younger boy chased after him, jumping and climbing on top of the benches to reach it.

  “Joss,” I warned.

  “Aye, Da.” His tone was reluctant, but I could see the sparkle in his eyes hadn’t left. They’d been playing, and even Tomas looked sad to find their game interrupted as Joss gave him back the toy.

  “Time to break fast.” Logan’s voice rang out from the chair beside the hearth. He’d risen early, for him. With a grunt, he pushed himself out of the chair.

  “Morning, my duke.” I gave him a bow.

  “Morning, my lord.” He gave me one lust-filled look, then schooled his countenance. He nodded and approached the table. We took our places, across the table from each other, with our sons at our sides, as the servants brought out the morning meal.

  The boys ate as if they’d never seen food before and chattered about the Yule season. They weren’t the only ones feeling the excitement. The village bustled with activity, the people seemed happier, and preparations had begun here at the keep for the twelve nights of festivities.

  Fresh boughs of sweet-smelling pine, laurel, and bay had been cut and stacked outside the doors to the keep, along with some covered in red berries—colorful, but not fit for eating except by birds. Fresh thresh had been brought from the stores, and sprigs of rosemary were laid on the floors of the great hall.

  In the kitchens, the duke’s baker and his helpers had been hard at work turning out loaf after loaf of bread for the upcoming dinners Logan would host during those nights leading up to Twelfth Night.

  The brewers had begun filling casks of ale in the cellars, and everywhere the smells and sights of the holiday greeted us. I couldn’t fault the boys for being in high spirits.

  As for me, the holidays held little attraction. Hard memories of my former life tainted it for me. My uncle had not been a generous man, and my mother under his control was no better.

  This time of year usually found me holed up in some tavern, drinking, wenching, and hoping time would pass swiftly. But this year, my first with Logan and the boys, would be different. I swore to that. I swore I would make it good for Joss, who’d had so little in his short life.

  I knew at times I spoiled the lad, but he was worthy of it. Never had there been such a boy as my Joss. He’d proven his bravery in defending Tomas from his attackers, and I couldn’t have loved him more if he had been my own flesh and blood. I had decided to make him a gift of a fine pony. It was time he learned to ride.

  For Tomas, who already had a pony, it would provide him someone with whom to practice his own horsemanship. So in a way, it would serve them both.

  My gift to Tomas, who wanted so badly to have a real sword, was a small knife in a finely worked leather scabbard. He could use it to slice his meat at table and to wear on special occasions. I’d already asked Logan, and after much convincing, he allowed it.

  I had to remind him I had a knife of my own at six, when my mother stopped cutting my meat for me. Tomas was nearly seven, so it was time. I think Logan gave in from sheer relief, because he’d been certain I would give the child a sword. Not even Joss had a sword yet, and he nearly ten and two.

  As for Logan’s gift, I’d stumbled. I’d been to the village so many times, looking at what was available, what he might like, but nothing struck me. I wanted the perfect gift for him. Something he could have that signified my love and devotion to him.

  But all ideas fled. Nothing seemed right. And the twelve nights would be on us soon.

  “What have you to do today, Drake?” Logan smiled at me, his green eyes crinkling in that way I adored.

  “Peter is taking a group of men to clear the road to town this morn; then when they return, they’ll need to start
polishing their arms.” The passage had to be cleared so Logan’s guests could travel to the castle without trouble.

  “And you?”

  “Da, may Tomas and I go outside?” Joss interrupted.

  “It snowed last night.” I frowned.

  “That’s why we want to go.” Joss nodded.

  “Fresh snow!” Tomas cried. “I want to play in the snow.”

  “You’ll catch a cold, son.” Logan shook his head. “No snow. Stay inside and play.”

  The boys crossed their arms and hung their heads. Logan grinned. “Upstairs.”

  “But, Da…” Tomas whined.

  “Come on, Tomas.” Joss stood and pulled the younger boy by the arm. “We can pretend we’re knights guarding a princess locked in our room.”

  “A princess!” Tomas’s eyes glittered as he went along. “Is she beautiful?”

  “The most beautiful in the world.” Joss’s voice faded as the boys climbed the stairs.

  “Our knights.” Logan laughed. “Did you ever play such games?” His warm gaze fell on me, and my body heated.

  “Aye. I was often a knight, just returned from the battlefield. There were no princesses, but many battles.”

  “Even as a child, you dreamed of fighting.”

  I nodded. “And you?”

  “Oh, I dreamed of riding my horse to the sea where I’d board a mighty ship and sail to uncharted lands. I’d have great adventures with the Norsemen.” He drew a circle with his finger on the table, deep in his memories.

  “Norsemen, eh?”

  “At one time, I thought I might be descended.” He ran his hand through his long blond hair. “The green eyes and blond hair.” He shrugged.

  “And are you?”

  “Perhaps. I never found out if it was true, but it was a good dream for a young boy.”

  “And now what do you dream?” I leaned forward, my elbows on the table to support my chin with my hand.

  Logan stared past my shoulder as if seeing something just out of reach. “I dream of a place where we can live just as we please. Together, without hiding.”

  I snorted. “That is a dream.”

  He smiled with such a look of longing in his eyes. “’Tis indeed.” He stood and stepped over the bench. “I must attend to some papers and letters, and you have the men to send out on the roads.”

  “Our day starts.” I sighed and rose also.

  “All the faster to get to our night.” With that, he moved away to the stairs and up to his room.

  I watched him ascend, then headed for the door of the keep. Today I’d worn two pairs of socks and my newly oiled boots. Perhaps it would be enough to keep my feet dry and warm.

  I’d never admit it, but Logan was right. I needed new boots.

  »»•««

  “Peter, how is your good wife?” I greeted my second-in-command at the door to the barracks. He sat on his cot, polishing his own boots.

  “She’s growing. Every day the babe seems to get bigger.” He made the shape of a large belly with his hands to show me.

  “Big, eh? Sounds like a boy.” I slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Do you think?” He looked hopeful.

  I shrugged. What did I know of women or babies? “Are you ready to take the men out?”

  “Aye. I have a cart filled with shovels and brooms, and twenty men to work them.” He slipped on his boots and stood, stomping his feet into them.

  “Good enough. The road to town isn’t very long. You think half a day?”

  “If they work hard.” He took his cloak from a peg by the door and swung it over his shoulders.

  We walked outside and stood in the courtyard. One of the stable hands brought out a stout draft horse pulling a large cart filled with implements. He hopped up to drive the wagon and gave us a nod.

  “Call your men. I’ll ride along with you. I have business in town,” I told Peter.

  “Still looking for Logan’s gift?” Peter grinned. Only he, among all our men, knew the depth of Logan’s and my relationship. We trusted him because he’d been a willing partner once, and there were a few times when my lover and I had discussed him joining us again. But we never asked, nor did he. Ever since he’d learned about the babe, he’d grown more devoted to his wife than ever. As it should be.

  “Aye. I think I might need to set my mind to finding something very different.” A groom brought out my horse, saddled and ready to ride.

  Peter called for his men, and they assembled. He climbed up onto the cart next to the driver and signaled for the gates to open. “You men! Take a shovel or broom and get started.”

  The tall, massive gates were pulled open, and snow drifted in. The men rushed forward, swinging shovels and pushing their brooms to clear a path.

  Ahead, the road could barely be discerned from the fields, except by the stone walls that lined it. A layer of snow about a hand high covered them. As the men advanced, so did the cart, and I alongside it. Without the activity of a good vigorous ride, the cold seeped deep under my wool cloak, and chilled my toes, fingers, and nose.

  Peter directed the work, as I lost myself in thought.

  Inspiration for Logan’s gift, like a wisp of cloud, escaped me. I’d thought of the usual gifts from a master to his duke. Knives. Swords. I’d seen a fine bow at one shop. A well-worked pair of leather vambraces at another. Nothing he couldn’t buy for himself if he wanted.

  Nothing that said how I felt about him.

  We were halfway to town when I realized I couldn’t give him something personal. Not presented to him at the dinner, where all the gifts were given and displayed. I had to get him two gifts. One for everyone to see…

  And one for him alone, to be given in our rooms.

  In a way, I was relieved. It was an easy decision. The hunting bow. In the spring we could take our horses out and hunt for boar and deer. Logan loved hunting; he’d done much of it with his father, when the old man had been alive. He’d even mentioned a hunting lodge in the far northern edge of his lands.

  Perfect.

  Now for the private gift. And I was right back where I’d begun. Unable to think of a single thing.

  The town came into view. We’d halted to give the men a rest, let them drink water, and look back on their work. In the distance, a gray road cut through the white fields leading up to Marden Castle. It was a sight to take any man’s breath—that you could count on.

  Ahead of us lay the town of Marden, and even from our distance I could see the movement of people as they bustled around the little city.

  Peter passed me a tankard of water. I drank and gave it back to him.

  “Any ideas?”

  “Aye, I’ve decided on a gift.”

  “Well done. I’m sure it will please the duke.” He nodded. He rounded up the men, and they got back to work. An hour later, the road cleared and we entered Marden town. I left Peter and his men to return to the castle much faster than they’d arrived, and I went in search of the bow.

  The streets were muddy, and the snow had been trampled by the comings and goings of horses, men, and carts, so I stayed on my horse to avoid the muck. As I rode, I peered into the many shops that lined the high street.

  Bakers, butchers, greengrocers, dressmakers, a leather worker, the blacksmith—all the merchants that made up a small town like Marden were there for my custom. But none of them had what I sought.

  I didn’t even know what I searched for, but I’d know it if I found it.

  I came upon the bow maker and reined in my horse at his door. Inside, a dozen fine bows were displayed, but the one that had caught my eye before wasn’t there.

  “Sir, many days ago, there was a bow here. It hung over there, as I remember.”

  The man nodded. “Oh, aye. A fine bow it is.”

  I frowned. My hopes for at least one gift for Logan vanished. “Did you sell it?”

  “Not exactly.” He scratched his beard. “It proved too dear a price, and I took it down from the wall.”
/>   “How much for it?”

  The man straightened, and a new light shone in his eyes. “For a fine lord like yourself?”

  I leaned toward him so he could see the scar that marred my face, my hand resting on my sword. “Don’t insult me. I’m neither fine, nor a lord. So give me your best price.”

  He did, and after we negotiated a more suitable price, he handed over the bow and quiver, with a dozen finely feathered arrows. I slung them over my back and went to my horse, intending to ride back to the keep, but something across the way caught my eye.

  The blacksmith’s shop stood open, even in the winter, and the heat that emanated from it had melted the snow at the doorway. Inside, a flash of light and the glowing embers of the fire drew me toward it.

  I reached the entrance and stepped inside. Heat and the sound of the bellows and hammer met me, like a solid wall, bringing me up short. A small boy, covered in soot, worked the bellows, breathing wind into the fire, as the smithy worked a piece of black iron.

  The large man stood bare-chested, his mighty upper arms and wrists wrapped with wide leather bands, and a matching wide belt girdled his waist. Again I caught a glint of something and stepped closer.

  He wore a ring of silver, massive and striking on his forefinger. It looked to be the head of a bear.

  “Smith, where did you get that ring?” I asked, fingering the small band I wore on my finger, one of my dearest possessions.

  He didn’t break his rhythm to answer me. “Made it myself.” He swung the hammer and grunted as it hit and sparked against the metal.

  “Do you make others?”

  “Sometimes. For a price.” He shifted his gaze at me, then back to his work.

  “Can you make a stag?” The stag was the symbol of Marden, embroidered on the duke’s pennants and on his men’s tabards.

  He shrugged. “Aye, I could.” He hadn’t said he would, but I could tell his interest grew as I spoke.

  “In silver?”

  “Aye. It’ll cost.”

  “Can it be made in seven days?” I cared not about the cost, only that it be done before Twelfth Night.