by Lynn Lorenz
He’d spent nearly a year eating in silence and talking in whispers among the monks, and now he welcomed the quiet of his room. Perhaps there were more benefits to avoiding the duke than he’d thought.
His meal finished, he gathered up his bowl, spoon, and tankard on a tray to take them downstairs to the kitchen. If he traveled the length of the hall, past the stairs to the great hall, he’d reach the narrow servant’s stair that led to the kitchens.
He’d just passed the main stairs when a shout went up from below. Caelin halted and leaned over the stone rail to catch a glimpse of the cause of the commotion.
“He’s returned, Your Grace!” A guard ran across the hall to the table. “Captain has returned!”
The scrape of chairs and excited whoops from the boys piqued Caelin’s interest, and he took a few steps down to get a better look. Crouching, he peered over the rail, trying to stay hidden. Whoever the captain was, everyone certainly seemed happy to have him return.
The door to the keep opened, and a man entered. Tall, broad-shouldered, wide of chest, with dark hair and eyes. His face was tanned but not weathered, and with well-formed legs whose muscles strained the leather of his riding breeches, he took Caelin’s breath away.
“Peter!” The duke shouted, clapped his hands, and rushed forward to greet him. Drake, right on His Grace’s heels, grinned as if this fellow were his best and dearest companion.
The duke threw open his arms, as did Peter, and they embraced, slapping backs, then parted, only to have Drake replace the duke and do the same.
“I wondered when you’d turn up.” Drake held him out at arm’s length. “You don’t look the worse for wear. Something must have agreed with you.”
Peter shrugged. “It’s good to be back, Drake. Logan, how are things?”
The boys, waiting their turn on bouncing feet, could be held back no longer and rushed him. “Peter! Peter!” they cried as he swooped one, then the other into his arms and ruffled their hair with great affection.
His smile captivated Caelin. It fairly blasted good will, caring, and confidence. Oh, to be gazed at in such a way by such a man. Caelin shrank back into the shadows of the stairs, touching his hand to his scars.
No one would ever look at him that way.
The duke hadn’t. Drake? Never. And neither would this man. He should return to the upper hall, back to the servant’s stair and down to the kitchens and rid himself of these dishes.
But he found it hard to turn away, wanting more than a glance at this newcomer.
Caelin shifted the tray to get a better grip on it, but it tilted. The bowl slid to the edge, pitched over it, and smashed on the stone stairs.
Everyone turned, and all gazes fell on him as if he were illuminated by a hundred suns. Fire burned in his cheeks as he bent down to retrieve the shards of crockery that littered the steps.
“Caelin, come and meet Peter!” Tomas shouted as Joss ran up the stairs to meet him.
Caelin smiled and shook his head, keeping his face pointing to the ground. “I’m afraid I’ve made quite a mess here. I should clean it up.”
“Nonsense, Caelin. Leave it,” the duke ordered. “Come down and meet Peter.”
He nodded, pushed to his feet, and stepped around the fragments. A servant girl trotted up the stairs, her apron held out to place the broken bits of bowl in, and passed him as he made his way down to the hall.
They gathered at the bottom of the stairs now, all of their faces turned up to watch him descend.
Caelin’s knees knocked so badly he thought he’d tumble the rest of the way down, but if his heart didn’t slow down, he wouldn’t need the fall to kill him. It would just burst right out of his chest, letting him fall, slain, at Peter’s feet.
For the life of him, for everything he’d ever held sacred and for every vow he’d ever made and broken, he couldn’t pull his gaze from this incredible man standing in front of him.
Caelin reached the bottom step and froze, hand shaking on the rail as his other hand crept up to block his face from that intent dark brown gaze. Embarrassment and shame battled for dominance on his wounded face.
“Ho, Caelin, well met.” Peter stared at him, his head cocked to the side, as if trying to decide what to make of him.
Caelin’s mouth went dry, and his mind emptied of all thought.
“My name is Caelin,” he blurted out, then looked down at the floor, willing himself to disappear as in the tales of old magic.
Could he think of nothing else to say to greet the man? Not Welcome home? Not It’s my honor to meet you, my lord?
A hand took his chin, firm, but gentle, and raised it. He stared up into Peter’s warm brown eyes and sank deep into their depths.
“Damn the man who gave you those scars.” Peter’s brow furrowed, and anger flared in his eyes. He dropped his hand, and Caelin twirled away in darkness without the anchor of his touch.
The hall fell silent.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Come, Peter. You must be famished from your journey,” Drake announced, his voice booming through the hall. He’d had to say something to stop whatever had been about to occur. “Bring Peter some food and ale!”
The heat that had flared between the two men caught everyone present in its flame, and Drake feared Peter or Caelin would do something to betray their natures. Caelin he would be happy to see dragged off, but Peter? Of all the men here at the keep, his affection for the man was second only to his affection for Logan and the boys.
Drake glanced at Logan, and he raised his brows. Logan nodded. “Aye, Peter. Come and sit at the table and tell us of your travels.” He swept his arm toward the tables.
Peter turned and smiled at his duke. “Aye, a good meal is needed. I haven’t eaten since I broke my fast this morning, in hopes of making the keep by dark.”
The crowd moved back to the hall’s dining area, leaving Caelin still standing at the stairs. Peter halted, turned, and called to him, “Are you coming?”
Caelin swallowed and nodded.
Drake wished he’d just go back to his room, but to make more of it would only court disaster. Best if everyone put it out of their minds. Next to him, Logan chuckled and winked at him.
Drake rolled his eyes and growled.
They sat, Logan at the head, Drake on his right, Peter on his left. Before the boys could join them, Logan shooed them off. “This is the castle’s business, lads. Leave us.”
Tomas grabbed a final piece of bread as Joss dragged him off.
Caelin stood by his usual seat at the far end of the table, opposite Peter, but didn’t sit. Drake opened his mouth to tell him to leave, but Logan spoke first.
“Caelin, you may join us if you like.”
∙•∙
Peter tried to keep his eyes off the young man hovering off the side of the table, looking as if he’d take flight at the slightest breeze. For his part, he’d do nothing to stir the air and lose this incredible, fragile being.
He’d nearly shamed himself in front of the others by putting his hand on Caelin and declaring his anger over the scars. They stood angry and pink against the man’s pale skin, and the blush of his cheeks made them even more pronounced.
And very pretty. How scars could be so fetching, he’d never know, but he’d been struck with an almost uncontrollable urge to run his fingers over them, followed by his tongue.
God in heaven, he’d been damned.
If not for Drake’s good sense and timing, he’d have done more than just touch. But this was not the lodge, he was not among others who didn’t care, except Logan and Drake, and even they hid their relationship for fear of death or worse.
Peter glanced down the table, stealing looks at Caelin until Logan cleared his throat and made it clear Peter had to focus on his duke.
“I see you’ve not grown thin during your time away. I trust you found the lodge to your liking.” Logan’s green eyes shone with amusement.
Peter shifted in his chair. “Aye, Your Grace
. I found the place most inviting and comfortable.”
“Well and good. We’ll speak of your mission later in my chambers, won’t we, Drake?” Logan turned to his master of arms.
“Indeed. I’m most anxious to learn what Peter has discovered.” Drake nodded.
“I await your biding, Your Grace.” A platter of chicken, turnips, and bread landed on the table in front of him, and he reached for a piece. The others had eaten, so he alone dined, but the servant girl passed around the table and filled tankards with ale.
They drank while he ate, and spoke of the weather, the roads, and what had happened at the keep while he’d been gone.
That’s when he learned of Caelin, of his recent arrival, and of his tutoring of the boys.
“They’re a handful, aren’t they?” Peter said to Caelin. Caelin’s head jerked up, and he blinked several times as if amazed Peter had spoken to him.
“They are boys,” he whispered and shrugged. “But good learners and well-behaved,” he added with a glance toward the boys’ fathers.
“Indeed. And devoted to each other, even more than mere brothers.” Peter smiled, encouraging more from the man, but all he received was a nod before he resumed staring at the table in front of him.
Peter spoke with the duke and Drake, but his gaze slipped back to Caelin time and time again. At last, he finished his meal, and Logan rose. “Settle in, Peter. Then come to my room in an hour’s time.”
Peter stood. “Aye, Your Grace.”
Logan and Drake left the hall and climbed the stairs to the upper floor, leaving Peter, Caelin, and the servants alone.
“I best tend to my unpacking.”
Caelin nodded and rose.
“I take a cot in the barracks.” Peter willed the man to speak.
“I have a room.” Caelin fumbled with the edge of his vest. “Upstairs.”
“Indeed. I’ll make note of that.” Peter smiled at the wide-eyed surprise that painted Caelin’s face.
The younger man turned and rushed from the hall, toward the kitchens, no doubt making his escape to his chamber.
Peter stored that bit of knowledge in his mind.
After he spoke with Drake and Logan, perhaps he’d pay a visit to the tutor. Muscles aching, he trudged out to the courtyard, crossed it, and went into the barracks. His cot, placed by the door, waited for him, with his saddlebags laid out on it.
Peter pushed them off and stretched out, glad to be off his feet and off his ass. He closed his eyes, determined to catch only a moment’s rest.
“Wake up, Captain!” Someone shook him. Peter bolted up and ran his hand over his face. He’d fallen asleep.
“What time is it?”
“Late. The duke sent me to fetch you to him.”
“Damn!” Peter hadn’t changed his clothes. No time for it—he’d have to present himself just as he was.
The servant led the way, and Peter followed at a trot. He rushed up the stairs, forgetting about Caelin, even as he passed the many doors that lined the corridor. When he reached Logan’s room, he nodded to the guard and knocked.
The door opened, and Drake smirked at him. “Did you forget the time?”
“Forgive me, my lord. I fell asleep.” Peter ducked his head and stepped inside. Drake shut the door, strode over to a chair, and sat. He motioned for Peter to take the other chair in front of Logan’s desk.
“We should let you rest, Peter, but we wanted to hear what you’d learned as soon as possible. There are decisions to make that rely on it.” Logan flashed a regret-filled smile.
“I understand.” Peter nodded and cleared his throat. “I found nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a single sign, not a person out of place, nothing to hint at Duke Weathers’ intentions or his actions.” Peter shook his head.
Logan leaned on his elbow and placed his chin in his palm. “In many ways, this is good news. It means we are not too late.”
Drake shifted. “How many times and where did you patrol?”
“I rode out every few days along the river and the foothills. I questioned some of the townspeople about strangers, even the local priest. No one has been through there or caused trouble.”
Logan looked into the distance as if seeing something far away as Drake growled, brows bent together. Peter could see they were not pleased.
“If I may speak freely, Your Grace.”
“Of course.” Logan waved a hand to encourage him.
Peter licked his lips. “From what I can see, all this patrolling back and forth would be better done by organized troops, not one solitary man slinking about the woods and fields. Show a presence to the people there that their duke is concerned for their welfare and show Weathers we mean to stop him, as we did in the south.”
“Good ideas.” Logan nodded with a quick glance to Drake, who tilted his head in agreement.
“And to tell the truth, I could have ridden around for weeks and still not have a single clue as to what Weathers has planned for us.” Peter paused for emphasis. He took a deep breath and said, “What we need is a spy.”
Drake sat up, and Logan leaned back in his chair. “A spy?”
“Indeed. Someone who is familiar with Weathers territory, who can blend in, who has contacts there for information and can find out exactly what we want to know.” Peter looked first into Logan’s eyes and then shifted to Drake’s.
Slow smiles slid over both the men’s faces.
“Know you such a man?” Drake asked, rubbing his chin.
Peter nodded. “Aye.”
“And where did you meet him?” Logan asked, leaning forward as he laced his fingers together on the desk.
“At the lodge.” Peter swallowed.
“At my lodge?” Logan’s eyebrow rose.
“Aye, Your Grace.”
“What else did you find at the lodge?”
Peter decided it was time to tell everything. If anyone would understand, it would be these two men.
“I met Arvel, the caretaker.” Peter looked deep into Logan’s eyes to gain his courage. “We became lovers.”
Logan grinned. Drake snorted.
“He had kept the lodge well, but he’d let the path grow over. It’s safer that way for him.” Logan nodded his understanding.
“Safer?” Drake’s gaze shifted to Logan.
“Arvel is a deaf-mute.”
“He’s often set upon by the ruffians of the local village,” Peter explained.
“He’s quite beautiful, isn’t he?” Logan said. Drake’s face darkened.
“Indeed.” Peter’s face burned as the blush crept upward. “However, I soon discovered Arvel has a longtime lover, a man named Gareth. He’s a mercenary.” He turned to Drake. “Do you know of him?”
“Gareth? Is he a large man, blue-eyed and blond like the old Norsemen? Quiet but with a certain wicked humor?” Drake grinned.
“That may be him.” Peter nodded. “He’s been living at the lodge between hirings, with Arvel caring for him. They are quite devoted.”
“And yet Arvel took you to his bed while his lover was gone,” Logan mused.
Peter swallowed. “As I said, Gareth is devoted to Arvel. Arvel is sweet and most generous with his affections.” He cleared his throat. “We both shared Arvel.”
He waited to hear the outcry from the two men he admired most.
“I have heard of such couplings.” Drake nodded. “If all parties are agreeable, it can work well. If not, it’s a disaster, and men have died over fits of jealousy.”
“It worked very well for us. In fact, it pained me to leave Marden Lodge and return here.” Peter stared down at his boots.
Logan chuckled. “So our Peter has found what? A new life? Happiness? Are you in love with Gareth? With Arvel? Both of them?”
“Happy? If that can be called the opposite of what I’ve felt these long months since Mary’s death, then aye, I found happiness. I love neither but care deeply for both. I’m not sure what I’ve found, but
I’m sure now that it’s gone, I shall miss it sorely.”
∙•∙
“I think we can remedy that, Peter.” Logan caught Drake’s eye and winked. In his own way he loved Peter, and it would be a shame to lose him, but he’d rather see the man happy once again. “Were you truly happy there?”
“Aye.” He nodded, but Logan saw the guilt battling on the man’s solemn face.
“You know she would not fault you for finding happiness again.”
“I know. She would be most sad to know I suffered after her death. Even furious if I’d stayed that way.” Peter grimaced. “But to have found it with men?”
“Did she ever know of your leanings? Of the time with Drake and me?”
“Nay. But she was a loving person, and I have to believe she would not be ashamed of me, Your Grace.”
“Then you should believe that, for she was ever only loving and kind.” Logan reassured Peter.
Peter nodded, his face strained and drawn.
“Then you shall return.” Logan slapped the desk. “Drake, it’s the right time to put our plan in place. Marden Lodge will become our outpost in the north. I want it manned by Peter and this man Gareth.” He looked to Peter. “Will he join us? Hire on as one of our men and take an oath to Marden and her duke?” He leaned forward, pinning Peter in place with a hard stare. “Will he act as our spy in Weathers’ lands?”
“I haven’t asked him formally, but he hates Weathers, and I believe he would accept the duty with an open heart.”
“Then I confer on you the right to take his oath in my stead.”
“Aye, Your Grace.” Peter sat up proudly. “But the outposts keep three men, Your Grace. Arvel is not built to the rough ways and sword work of a soldier. We’ll be a man short, and I’m afraid not just any man will do for this outpost.”
“Indeed. I have no intentions for any of my men, let alone one as dear to me as you are, to be killed by the villagers if their ways should be discovered.” Logan tapped his chin with his finger as he thought about the problem facing them.
