In the Company of Men Boxed Set

by Lynn Lorenz

  Two Hearts? Could there be two? Arvel’s heart told him aye.

  Peter would be his second Heart. His second lover.

  Arvel’s fingers curled and he pointed with one finger, changing his sign for his Heart, his Gareth. First in his heart.

  He added another finger. Two fingers would be Peter’s sign. Second in his heart, but no less dear.

  ∙•∙

  Peter let go, gave himself to the man. Thrusting. Taking. Riding the desire and the need and the longing as if Arvel were a fine steed and Peter was there to tame him.

  Arvel grabbed his own cock and pumped, working his hand quick and hard over the swollen flesh.

  Peter watched and thrust, and Arvel writhed, and it was so beautiful.

  He gasped, startled as Arvel’s release burst from him, hitting Peter’s chest, dripping over his hand, landing on Arvel’s belly. Inside, Arvel’s muscles rippled as the wind through the crops in the field, bowing, tight, and insistent.

  Peter came with a shout, painting the inner channel that held him so tight in its grasp.

  He collapsed to the side, dragging Arvel over to lie spread out over Peter’s body. Peter’s hand worked gentle circles on Arvel’s back.

  Arvel snuggled into him. His chest rose, held, then released. A silent, soft sigh.

  Peter sighed aloud for both of them.

  Chapter Seven

  Peter rode down the lane toward the village. He’d planned to spend another day of riding the outskirts of the area, posing as a traveler but observing all he could. If Weathers had sent a scouting party, it would be small, one man perhaps.

  And in the large northern territory, one man could easily avoid being seen.

  The entire day had been spent plodding along, watching the surrounding woods and fields, but all he had seen were farmers and villagers going about their daily work. No spies skulked about, lurking behind trees or bushes.

  This was getting him nowhere. Perhaps, like Logan had said, this would take longer. Months, not weeks, and certainly not days.

  He settled into his saddle and thought. Tomorrow he’d ride the far north boundary and see if he could pick up any signs of a crossing. He’d stay off the roads and cut through the forest and ride along the foothills.

  The sun sank in the sky over his shoulder. Time to head back to the lodge. To Arvel. Peter’s cock stiffened at the thought of the younger man, and a pang of guilt shot through him.

  He shouldn’t feel anything for Arvel. It wasn’t love, just desire. Just lust and the need for his body to relieve the intense pressure of being denied for so long. That’s all.

  Lust.

  Not love, because he’d never love anyone as much as he’d loved Mary. And to feel that loss again? He couldn’t imagine letting it happen again. Ever.

  He’d loved once, deep and hard, and he’d thought it would be forever. But God had decided it wasn’t to be, and he still couldn’t understand why. What had he done to earn such a punishment? Such damnation?

  All he could think of was that one night with Drake and Logan. He’d betrayed his wife, let his physical desires take over his will, and gave in. Had that been enough? Just that one act?

  He’d prayed about it in church but hadn’t confessed it to the priest. A confession like that would have been dangerous to more than just his soul. Logan and Drake and even his wife stood to lose all if it were known.

  She would have survived his death, but the shame would have lingered on her like the stench of something dead, ruining any second chance for happiness.

  There was one thing he was absolutely sure of, and that was that her death had been no fault of hers. She’d been a virgin when she’d come to him, so sweet and loving. The thought that she’d done something so awful that God would punish her for it was inconceivable to Peter.

  No, the doing had been his. His sin. His punishment.

  And so it had been his fault she’d died.

  He’d learned his lesson, or so he thought. But here he was, going back to the lodge, eager to spend his seed in another man. To touch his smooth skin, kiss his full lips, and thrust his rod into that tight hole.

  Peter jerked the reins and his horse halted.

  Had he just damned poor Arvel? What if God decided to punish him again and take Arvel?

  But he didn’t love Arvel. Cared for him, aye. But Peter knew it wasn’t love he felt, but lust.

  He’d never feel love again, so perhaps Arvel was safe. And it wasn’t as if he’d seduced Arvel. The man had been more than eager and willing. He’d been no stranger to the forbidden love between men.

  But was God so fickle? So unsteady in his temperament? His decisions to punish mere whims? If so, how had Drake and Logan escaped God’s wrath? They’d found love, Drake now had a son in Joss, and Logan had recovered his son Tomas from Weathers’ men.

  No punishments there.

  Peter kicked his horse forward, and they trotted down the road toward the lodge. If he hurried he’d be there before dark.

  »»•««

  Dark fell, and Peter had just found the entrance to the path. He checked if the road was clear, dismounted, and led the mare through the bushes, down the faint path. The woods darkened as they closed in around him.

  He made the glade just as the light faded. Across it the lodge sat draped in shadows, gray smoke curling from the chimney. The door opened and Arvel stepped out, holding a lantern in his hand.

  He stepped to an iron post and hung the lantern on it, then turned and went back inside.

  A light to guide him home.

  Peter smiled and, pulling the mare behind him, made his way to the stable. He unsaddled her, tossed her blanket and saddle over the stall wall, and brushed her down. Then after feeding her, he shut the stall door and went to the front of the lodge.

  He picked up the lantern as he walked past and came to the door. No need to knock. He opened the door and stepped inside.

  Arvel leaned over the pot, stirring whatever he’d filled it with. The aroma of the food filled Peter’s nostrils as he inhaled and smacked his lips. Hunger clawed at his belly.

  The caretaker straightened, turned, and flinched at seeing him.

  Peter laughed. “Beg pardon, Arvel. But there doesn’t seem anyway to let you know I’m here.”

  Arvel placed his hand over his heart, gasping, then laughed.

  ∙•∙

  Peter had come home. Wings fluttered in his belly, and his cock stirred to life.

  He flew across the room to Peter, took the lantern from him, and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. He looked well. Tired. But good. So good.

  Was he hungry? Of course. He’d been riding all day. Working makes a man hungry. Perhaps tonight, Peter’s hunger would be for more than food.

  He motioned to Peter, “Are you hungry?”

  “I am.” Peter nodded and tapped his mouth with his fingers.

  Arvel nodded back and motioned to the table. Peter removed his cloak, hung it on a peg near the door, and then took a seat at the table. The rest of the bread sat on a wooden tray, and he cut several slices with his knife.

  ∙•∙

  Within moments, the pot of stew arrived at the table. Arvel dished it out and poured out their water. He sat and they ate.

  “I rode around a bit today,” Peter said as Arvel looked down at his plate. “No signs of any scouting party or any strangers.”

  Arvel looked up, chewing and smiled, his eyebrows raised. He patted his belly and cocked his head to the side, like a beautiful little bird.

  “Aye. It’s good.” Peter mimicked him, patting his stomach.

  Arvel grinned and returned to eating. Peter took a drink and cleared his throat, the dust from the road washed away by the cool clear water.

  “I’m on a secret mission. Can’t tell a soul.”

  Arvel glanced up and took a bite of bread. Peter smiled, tore off a hunk, and popped it into his mouth.

  They finished dinner and cleaned up, then sat by the fire until it gr
ew late. Arvel banked the logs, adding a small one to the others, and brushed his hands off on his trousers.

  Peter yawned. “Time for bed, Arvel.” He leaned down to pull off his boots, but Arvel fell to his knees and brushed his hands away. Peter sat back and let Arvel take care of him. The caretaker looked happy and content.

  And why not? He had a warm lodge and a large bed with covers enough to keep the coldest night at bay.

  And he has me.

  Barefoot, Peter pushed himself out of the chair and started for the bed. He halted, turned, and offered his hand to Arvel, still sitting on the floor holding Peter’s boot.

  “Bed.”

  Arvel put the boot next to the other one, stood, followed Peter to the far side of the room, and took his place opposite Peter on the bed.

  “Take your clothes off.” Peter began removing his clothing, and after a heartbeat or so, Arvel undressed.

  Naked, they slipped into bed and under the thick quilts.

  Arvel slid over to Peter, his arms wrapping around Peter’s waist and shoulders, pulling him close. Peter took Arvel in his arms and kissed him, slow and soft. His rod stiffened with the touch of those lips, and he longed to feel them on his cock.

  ∙•∙

  At last, he had Peter in his arms again. He longed for a taste of the man, a deeper taste, more primal than just a kiss. Arvel longed for a taste of Peter’s cock.

  It always pleased Gareth when Arvel took him in his mouth, and he enjoyed it also. The feel of soft, smooth skin covering that powerful hardness, all held safe. Gareth trusted Arvel not to hurt him, only to nip with teasing intent and to suck the very essence from him.

  Tonight, Arvel would please his new Heart and withhold no pleasure he could bring to Peter. Just as he would for Gareth.

  Gareth belonged to Arvel, and Arvel would have Peter also.

  Both men would claim him. Both men would be his.

  His cock stiffened as he made up his mind. He’d have both, and neither would deny him.

  ∙•∙

  As Arvel slid his hand down Peter’s body, he disappeared under the quilt. It felt so warm and relaxing the way the younger man’s hands caressed Peter’s body—soft yet firm, gentle yet demanding.

  The covers tented over Peter’s body, the high V of them moving lower as Arvel chased downward toward what Peter hoped was his aching rod. Oh God, to feel that mouth on his rod, sucking him.

  And then there it was, what he’d hoped for. Arvel’s mouth on his cock, wet and hot and all tongue and lips and so very, very good. Peter arched, his back coming off the bed, his hand reaching down to grab a handful of Arvel’s long red hair. He buried his fingers in it, pushing Arvel closer, encouraging him to take his rod deeper, suck harder, nip and bite him.

  It was heaven. Arvel’s mouth and the beauty of it ran through Peter’s body, made him shudder and buck and hiss, and then he was coming, exploding, shooting under the cover into Arvel’s mouth.

  Peter lay quivering as his breath returned to normal. Arvel came out from under the quilts and snuggled next to Peter, his head resting on Peter’s shoulder. Against Peter’s leg, a warm, wet trail marked where Arvel’s leaking cock pressed against him.

  Weariness crept up on Peter, but he wouldn’t leave his young lover unfinished.

  He reached down, hunting and rooting for what he knew would be there—Arvel’s slender, beautiful cock, dripping with his excitement.

  Peter swiped his hand over the tip, picking up the wet to make the glide of his hand easy on Arvel’s tender flesh. Arvel twitched next to him, mouth open. Peter kissed him, his tongue teasing the roof of the man’s mouth, tangling with his tongue as he stroked Arvel’s rod.

  Arvel trembled, eyes closed, mouth agape. Quite beautiful. And all his. For now at least. And for now, Peter wouldn’t question it—he’d just enjoy what Arvel had to give.

  There would be time enough for regrets later. Perhaps in the morn.

  He increased the tightness of his grasp, the quickness of his motion up and down, and with a violent shudder, Arvel came, splashing his cream over Peter’s hand and hip.

  ∙•∙

  Arvel fell backward, his hand on his chest as his heart fluttered, and grinned. That had been so good, so well done. He pushed himself up and leaned over Peter, giving him a loud, wet kiss. He smiled, closed his eyes, and fell back to the bed.

  Peter had proved again he was a worthy lover, worthy of being Arvel’s Heart, his beloved. A lover well matched to Gareth, Arvel believed.

  A lover who pleased Arvel and exhausted him also.

  Within moments, he was asleep.

  ∙•∙

  Peter chuckled.

  Arvel was right. Time to sleep.

  Morning and regret would come soon enough.

  Chapter Eight

  Peter searched for regret in Arvel’s sleep-filled eyes but found none. The young man just snuggled closer to him, burying his face between Peter’s side and his arm. Peter patted his shoulder, gave the caretaker a squeeze, and then got out of bed.

  “I must away, Arvel.” Peter stared into his lover’s face to be certain he understood. “I’ll return in the eve. If I’m not back before nightfall, I’ll return in the morn.” Today he’d planned to ride along the border, and it could take more than one day.

  ∙•∙

  Arvel frowned and sat up, pushing his hair from his face. He hated mornings.

  He had felt so good wrapped in Peter’s arms. So warm. And he felt so safe. Just like with his Heart. Both Hearts cared for him. Both Hearts kept him safe and warm.

  He was a most fortunate young man to have two such lovers. Happiness washed over him, just as the warm rushing water in the creek behind the lodge did during the summer when he swam.

  But he’d known Peter must go away. He didn’t know what Peter did, where he went, or who he saw when he left. He’d only been gone one night, and a man on horse could only get so far.

  It made him sad that Peter would go, but he’d see Peter again, and that thought cheered him.

  Arvel nodded. He slipped from bed, pulled on a pair of loose trousers, and tied them. Then he went to the hearth, stoked the fire, and prepared a quick meal.

  By the time Peter had eaten, Arvel had filled a sack with bread, cheese, and a few pieces of dried venison. He waited at the door as Peter gathered his maps and shoved them under his tunic, just as he’d done so often for Gareth.

  Over the last year, he’d learned well how to bid a man farewell, but it never eased the hurt.

  “Don’t forget I’ll return late, if not tomorrow.”

  Arvel nodded. He handed Peter the sack, then stood on his toes to plant a kiss on Peter’s cheek. Peter laughed, took Arvel by the back of the neck, and dragged him up for a hard, openmouthed kiss. Arvel shuddered against him, surrendering as one hand twisted in Peter’s tunic.

  ∙•∙

  Gods, it made Peter’s cock hard. But he had a mission and couldn’t linger any longer or face not returning until the next day. And for reasons Peter didn’t want to think about, he wanted to be lying in that bed tonight, sharing it with the caretaker of Marden Lodge.

  After letting Arvel go, Peter smacked him on the rump and left, striding around the lodge to the stable to where his horse waited. He saddled her and led her from the stall, across the glade, and into the woods.

  ∙•∙

  Arvel closed the door, rubbing his ass. He chuckled silently. It hurt, but as not much as a true hit would. He knew that. Peter hadn’t meant to hurt—he’d meant it with his heart. With caring. That was good.

  Peter liked Arvel, perhaps even cared. He didn’t expect love. Peter’s eyes held too much pain for that to happen so soon.

  Arvel smiled and curled up in the bed. He inhaled. Peter’s smell filled the air. He pulled the quilt over his body and smiled.

  Two Hearts.

  He frowned, his fists tightening on the edge of the blanket.

  Would his Heart like Peter? Would he chase Peter aw
ay?

  Would Peter and Gareth fight over him?

  He could lose both. Arvel worried his lip and decided he wouldn’t let that happen.

  Gareth had to know how Arvel felt about Peter and Peter about Gareth. They had to let it be, had to agree to both be his.

  Arvel would see to it.

  »»•««

  Peter looked up at the foothills. From a distance they’d seemed gray and soft purple as if shrouded in mists. Now he could see the barren rocks, gravel, and scrubs that covered the sides of the low hills.

  Not much to track along there. But where he rode, the grass and ground were still soft and lush, and he twisted in his saddle. Behind him, the hoof prints of his horse were clearly visible.

  The sun had just climbed to its highest point, and he still had miles to go before making his way back to the lodge. He’d have to admit it—there was no way he’d return before nightfall.

  Best to travel on, find a place to camp, and make his bed for the night. Then he could arise early, and make for home.

  Home.

  Not Marden Castle, but Marden Lodge. How odd that a place he’d come to so recently felt more like his home than the place he’d lived at for over eight years. The place where he’d met his young wife and the place he’d planned to raise a family.

  In that moment, Peter knew Marden Castle would never feel right to him again. He frowned and nudged his mare forward. When this mission grew to a close, he’d leave the lodge and return to the castle, to Logan and Drake, to his normal duties, and to the small grave in the churchyard.

  Guilt, hot and hard and heavy, weighed on his chest, and he gasped. Had he thought of leaving her? Of never returning to her? Could he live not speaking to her ever again?

  It had been so much a part of his life, as much as waking each day to go about his soldier’s duties. Now it seemed a distant thing, living in the past, not a part of his life.

  Perhaps this was his heart healing?

  No, he still felt the guilt, the sadness, and anger at being the cause of her death. He still grieved for her and his child.

  Peter shook his head and focused his gaze on the ground, looking for any sign of another horse, or the trampling of the grasses, or a dried footprint in the mud.