I will be the death of you.
He didn’t acknowledge it, threat or reply—he had learned that lesson well enough, thank you—and steeled himself to keep his eyes away from her even though he could feel her gaze burning dire upon him. Instead he focused on Gamelyn, let his gaze touch the angle of that jaw and the line of his neck. Thought it was surely a shame they were in this castle, and all, because he wanted nothing more to throw Gamelyn down on the rugs before that great fireplace and shag him until he screamed.
It became more than obvious that Gamelyn felt not only the touch of Rob’s gaze but read the drift of his thoughts. He rose from the wide chair arm as Rob came nearer, and there was a softness in his face, a tension in his frame and—aye, bloody lovely!—a distinct tilt to his tunic, was one looking.
Rob had to stop himself from looking. Instead he put his mind to why he was there, approached his mesne lord with a lowered head, and lowered himself to one knee.
“My lord of Blyth,” Rob said, soft and respectful. “I am Rob of Loxley, underforester to Barnsdale and the Peak. Your son informed me that you wanted a report of the tallies I have made and delivered to my lord the Earl of Conisbrough. I was bidden bring them to you, and so I have done.”
“I remember you, lad.” Sir Ian smiled. “For once it is fortuitous my middle son isn’t here—he normally takes reports and passes them onto me—but then we would not have had the chance to speak again. My, but you’ve changed since last I saw you. As much grown into a man as my own youngest, here. How is your mother? Your father?”
“They’re well, milord, and me mother asks after you.”
“Please give her my thanks, and tell her I am quite well, thanks to her aid. I have had a bit of a downturn,” he shrugged, “but no more than expected, in my condition. A se’nnight ago, I was walking the parapets of an evening with my sons. This is my eldest, Johan.” Sir Ian gestured to the swart man, who advanced upon Rob, stiffening like a fighting cock and in the doing merely emphasizing how strapping he was. If Gamelyn could likely tie Rob in a knot, this one could tie him in three, no question. “And Gamelyn you already know, and you might remember my cousin, the Holy Abbess of Worksop.”
Rob dipped his head to each of them, kept his eyes respectfully downcast—hidden—to the Abbess, in particular.
“Bring some food! This man has news for me; the least we can do is share a meal with him.” Sir Ian was proving as oddly likeable as he had before—a mix of hard-headed and genial decorum. The Abbess wasn’t best pleased, that was plain. Neither was the elder brother, but then his like didn’t take kindly to sitting to sup with peasants, nothing surprising there. “Find our guest a seat, Gamelyn, and pour him some wine.”
It was not so easy to keep his eyes to himself when Gamelyn offered him the chair and bent next to him, holding out a pewter goblet full of a wine that smelled of flowers. Or maybe it was Gamelyn. Probably foxglove; it was surely stopping his heart.
Rob had really not counted on getting wine. Or on Gamelyn’s presence setting his head even more widdershins.
Marion was right. He’d best be more than careful.
“SWEET CHRIST, but you clean up rather nicely,” Gamelyn murmured. “’Tis truly amazing what a comb can do.”
They were on their way to the stables. Rob had given his report, charmed Gamelyn’s father and several serving lasses—the latter unintentionally, Gamelyn was sure—and even had Johan asking a few questions about the game stocks. The Abbess alone had remained silent—but then, she didn’t usually speak during meals anyway.
And it had truly been an act of pure will and strength for Gamelyn not to tackle Rob as he walked—stalked, crept, glided!—up to them in the hall and bent his knee, graceful as any dancer. There was none of the scruffy, unkempt vagabond about him today: his hair was indeed combed and tied back, with only a few delicious, unruly strands refusing to stay in place, his tunic was laced up properly instead of its normal—and again by Gamelyn’s lights, deliciously—half-masted place of nearer his navel than his collarbones. He was also dressed in suitable layers, overtunic brushed clean and his hood centered for once instead of dragging his tunic sideways. Marion had obviously given him a shave.
He was… gorgeous. Not that he wasn’t gorgeous anyway, but….
Gamelyn gave a happy sigh and kept looking.
The black eyes slid sideways, met his. A smirk teased at the full lips. “So. T’ have you begging to be had, all I’m needing is to have a shave and wear m’ best?”
He trailed off as two serving lasses approached, each with laden baskets. They eyed Rob and Gamelyn up then giggled as they passed.
“Gettin’ a bit warm in here.” Rob pulled at the lacings to his tunic. “And here I thought you liked me out of ’em—”
Gamelyn hissed, “No fair.”
“Lack of fairness, my lord,” Rob said in his very best noble’s accent, “is when you don’t get what you want.” He was grinning, the sod. “Methinks that, should you follow me, we’ll both get that.” He gave a tiny stagger, snorted. “Wup! That wine was more’n I’m used to, no question. Can we leave now, m’lord?”
“Gamelyn?”
They both stopped. Rob gave Gamelyn a wary glance, did not turn around. Gamelyn did, dipping his head to the Abbess where she stood behind them in the corridor.
Gamelyn paused. How long had she been there? And Rob not hearing her?—that was odd.
“If you can part yourself from your… friend,” she said, “I’d like a word.”
Gamelyn shot a glance to Rob, who still did not look up. “Rob?” he murmured.
“I’ll meet you in t’ stables,” was Rob’s terse murmur, and he escaped as the Abbess walked over to them.
And it was unquestionably an escape, Gamelyn realized.
“He seems in a hurry.” The Abbess looked after Rob. “One would think he’d something to hide.”
It gave Gamelyn a sudden chill. With long-practiced effort, he shrugged it off and raised a poised, cool expression to the Abbess.
“Or,” she said, still watching Rob stride off—albeit less gracefully than before, “he’s like most villeins and decent wine is overmuch for him. A shame. Were you helping him to his horse, then?”
It seemed an accusation. Gamelyn lifted his chin. “I was merely seeing him to the gate. After all, we’ve known each other since we were, oh, about ten? Is there something you need?”
“You forgot this.” The Abbess held out his eating knife, pommel first. “You should never go anywhere without a good knife.”
“I have a….” He trailed off, realizing that Rob had his other knife, the quillion dagger sheathed at his right hip.
It was a very recognizable blade. Not a good mistake to make.
The Abbess gave Gamelyn a steady look, then lowered her gaze, and walked back the way she had come.
“WHAT TOOK you so long?” Rob was in Arawn’s stall, fussing with the saddle. John was there, brushing the black’s neck; he exchanged a glance first with Rob, then smiled at Gamelyn and gave him the brush with a dip of his head as he exited the box.
Gamelyn watched curiously as his slender figure seemed to meld soundlessly into the stable gloom and vanish, with barely the tread of bare feet to betray him. “The Abbess wanted a word with me.”
Rob seemed in a sudden temper, and his words betrayed it. “I wish you could just stay away from her.”
“It might prove difficult.” Gamelyn ran the horse brush playfully against Rob’s back.
It was shrugged off. “My da was right; that one’d be glad of an excuse to have me clapped in irons. She’d as soon see me whipped as look at me.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that.” Gamelyn sidled between Rob and his attention to Arawn.
“Gamelyn, if we aren’t—”
“Rob.” Gamelyn sidled closer. “Let’s talk of other things, eh?”
And when Rob started to speak again, Gamelyn shoved him up against the stall boards, bent, and kissed him. He tasted of win
e, mulled with spices, and suddenly gave a whimper and kissed Gamelyn back, with a ferocity that curled his toes and set his ears humming.
“Mm,” Rob said when they broke the kiss. “That’s not talking.”
“Says enough, though.”
A smirk. “P’rhaps it’s the sort of talking you were doing when I was standing before your da. Undressing me with your eyes, you were.”
“I couldn’t help it. I’ve never seen you so… polished and proper. My father was very impressed with how you’ve turned out.”
“And it gave you a proper rod in your pouch, then… aye, there it is.” Rob’s hand was down between his legs, cupping and stroking. “Still hard enough to make the stones weep in jealousy.” Rob began nibbling a heated line down his neck.
A rustle and creak made them both freeze. A rusty “mrr-ow” answered their wide-eyed search as one of the barn cats peered down at them from a rafter, moon eyes blinking.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t be doing this here.” His voice scaled up into a whimper as Rob began stroking him again.
“Wine makes a powerful argument,” Rob whispered against his ear. “How many times have you told me none comes this way ’cept you. Are y’ coming back to the caverns with me?”
“I probably should stay… God!”
Rob had slid his hand under the waist cord of Gamelyn’s braies.
“Shh.” A hand over Gamelyn’s mouth. “So you’re here to just tease me? Or, are you going to take some convincing? Marion’s got pottage waiting. And we’ve the whole forest to shag ourselves silly in. Or would you just prefer that I bend the knee again, right here and now, before we go anywhere?”
“I would prefer us to be quiet.”
“Good luck with that,” Rob snorted.
Gamelyn started to protest again, found it dying into dormancy as Rob made no more promises, knelt down, and put those promises into actions.
GAMELYN PUT on a peasant’s cap and overtunic he found in the stables and walked out with Rob in full sight of the guards. They rode double on Arawn once they got past the outer gates, made a circuitous route back to the little cavern, and got there just as the sun was beginning to set.
Marion was waiting for them—Gamelyn could smell the pottage she had cooking, and it made him so fumble-fingered that Rob shooed him away from where they were seeing to Arawn.
“Go on, then! You’ll rust my brasses, slavering so. Sweet Lady, it’s just pottage!”
“Your sister’s pottage,” Gamelyn swore, “is fit for kings.”
Rob snorted, waved him on yet again. Gamelyn didn’t wait for a third dismissal.
The fire dried his damp toes, and the pottage—made with the smoke pork left at the altar, plenty of greens, and the roots Marion had found—warmed his belly.
He found, however, that he hadn’t considered the full consequences of having a third member to their party when he and Rob crawled beneath the furs and Marion piled in beside them.
“You’re….” Gamelyn tried to voice it more than once, finally forced it outward. “You’re sleeping with us?”
Marion arched an eyebrow upward, and Rob sat up, frowning. “Of course she’s sleeping with us.”
“But… she’s….”
“Aye?” Marion asked, crossing her arms. She was kneeling at the pallet’s foot, clad in her thin undertunic.
“Your sister,” Gamelyn finished, knowing how stupid it sounded even as it did sound. “I can’t sleep with your sister.”
“Why not? You sleep with me.”
“That’s different. You and I… well… we….”
Marion looked like she was trying not to laugh. Gamelyn swore—swore—that he saw a distinct quirk in her lip.
Rob, on the other hand, was not amused. “Bloody damn, Gamelyn! ’Twill be cool tonight. We’ve only room for the one pallet. Rutting and sleeping are two different things, y’know.”
“I know that, but—”
“Do you still have a thing for my sister, then?”
“No!”
“No need t’ sound like a ten-year-old girl. She doesn’t bite. Not as hard as me, leastways.” Rob shared a look with Marion, complete with twisty brows and the beginnings of a smirk, then turned back to Gamelyn. “Have you honestly never shared a bed in your life?”
“Well….” Gamelyn was beginning to feel distinctively defensive, and in more than the one way.
“Sounds bloody cold in winter,” Marion put in, actively smirking now.
“Bloody damn,” Rob said again, “but you nobles have things all t’ sixes and sevens.”
“I’ll sleep on Rob’s side, Sir Gamelyn. ’Less you want me to sleep over there by you.”
Gamelyn threw a beseeching look at Rob, who cut a glare at Marion.
“You,” he said to her, then pointed at the pallet next to him. “Here. And you?” He reached out, pulled Gamelyn down on the opposite side. “Here.”
Marion was snickering, now. “Evil wench,” Gamelyn heard Rob mutter, but it didn’t stop Marion from continuing to snicker as she snuggled down into the crook of Rob’s arm. “Never seen such nonsense in all me days.”
Then he brushed a kiss along Gamelyn’s cheek and settled down between them.
Gamelyn was sure he’d likely not sleep a wink, contemplating what all was in bed with him, but when he woke the next morning, warm and snug, all of them curled together like littermates in a den, it filled his heart with such comfort that he could hardly breathe around it.
HE DIDN’T leave that next morning. He stayed the next night and through the next, feeling as if he’d come into the fae lands, or Avalon.
Eden.
They spent the days lounging and hunting; they spent the nights counting stars or wishing they could count them and retiring into the cavern with the sounds of rain pattering against the green. They’d sit by the fire and tell stories, or argue—carefully—theology, or do any of the little chores that seemed to need doing, from mending a ripped cape to oiling leathers.
Marion was very good about taking solitary walks—once she realized that her presence rather put Gamelyn off the notion of sexing her brother—and it was only then that Gamelyn remembered the foresters’ cottage at Loxley had only the one room. Perhaps privacy was something he’d quite taken for granted.
Rob liked it better out-of-doors, anyway.
And they were making plans. Some of them had Rob wide-eyed, as if watching an archery contest from archer to butt to archer again, back and forth from Gamelyn to Marion as they plotted.
“King Richard is looking for soldiers for the Holy Land,” Gamelyn opined. “I’ve my horse and my blood, a good sword and lance and mail. You could be my squires—”
“I am not spending my days with a bunch of unwashed men,” Marion nixed that. “Even dressed as some boy.”
“I’m not leaving the Wode,” Rob protested. “I canna. I waint.”
“You could go on to the monastery,” Marion countered. “Lots of books, learning and good meals, regular-like.”
“No sex,” Rob pointed out.
“Depends on the monastery,” Gamelyn had to admit. “At least, according to Brother Dolfin. And if I was an… oblate, say?”
“A what?”
“Someone who hasn’t taken the vows, but is learning.”
“Find a place near the forest, and I’m for it.” Rob nodded.
They had options, at least. Perhaps Eden wasn’t so impossible after all….
“Come with us to the Fête,” Marion said. “Rob and I have to go back, we promised… if you come with us, you’ll know, then, what you need to do.”
Gamelyn frowned. “Fête?”
“Beltain. Mayday, surely you know that?”
He did. But….
“It’s important,” Rob said. “It would answer your questions. Every one of my people that can travel, young and old, will be there. It’s to celebrate the coming of summer, to make the planting. The Marriage is made, Hunter and Maiden, seed and womb. A child born fr
om that union is doubly blessed, full of t’ magic. Marion was conceived on Beltain. So was I.”
“Hunter? But you’re the Hunter.” Another frown.
“Not while me da is alive.” Rob leaned over, kissed him. “You and I could make some magic, though. We can take our partners as we please on Mayday in particular.”
“So it’s a ritual, then,” Gamelyn said, hesitant.
“And a blessing no less to us than your mass is for you,” was Rob’s answer. “Marion’s right—if you come with us, you’ll know.”
A Christian nobleman at a Heathen festival… a year ago it would have seemed impossible. But then, a year ago none of them would have even entertained the possibility of leaving Yorkshire.
The third night came, and Gamelyn lay awake.
He had to go back. He had to start things in some sort of motion, see how his father was, settle some things.
Otherwise, they would be hiding forever.
Entr’acte
“MY BROTHER. With that.”
“I realize it is difficult to fathom, my lord—”
“Difficult to… fathom?” Johan growled, very slow. “And you… saw him with this peasant. With this peasant… lad.”
“I watched them in the great hall, as I told you. Their language was… too intimate for mere friends. So I followed them to the stable. I wasn’t quite expecting to see as much as I did… they were disgustingly brazen.” She grimaced. “I blame the peasant. They have the morals of minks. But there was no doubt what they were doing. After, I followed them to the gatehouse and watched them ride off into the forest together.”
“It’s enough to make a man want to—”
A knock sounded at the door to the spacious chamber.
“Come!” Johan said, and his voice was not steady.
One of his guard captains came in, bowed first to him, then the Abbess. “My lord. Reverend Lady.”
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