In the Company of Men Boxed Set

by Lynn Lorenz

  “Aye?”

  “His Grace has decided to open an outpost in the northern territory. We’ll be using an old hunting lodge his father kept as the outpost, but much needs to be done before we can station anyone there.”

  “And you go to ready it? Will you be gone long?” Caelin stroked his hand over Peter’s arm.

  “I go to ready it and I shall be its captain, Caelin. It’s up to me to choose the men who will stay there at the lodge and serve under me.”

  “But that’s perfect. I already have served under you.” Caelin gave him a wicked grin.

  “This is soldier work, pet. What experience has a tutor with swords, horses, and patrolling?”

  Caelin sat up, and his brows gathered together. “Before I had been sent to the abbey my father had both my brother and me trained to take his place. As the second son of a nobleman, I know how to use a sword, how to ride a horse across country, and how to fight in close quarters.”

  Peter nodded. No wonder Caelin’s body had such muscles, more than any of the soft monks he’d ever run across. “That is interesting, my pet. What else about you might I need to know?”

  Caelin thought, his lips twisted off to the side. “I don’t talk much. The abbey served me well in that respect.” He shrugged. “But I can read and write, so I could handle all the correspondence of the outpost.”

  “Well and good.” He’d need someone to write and read the messages sent between Marden keep and the lodge.

  “And I can care for the horses and our equipment.” The way Caelin kept finding reasons to take him on endeared him even more to Peter. Had any soldier been so enthusiastic?

  Perhaps the drudgery of daily life would dissuade his pet.

  “Have you ever worked in a garden?”

  “Aye. At the abbey we all had to work in the gardens. If we didn’t grow our food, we didn’t eat.”

  “And are you also an expert with chickens?” Peter laughed. It seemed he would have to take the young man. How could he do without him?

  “Aye, chickens also.” Caelin nodded and grinned.

  There was no use fighting it. Peter wanted Caelin, and Drake wanted Caelin gone.

  “Then prepare your students for your leaving and pack your things. As soon as I have the supplies ready, we’ll be leaving for Marden Lodge.”

  Peter slapped Caelin on his ass as his pet rolled over and licked a line down Peter’s belly.

  “My lord. Tonight, will you be leaving me so soon?”

  “Nay, pet. I fear we have more to discuss.” Peter’s cock came to life—not quite ready, but he was sure Caelin would take great pains to ensure it did.

  Caelin rolled onto his back, grabbed his legs behind the knees, and spread himself wide for Peter. “I’m not much for words, my lord.”

  “Oh, a man of action, are you?” Peter chuckled as he ran a finger along the underside of Caelin’s rod. The man had the stamina of youth, thank God.

  For the life of him, Peter had no idea why he also had gained new and fresh vigor when faced with such a pretty picture as his pet, but he knew before he returned to the barracks he’d know a lot more about him.

  Such as what made him whimper and sigh and cry out Peter’s name.

  »»•««

  Gareth swung the ax, and the thick thud of metal on wood gave him a satisfied feeling. He paused, wiped his brow with his sleeve, and then hoisted the ax to his shoulder for the next swing.

  The woodpile had grown, and once he finished this lot, there’d be enough wood for some time. Spring would be in full bloom soon enough, and they’d need less wood as the summer approached.

  He glanced around and spotted Arvel. The young man lay in the middle of the glade, the first of the wildflowers just rising above the tall grass. Nearby, Gareth’s horse cropped the fresh green growth, unconcerned about anything but its next mouthful of grass.

  Since Peter’s leaving, things had returned to the way they’d been before his arrival. Gareth doing the heavy work, Arvel tending the lodge and Gareth. It had always been a good life, but now something was missing.

  Peter. Gareth couldn’t deny it. He’d grown fond of the younger man, and truth to tell, the constant fighting for domination between him and Peter had excited him. And to have taken Peter? That had been most wonderful.

  But had he spoken too freely about his life as a mercenary? Had he offered to serve the duke of Marden as a spy in a foolish rush to impress Peter?

  He didn’t think so. No, he hated Weathers—that had been no falsehood spoken in the heat of anger. And he was the right man for the task, had been often in Weathers territory, he knew people he could gather information from. He could, if pushed, even hire on inside Weathers’ keep as one of his guards.

  That would be a last resort. There hadn’t been many men in Gareth’s life that he’d feared, but Duke Bors Weathers was one of them.

  The man had no honor, no emotions, no caring for those around him, whether they were his own family or the people he’d sworn to protect as duke.

  A man like that was no more than a rabid dog. A danger to all around him.

  Gareth knew there had been plots against Bors, but like someone enchanted, he had escaped them all. Including the one Gareth had been involved in.

  Surely that had been God watching over him, to escape Weathers’ men and his wrath. He’d neglected to tell Peter of that event, but should he be pressed into duty if and when Peter returned, he had to divulge that kernel of information.

  To be sent into the keep and be recognized would be sure and certain death.

  Not that he was a coward. He’d kill any man who said he was, but other matters had to be taken into account. Like Arvel. If Gareth died, who would care for him?

  Before there had been no one. But now Gareth knew the answer. Peter. He had no doubt Arvel’s second Heart would rise to his lover’s aid, no matter what the cost. And Gareth thanked God for Peter—he did. Just knowing Arvel had someone else to rely on soothed the worry in Gareth’s mind.

  No, if he took the oath, swore himself to Marden, then he would do it with his full being, and that meant obeying the duke’s commands. If the duke ordered him to spy on Weathers, then spy he would.

  He gazed at his lover, lying in the grass, one ankle crossed over his knee, staring up into blue sky. Letting his ax fall to the ground, he walked over to Arvel.

  His shadow fell over the young man, who looked up at him, smiled, and offered his hand. Gareth took it, and Arvel pulled him down to sit beside him.

  “What have you been thinking, pet?” Gareth said.

  Arvel’s eyes danced as he watched Gareth’s mouth move. He placed his hand over his heart with two fingers out.

  “Ah, Peter.”

  Arvel nodded, his expressive face all troubled and concerned.

  “I worry about him also.” Gareth sighed and looked up at the sky.

  His lover rolled on his side and put his head in Gareth’s lap. Gareth stroked his hair, running his fingers through the long red tresses.

  “Peter will return to us. Have no fear.”

  His pet nodded, then wrapped his arms around Gareth’s waist and buried his face against Gareth’s hip.

  Gareth reached down and tilted Arvel’s head back. “Shall we go inside?”

  A smile broke across his pet’s face, and he earned a quick nod. Then Arvel sprang up, pulling and tugging on Gareth to rise and follow.

  Once Gareth had gained his feet, Arvel took off, dashing toward the lodge, his hair streaming behind him.

  Gareth laughed, brushed off the backside of his breeches, and gave chase.

  The door to the lodge slammed just as he reached it. Gareth pounded on it, knowing Arvel couldn’t hear the sound but could feel the vibrations.

  He’d seen his pet before, leaning against the door or the wall, feeling with his hands and body the shaking of the timbers. Arvel had even put his head to the horse’s belly and laughed at the rumbling he felt there as the horse whinnied or nickered.
<
br />   No, his pet’s life wasn’t completely without sound, and for that Gareth was happy. For Arvel, it took little to make him smile, but of late, since Peter’s leaving, his lover had found less and less to smile about.

  And so had Gareth.

  He wanted Peter back, safe and sound, where he belonged. At the silent lodge with him and Arvel.

  Of course, he’d have to be stretched between teams of horses to let Peter know he’d been missed. Let Arvel spill his emotions about the place, but not him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Peter supervised the last of the supplies loaded onto the wagon. He circled it, his finger running down the list, his hand touching the crate that held the six chickens and one rooster as if counting it off.

  Caelin approached. “Peter, all this for two men?” He ran his hand over the stack of wood Marden’s carpenter had prepared as he tilted his head in question.

  Peter didn’t speak, just looked up and shrugged. Caelin had the feeling Peter hadn’t told him all about the outpost. And if not, when did he plan on speaking of it?

  Caelin walked around the wagon. Tomorrow morn they’d hitch the team of horses and leave for the lodge. He packed his meager belongings—some clothing, a pair of worn boots, and a few keepsakes from the boys—but it barely filled a small sack.

  How could he be a proper soldier without any weapons? Or a uniform?

  “Shall I ride in the wagon?” He canted his gaze toward Peter.

  Peter looked up from his list. “Aye, since it’s just you and I, you’ll have to drive the wagon. Can you manage?”

  Caelin nodded.

  “Good. I’ll ride my horse.”

  “What about the team and the wagon? Who will return them?” Caelin fingered the coarse canvas fabric of what appeared to be a tent.

  “No one. They will stay at the lodge. One of the horses will be yours.”

  “Really?” Caelin smiled. His own horse. He liked that very much. “Thank you, my lord.” Perhaps he could go to the stable and ask which of the animals had been chosen for the journey.

  “Don’t thank me. They’re the duke’s horses.” Peter shrugged, then jerked his head toward the keep. “Time for evening meal.”

  Caelin trailed after him. “Who is the other horse for?”

  Peter cleared his throat. “It’s an extra.”

  “Oh.” Caelin ran ahead of Peter and opened the door to the great hall, stepped aside, and let Peter enter in front of him.

  They strode to the table, where Drake, Logan and the boys already sat, breaking their bread and pouring wine for the men and water for the children as they protested.

  After being greeted, they sat across from each other, and Caelin kept his eyes to his charger and the food that filled it. Best not to let anyone know about his new relationship with Peter.

  “So, Peter, have you found your man?” Logan asked.

  Peter choked on his wine, then wiped his mouth. “Indeed. It’s as we discussed.” His gaze shifted to Caelin.

  Caelin felt all eyes at the table fall on him. He squirmed in his seat and picked at his food with his blade. Had Peter and Logan spoken of him? Perhaps his joining the outpost hadn’t been Peter’s idea but Logan’s. Perhaps Peter didn’t really want him at all?

  His heart ached and his appetite fled.

  “Caelin, do you have something to say?” Logan’s tender voice coaxed him to speak. Could he back out now? How much of a fool and a coward would he appear to the duke and Drake? Drake cared little for him, but he’d thought Logan had some small affection for him and Caelin didn’t want to lose that.

  Best to do it now, but the curious looks on the two lads’ faces worried him. What if they were very upset? What if they weren’t? He didn’t know which would be worse.

  “Aye.” He cleared his throat. “Boys, I’ve decided to leave the keep. It seems my skills are needed at the new outpost. I’ll be reading and writing the messages between the outpost and here.”

  The boys’ curious looks faded to frowns. Tomas’s bottom lip quivered, and Joss took a quick glance at him, then to Caelin.

  “I think that’s wonderful! How exciting! A post at the far north.”

  Tomas blinked, then grinned at him. “A soldier’s post?” Joss’s excitement spread to Tomas, surely the older boy’s plan, bless him.

  If there was one thing each boy wanted to be, it was a soldier. He’d seen them play at it many times with their wooden swords and had watched as Drake worked with them.

  “Aye.”

  “But you’re a tutor, Caelin. What do you know about swords and fighting?” Tomas voiced his concern loudly, crossing his arms over his chest and demanding an answer.

  Peter opened his mouth as if to speak, but Caelin held up his hand to stop him.

  “I am the second son of a nobleman, Tomas. I’ve spent my youth in training, both to defend my family’s lands and those of my liege lord. I’ve also been instructed by my father’s steward to manage his properties, including writing letters and doing the accounting.”

  “As I thought,” Logan said. “You’re a man of many valuable talents, Caelin. You’ll be a worthy addition to the outpost. We’ll miss you here at Marden, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find another tutor for the boys.”

  And with his words, the duke ended any further discussion with the two young men of Marden. After their meal, the boys were sent to play by the hearth while the men finished conferring.

  A surge of pride welled in Caelin. If only his father knew of this turn of events. For all Caelin knew, he thought his son dead, killed by the decree of Duke Marden. Perhaps, he’d never learn what fate had awaited his less-favored son, the son who’d shamed him. The son he’d taken his knife to and sliced lines across his face.

  Caelin felt no shame now. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he’d been chosen, not just by Peter but by Logan, his duke, to serve at this station. Caelin sat a little taller in his chair as the men leaned forward to discuss the outpost.

  “Peter, have you all the supplies you need?” Logan asked.

  “Aye, and then some.” Peter nodded.

  “And you’re off in the morn?” Drake cocked an eyebrow.

  “I am. I mean, we are.” Peter’s gaze shot to Caelin. “Are you ready?”

  “There wasn’t much to pack.” Caelin shrugged.

  Logan grinned. “Nonsense. There are uniforms, your riding leathers, boots, arms, and cloaks enough to fill the trunks. What about those?”

  Caelin sat back and stared at his folded hands on the table. “I have none of those things, Your Grace. I packed all I had, the little I’d kept from the abbey.”

  “But as soon as you give me your oath, you’ll be a Marden armsman, and as such, Marden will provide your livery.” Logan winked at him.

  Caelin glanced at Peter, then at Drake. Both men grinned at him.

  “It’s true, my lord?” His head swam at the thought. He’d been grateful for not being killed, much less having a full livery.

  Peter nodded. “All truth. Not to mention the wage you’ll earn.”

  “Wage? Oh that will be fine!” Caelin clapped his hands together, then sobered. “I’m ready to take my oath, Your Grace.”

  Logan pushed back his chair. “Drake, give me your sword.” He held out his hand. Drake stood, pulled his sword from his back scabbard, and handed it to Logan.

  Peter stood, pulled Caelin to his feet and over to where the duke stood.

  With Peter next to him, he faced Logan and Drake.

  “Kneel, Caelin,” Peter whispered.

  Caelin dropped to his knee, hands at his sides, and looked up. Above him, Logan raised the sword to point to the rafters of the hall.

  “Caelin of Holdess, do you give me your oath? Do you swear with your life to obey the Duke of Marden, and as such, any of his named representatives, for as long as you live?” Logan’s deep voice echoed through the hall, and everything fell silent, even the boys.

  “I so swear.” Caelin’s once
timid voice rang out in the great room.

  Peter clapped him on the back and dragged him to his feet. Drake looked relieved and Logan grinned. The boys came running over to him to join in the celebration.

  Logan picked up his wine goblet and raised it. “To your health, Caelin, and to your safety in your new duty.”

  The others, even the boys, raised theirs and drank to the toast.

  Caelin glanced over at Peter, caught his eye, and gave him a tentative smile. He hoped this pleased Peter, and he prayed the look in Peter’s eyes meant he would see the man tonight, before they left on their journey. His mind overflowed with questions.

  “Now, Peter. Take your new recruit to the barracks, the stable, and the armory, and get him outfitted. Uniforms, clothing, weapons, and pick out his horse and tack,” Drake ordered.

  “Aye, my lord.” Peter gave him a sharp salute, grabbed Caelin by the arm, and led him away.

  Just before he stepped out of the door, Caelin looked back at the dining table. Logan leaned against it with Drake standing in front of him. There must have been something quite interesting on Drake’s vest, because Logan’s fingers played along the front of it.

  Drake’s gaze never left Logan’s face.

  “Oh!” Realization hit Caelin. He stumbled across the threshold and felt quite the fool for having not known sooner. Perhaps that explained why Logan had spared his life.

  “Are you all right?” Peter asked as he caught Caelin on his way to the ground.

  Caelin straightened and shook his head. Best not to let Peter in on his conclusions, in case Peter took offense or thought he meant to accuse.

  “I’m fine. Let’s go pick out my horse first.”

  Caelin’s heart hammered in his chest as they crossed the bailey toward the stables.

  Peter’s laugh bounced off the stone walls.

  How far he’d come, from a cleric’s life to certain death to a tutor and now a soldier. It amazed Caelin, and he swore to himself and to God he wouldn’t let any of the men who counted on him down.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Peter halted one of the stable lads. “I’m in need of two horses to pull the wagon for the outpost. Both must be steeds, not dray animals, for we’ll be riding them also.”