by Lynn Lorenz
Arvel smiled over Gareth’s shoulder at Peter and winked.
Peter winked back, content to wait his turn. Content to watch the lovers. Content to be privy to this wondrous unusual grouping he found himself amid.
He would stop thinking about finding love.
This would be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Caelin stood on the wall of the keep and looked toward the town of Marden. Men worked the fields that surrounded the castle, tilling the soil, preparing it for the first planting of spring.
A year ago, he’d been sent to live at the abbey among the men of the church, thinking he’d found his place at last. All he’d ever wanted had been to save his father’s pride from the damage done by his depravity, and if that meant hiding away among the monks, so be it.
He would have preferred to continue on at his father’s keep, perhaps as a soldier, perhaps as his father’s steward, to eventually serve his brother when he came to the title. His entire life had been spent preparing him to be a second son, just standing off to the side, keeping quiet in the shadows.
He’d thought the shadows would hide his preference for men, but they only shielded his ways from his father and allowed him to linger in them, nearly caught on more than one occasion.
If his father had asked, Caelin could have told him the abbey would not be the right place for him. A sultan’s harem would have served better, surrounding him in women, keeping him from men and them from him.
Now he’d landed here, by the grace of God, among more men. However, unlike the quiet, devout monks, these men were dangerous, perhaps even deadly.
If he approached the wrong man, he could be run through with that man’s sword.
And no one would blame his killer. Not even Caelin’s father.
Still, if he could keep his inclinations hidden and stop fawning after the duke, this place could become a home for him. Tutoring the boys proved easy and, if he had to admit, even enjoyable. They were quick witted, easygoing, and interested in all he had to show them.
He leaned on the wall and sighed. He should be content, but his heart ached. He turned to look down at the bailey, busy as a hive of bees, its servants coming and going, the soldiers marching about, and the boys playing with their wooden swords.
This was not his home. Not where he belonged. There was no one who cared for him here, no one who loved him. No one he could belong to and spend the long nights of his life with.
He would be content here, he decided.
“Caelin, what brings you to the wall?” Drake’s rumble spun Caelin around. He blinked and pressed back into the stone of the wall, remembering the man’s threat.
“Just a little fresh air, nothing more.”
“Looked to me as if you were lost in some thought.” Drake’s eyes narrowed.
Caelin shrugged. “Nay, merely taking in the view. It’s beautiful. We didn’t have such a splendid view at the abbey.”
“How did you find the abbey?”
“It went well. I spent much time in quiet reflection and learned to hone my scribing by copying holy texts. It was only of late that there were troubles.” Caelin and Drake stood alone on the parapet and could speak freely, but Caelin wasn’t sure what Drake knew of the abbot’s reason for asking him to leave.
“Troubles?” Drake leaned on the stones next to him. Caelin felt his heat and couldn’t ignore the sword hanging from the master’s hip. “Many say we bring about our own troubles.” He paused and then turned to face Caelin. He reached out and ran a finger down the scar on Caelin’s cheek. “Fool! To think he could mar your outer beauty, when it’s your inner beauty that shines like a beacon on a rocky shore.”
Caelin swallowed. “Beauty?” He frowned. “Master Drake, you make a jest of me.” He held up his hand to cover the damaged side of his face.
“No, Caelin, I make no jest.” Drake pulled Caelin’s hand down, then brushed his knuckles across his face. “Don’t be ashamed of your scars, for they speak much of you.”
“I am hideous,” Caelin spit out, his eyes brimming with tears, his heart bearing the hurt and the shame of his father’s actions.
“You are most alluring. Trust me, tutor.” Drake snorted. “I can see it, and Logan can see it also.”
“The duke?” Caelin picked his head up and blinked back tears.
“Aye. Don’t get so excited, youngster. The duke is not fool enough to dally with the tutor. However, I won’t have you chasing after him. You’ll put more than yourself in danger with that attention.”
“Oh, you know?” Caelin lowered his gaze to his feet as the rush of a burn painted his cheeks.
“I am not blind, man. Not to your foolish attempt to persuade Logan into a dalliance, nor am I blind as to why it would be hard to resist you.” Drake laid his hand on Caelin’s shoulder.
“This face is easy to resist, my lord.”
“Perhaps for some.” Drake sighed. He leaned closer to Caelin and stared into his eyes. “Know this, Caelin. I will do whatever I must to keep the duke safe from harm. I’ve killed men for less, and for more, and if it comes to it, I’ll kill…”
Caelin swallowed, fear gathering in his belly, forcing his hands to clench, as he waited for Drake’s next words.
“I’ll kill again to protect him, even from a young and foolish tutor.”
Drake righted himself, strode to the stairs, and trotted down them.
Caelin slumped against the wall, grateful to have it to lean on and not fall to his knees in fear and terror.
Perhaps the keep wouldn’t be so safe a place to land, after all.
Caelin blinked through the tears that overflowed, spilling down his cheeks, and he gazed at the castle’s courtyards. On the inside of the wall stood some measure of safety, if he reined in his desires and needs.
On the other side? Out there?
Safety didn’t exist, not for those of his ilk.
»»•««
Peter rose the next morning, dressed, and went to the stable to ready his horse. If he started out today, he’d make Marden by the next eve. He’d thought about it most of the night, lying quiet and still in the dark, listening to his lovers’ breathing. Well, in Gareth’s case, the man snored off and on, but not so loud he couldn’t sleep.
That wasn’t what had kept him awake, but his decision to leave the lodge and return to Marden. He needed to make his report to his duke and to Drake, his master and commander.
Should he return to the lodge and continue or stay in Marden and wait for Weathers to make his move and show his hand? He’d be able to state the facts of his search, describe his failure to find hide or hair of the bastard’s men, and then get some clear direction as to his next steps.
His stomach clenched as he wondered if, having failed to get the information, he’d be replaced by someone else. If someone were to be sent to Marden, would that someone be as kind to Arvel? Would he chase Gareth away, separating the lovers?
Or worse, would he take Peter’s place as lover?
That thought hurt the most, not returning, and watching another man ride off to take his place at the silent lodge.
He brushed down his mare, placed her blanket on, and then tossed the saddle over her back. He’d bent over to catch the cinch when Gareth found him.
“So, here’s where you’ve run off to, sweetling.”
Peter snatched the hanging leather strap, pulled it up to the ring, and looped it through. He tugged on it to ensure the saddle would not shift. His mare grunted, shifted from one back hoof to the other, and swished her tail at him.
“I’m leaving. Back to Marden.” Peter turned and faced his lover.
“Thought as much. You’ve been working up to it for a few days, haven’t you?” Gareth leaned against the stall and watched him.
“Aye. But I need to give my report and take my new orders.”
“New orders?” Gareth’s gaze darkened. “What might they be?”
“I have no idea.” Peter shrugged as he slipped
the bridle on and fitted the bit to the horse’s mouth. “I do as the duke bids.”
“And if he says for you to stay at Marden?”
“Then I stay.” Peter gathered his reins.
“With no word to us?”
“I’ll try to send a note, Gareth, but I can’t promise it.”
Gareth stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Were you going to say goodbye to Arvel? Or me?”
“I’d hoped to leave before then.”
“Coward.” Gareth growled and put a hand out to catch Peter by the shirt and yank him forward. “Not even a kiss goodbye.”
“I feared it would hurt too much and sway me from my duty.” Peter gazed into ice-blue irises.
“Kiss me then, and I’ll share the kiss with our pet.”
“Here is your kiss, then.” Peter took Gareth’s mouth in a hungry kiss as Gareth’s fingers threaded through his hair. Their tongues dueled, wrestling as always, each demanding, each fighting to dominate the other. When they came up for air, both panting and hard, Peter sighed.
“Give this kiss to Arvel.” Peter leaned in again to give Gareth the sweetest, most tender of kisses. Their lips brushed, tongues touched, tasted, then parted.
“Farewell, Peter. God’s speed and keep you safe on the road.”
“Farewell, Gareth.” Peter led the horse out of the stable and across the glade.
At the opening to the path, he turned and raised his hand, knowing Gareth would still be there. His heart staggered in his chest. He’d had no idea it would hurt this much to leave the lodge, the place he’d come to know as his home.
Gareth raised his hand.
Peter turned, made his way down the path, and disappeared in the thick foliage.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Gareth slipped through the door without a sound. Arvel slept, curled on his side in the middle of the bed, the quilts pulled up against the morning’s chill. In the hearth, glowing embers were all that was left of last night’s fire.
He padded over to the fire, kneeled, and added several logs. After he stirred the embers and placed some kindling, the wood caught and in no time pushed needed heat into the room.
Peter had cut some of these logs.
Foolish, really, to miss the man already. He hadn’t even reached the town by now. Gareth could saddle his horse and ride down the road at a gallop and probably catch up to him.
No use in that. Even Gareth knew Peter had to return to his duke. He had a duty, and as a mercenary, Gareth understood duty.
He sat in the chair, folded his arms over his chest, and stuck his boots out toward the hearth. Arvel would wake soon, ready to prepare the morning meal, and he’d miss Peter.
Anger at Peter’s leaving him to explain it all to Arvel welled in the mercenary. At least, he thought that was why he was mad, but if he really gave it proper consideration, it was Peter’s leaving, not his manner, that irked Gareth.
And would hurt Arvel.
He’d just have to be sure Arvel understood Peter might not return. Should he let Arvel think Peter would once again join them at the lodge and share their bed? If all hope of his coming back to the lodge were dashed like crockery on a stone floor, would that serve Arvel any better?
A small, gentle hand dropped on his shoulder, and he patted it without looking up. Drawing Arvel around the chair, he pulled the younger man into his lap, where he laid his head on Gareth’s shoulder.
“Still sleepy, pet?” Gareth chuckled at Arvel rubbing his eyes and yawning. “It’s time to be up and about.”
Arvel snuggled deeper into his embrace, and Gareth rested his chin on Arvel’s head. He could smell the tangle of scents—his, Peter’s, Arvel’s. And for the first time it struck him that the combination reminded him of peace, contentment, and happiness.
∙•∙
Pushing up, Arvel looked around the room. Peter was gone. Perhaps he’d gone out to the stable to tend the horses. Arvel’s stomach clenched just as it did when he knew Gareth would be leaving him, and he knew Peter had left.
This time he felt something different in the air, in the tight way Gareth held his body, and in the way his gaze shifted away.
He needed to know. Frowning, he motioned to Gareth his sign for Peter, a touch to his heart with two fingers raised, but Gareth kept silent. Arvel stared into Gareth’s eyes, demanding an answer by fisting his hand, hitting Gareth’s shoulder, then touching his heart with two fingers.
“He’s gone, pet.” Gareth’s lips told the truth. But this was more than just Peter’s previous coming and going.
Arvel opened his mouth, held out his hands, and looked around. Where had Peter gone?
“Back to Marden. Back to the duke. He had to make his report, pet.”
Arvel’s intense gaze never left Gareth’s lips as he spoke, catching the words he understood. Back to Marden. Duke. Make his report. Pet.
Oh. Arvel’s heart filled with sadness. He’d miss Peter, but perhaps he’d return, and they could all be together again.
He moved his hands in a beckoning gesture, asking if Peter would come back even as tears filled his eyes. He sniffed them back.
“Perhaps. If the duke allows it.” Gareth shrugged.
By Gareth’s sad eyes and deep lines on his brow, Arvel doubted that would happen.
Peter had gone, perhaps to never return.
And he hadn’t said goodbye to Peter. Hadn’t been able given him a kiss to send him on his way. Hadn’t told him how he’d be missed.
Arvel’s eyes burned as the tears spilled. He wrapped his arms around Gareth’s neck and laid his head on his shoulder. Gareth stroked his back, comforting him.
»»•««
His arms full, Caelin hurried to the table where the boys waited for their afternoon lesson. He plopped down the book and box he carried, and Joss jumped in his chair, nearly falling out.
“Caelin!” Joss glared at him as Tomas laughed. Joss pushed Tomas and Tomas pushed back, and before the boys got a fight started, Caelin cleared his throat.
“Boys. Take your seats. Today’s lesson is writing. We’ve been reading, and you’re doing well. Now we’ll practice copying what we’ve read.” He reached into the box and pulled out an inkwell and three quills, placing them on the table in front of the two lads.
“I know how to write!” Tomas boasted. “My da taught me.”
“Oh. What can you write?”
“My name.” Tomas’s blue eyes shone with pride.
Joss hunched a little lower in his chair, his gaze wandering off toward the kitchens. Not the first time Caelin had seen that look on Joss’s face when Tomas outdid him in something or the other.
“Your name is very good, but you’ll need more letters and words than that.”
Joss smiled with new interest. “How many?”
“All of them, of course.”
Tomas frowned. “I know five.”
“Five is a good start, but we must learn them all in order to create words and then put the words together to create sentences.” Caelin placed a sheaf of paper at each boy’s place, gave them each a quill, and set the inkpot between them. “Now, I’m going to illustrate the proper way to write the letter, and you’re going to reproduce it as well as you can.”
The boys and he set to work—he bent over his paper, crafting the letters, and the boys imitating him. The afternoon crawled by without a single interruption.
No duke striding through to his rooms. No duke crossing the hall to sit in front of the hearth. And no Drake tagging along as if he were a puppy nipping at the duke’s heels.
Caelin sighed and resigned himself to taking Drake’s advice to stay away from the duke.
But he was such a lovely duke, so handsome, so brave, and courteous.
A man anyone would be impressed by, certainly.
Caelin had never seen his like before and probably never would again.
The lesson came to an end, with the boys going off to play and Caelin determined to stay out of the duke
’s sight and Drake’s way. He’d have to start taking his meals in his room instead of at table with the duke, Drake, and the boys.
He gathered up his papers, book, and quills, placed them back into the box, and made his way toward the stairs. One of the servant girls, round and red faced, passed him, a squawking chicken under each arm and one in each hand. He motioned for her to stop.
“I’ll take my meal in my room tonight.”
“Aye, my lord.” She dropped a curtsy and continued on to the kitchen. Caelin turned back to the stairs and began the climb to his room. Best if he stayed out of sight and out of trouble.
A man could cheat death only so many times.
»»•««
Peter paused on the hill and looked down the road that veered toward the castle at Marden. It had once been his home, but now his heart no longer leaped at its sight. Behind him, down the road to the north, along a hidden path to a small lodge, that’s where his home lay.
Ahead of him sat the bustling town of Marden. The too-familiar church’s spire stabbed his heart. He’d come alive at the lodge, and he didn’t know where to lay the blame—on his mission or on the two men he’d left there.
It had been the worst sort of betrayal to her memory, finding life again when she couldn’t. Oh God, not with another woman, not even with one man, but two.
He sat on his horse, deciding which path to take. Back to the little church graveyard and his past or on to Marden and the rest of his life. For months he’d traveled that road to sit at her side, desperately needing that connection with her.
Now the desperation had been lifted, but the healing had only begun. At the lodge, he’d found a new life, different from his previous one and not necessarily worse or better. He had to make a choice—to go on living and see what came to him or to stay buried with her and his unborn child.
Closing his eyes, he pictured the little stone cross, wildflowers growing around it.
With a ragged sigh, he tugged on the reins and turned his mare’s head to the castle.
»»•««
Caelin took a bite of the bread and chewed, relishing the quiet. He didn’t miss the chatter of the duke’s table, the discussions between Drake and the duke, listening to the duke’s steward recalling the castle’s business, or the squabbling of the boys. At the times he’d been pulled into the conversations, he’d mumbled his answers. All the furor of it unnerved him, made him want to crawl away, so he’d taken to sitting at the far end of the table.
