by Eli Easton
Christian came first, the sounds William was making and the stuttering hardness of the cock in his mouth pushing him to ecstasy. He ground against William’s leg and a moment later, felt William’s cock jerk and seed fill his mouth. He hadn’t accounted for swallowing it, but William was too lost in pleasure to release his head, and so he took it, pulse by pulse, as his own orgasm ripped through him. The baseness of the act only made him come harder.
Somehow they ended up side by side again, Christian on his back breathing hard.
“You are…,” William began, his voice still a bit wobbly.
Christian waited.
“That was…,” William tried again.
Christian smiled up at the stars. “I won that round?” he suggested.
“By my sword, you win them all.”
Chapter 12
“I have thought on a plan to free Lady Elaine,” said Christian, as they rode through the forest three days later.
They were nearly at the village of Kendal. It would be the last town before crossing the mountains and approaching Somerfield’s remote castle on the wild coastline of northwest England. As they drew closer and closer to Somerfield’s lands, Christian could sense William’s concern for Elaine growing. And he could see it in the stony set of William’s countenance as they rode through long days. He was mentally preparing himself for battle.
Perhaps even preparing himself for death.
And yet, William never completely turned from him. Their blankets were now routinely placed together, and William had no hesitation in reaching for Christian. He made love each night as tenderly and fiercely as any lover could, taking his own turn at exploring Christian’s body. It was unprecedented bliss. And the overpowering emotion that Christian had for William—as unnamed and unknowable as some mythical giant—settled deeper and deeper into his bones every day.
He could not give up William. He would not. He’d never been surer of anything in his life. But Christian knew it was useless to argue, so he spoke no more about plans for the future. His thoughts for now had to be centered on a more urgent goal—finding a way for William to simply survive the rescue of Elaine.
“What is your plan then, Crow?” William asked in a tone studiously neutral. “Nay. I’ve thought better on it. I need ale for this. We’ll dine at the alehouse up ahead, and you can tell me when I’m fortified.”
He said it in a teasing manner, but Christian could see the worry in him all the same.
William dismounted in the Kendal village square. “I want to ask around about Somerfield. You said his castle lies on the other side of yon mountain range.”
“’Tis so.”
“Then there should be some knowledge of him here. We’ll dine at the alehouse later.”
That suited Christian very well. While William was off replenishing their supplies and questioning the locals, he was able to make the purchases he needed. He packed them out of sight in his saddlebags where William would not see them. It took the last of his coin, but it would be worth it.
When they met up again, William looked thunderous.
“What did you learn?” Christian asked.
“That Lord Somerfield is a vicious, pockmarked bastard, and that everyone in his household fears him. ’Tis said Lady Elaine sits at his side meekly, so well beaten she never speaks a word, even when he fondles wenches in front of her.”
“Someone told you that?” Christian said in disbelief. People did love to gossip, but normally they were less critical of men who held Somerfield’s level of power.
“That was the sense of it. I would give my eyeteeth to castrate Somerfield and cast his innards to the dogs.” William glowered.
“Very poetic. At least we know Elaine is still alive,” Christian pointed out.
William looked at him sharply as if that hadn’t even occurred to him. He sighed. “True enow. Come, Christian,” he growled. “I need a pint.”
The Kendal alehouse was like many others they’d seen on the road—a dim place that smelled of unwashed bodies and grilling meat. It was nauseating. After so many days on the open road, Christian had lost his ability to filter out the stench of enclosed spaces. The half-timbered walls surrounded one large room with sturdy wooden tables and chairs. The ceiling was low, but not quite so low that William had to stoop. As usual, their entrance provoked plenty of stares. The least welcome came from a group of seven hardened-looking men sharing a table at the back. Something about the men made the hair on the back of Christian’s neck stand on end, especially when one of them, a smarmy brute with a crooked nose and cruel eyes, looked Christian up and down with mocking lechery.
They’re nothing to us. Ignore them. Nevertheless, Christian was glad he was with William and not by himself. William seemed to disregard the group after one glance, but he chose a small table close to the wall and took the chair that faced the men.
“Two plates, two pints,” William told the alewife.
“Aye, good knight,” she replied cheerfully—or at least, that’s what Christian thought she said. It was hard to tell since she had no teeth and a broad North Country accent.
The ale and food came quickly. The day’s plate contained sausages and mashed turnips. One bite, and Christian’s appetite returned with vigor. William downed half his pint and gave him an inscrutable look. “Well? Out with it. What is this plan you spoke of?”
Christian took a swig of ale and leaned forward eagerly. “As you have said, Somerfield knows your face. If you directly challenge him, it will go badly. Our best chance is to get Lady Elaine out by subterfuge. I will go to the castle and seek work as a servant—”
“Absolutely, and adamantly, no,” William said. Loudly.
By the saints, Christian could swear the man was not called the Lion for his valor but for his cantankerous roar. “You might hear me out before saying nay,” Christian said with some annoyance.
William frowned.
“I’ll seek work in the castle,” Christian continued in a quiet voice. “In a week’s time, I’ll learn in what rooms Lady Elaine is kept and what her schedule is—when she walks in the garden or attends confession. That way, we might find the best time and place to get her and the children out unobserved.”
“I do not want you entering that castle.”
“’Tis our best chance of success! You must consider Elaine. Our goal must be to free her and keep your head on your neck. And damn your pride, Sir William Corbet!”
William focused on his food for a few long moments, considering the proposition. Christian glanced around and noticed that Crooked Nose was staring at him again. The man licked his lips in an unmistakably lewd way. Christian felt a flush of anger. He was a knight and that was a blatant insult. But the man had a lot of friends, and Christian’s conversation with William was too important to get distracted. He turned back to his plate and took his irritation out on a piece of innocent sausage instead, slicing it through and chewing aggressively.
William spoke softly. “’Tis an ill thing to risk your neck for hers.”
“’Tis a very small risk,” Christian scoffed. “No one knows me there, and traveling laborers are as common as fleas. I will only be observing, after all.”
William said nothing, but his face was troubled, and he clutched his pint like it might try to escape. Christian leaned closer over the table and clenched his wrist. “I beg you, don’t make me watch you play the hero and die. Let me help you in this.”
“I like it not.”
“I am a knight,” Christian reminded him with a hint of ice in his voice. “A trained warrior.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just because I let you hold me as a woman, do not mistake me for such.”
William looked at him wryly. “Oh, I do not.”
“Then trust me to be a warrior. It only makes sense to assess the situation. I can do this.”
William finally nodded, but he did not look pleased about it. “If we can abduct Elaine and the babes away, ’twould be better. But if we cannot,
Christian, I will challenge Somerfield.”
“I know,” Christian said quietly.
“If we do this—”
William’s words died in his mouth as he looked up. A shadow fell across the table. Christian had been so caught up in the argument that he’d forgotten about the men in the back momentarily. Now they surrounded William and Christian’s table—all seven of them, hands on their sword hilts. Christian felt the dark stirring of dread.
The leader—Crooked Nose—wore a dangerous smirk. He gave William a mock bow. “Excuse me, sir knight, but we mean to borrow your companion for a time. A longish time, I think.”
A few of the other men chuckled. Christian found his dagger’s hilt on his belt even as he saw William’s hand was already on his sword.
“Explain your meaning. Very carefully,” William said, his voice thick with warning.
“I mean what I say. This pretty pup comes with us.” The man reached out to cup Christian’s chin, but his eyes held more loathing than desire.
Before Christian could move, William stood and grabbed the man’s forearm. “Leave now or you will lose this hand and anything it might take pleasure in grasping.”
In a heartbeat, William had four blades held up against him. He still grasped Crooked Nose’s arm with one hand and had drawn his own blade with the other, but the table, and the proximity of the men surrounding them, had not let him raise it.
Christian rose slowly to his feet and drew his dagger with a sense of icy resolve. He lifted his chin defiantly and allowed his rage to burn in his eyes. “The stench of you is ruining my meal. Walk away, or this ‘pup’ will cut your insulting tongue from your mouth.”
Crooked Nose gave Christian a brittle smile. “Careful, wench.” He looked at William with contempt. “We were told about you two. This one here”—he motioned at Christian—“he’s your woman. Now he’ll play ours, and happily, or we’ll drag you both to the town square and see what the good folk of Kendal will do with you. They’re not merciful to your kind round here.”
Christian felt the first real wave of fear at those words. They know. How could they know? And William…. William’s face flushed a shamed red, more humiliation than anger. Christian couldn’t help feeling betrayed by that stain, by William’s shame. This was going so horribly wrong.
“You mistake us for someone else. Now move along,” William commanded, but though his voice was firm, his blush gave them away.
“There’s no mistake,” the leader sneered. “Two knights traveling alone. One dark-haired and sweet as a maid—that’s what he said. And we’ll have our pound of flesh as well as the—”
Christian roared in anger. He put both hands against the heavy table and pushed hard. It went crashing over in William’s direction. But the movement scattered the men, and William leapt back out of the way, bringing up his sword and taking a battle stance.
Christian’s bow was secured on his saddle. All he had with him was his dagger, but he was prepared to fight to the death with it. The questions of how and why became irrelevant as he heard the first clash of William’s steel. All he knew or cared was that these men were a threat to him and more—a threat to he and William. He wanted them—yes, he wanted them dead.
The locals scattered as the brawl turned lethal. Christian narrowly avoided the swipe of a sword at his leg. He returned it with a violent slash down his attacker’s arm, producing a howl and a bright arc of blood.
Hemmed in, front and back, Christian leapt onto a nearby table where he could get in a quick look about for William. He’d gotten his back to the wall and was fighting off two attackers with great enthusiasm while one lay already dead at his feet. Thank God. One of the brutes ran toward Christian with a determined expression, sword in hand. Christian jumped over the man’s blade swipe and then planted a foot in his face as hard as he could. He felt the bone of the man’s nose give way, and the villain staggered backward with a gurgled cry. Another attacker, a short and greasy-looking man, replaced the first and very nearly cut off Christian’s hand, but Christian jerked it back just in time—just in time to feel a man from behind grab his ankles and yank them off the table. The wood rose to meet Christian’s face as he crashed down, and he raised his arms to protect himself. A club struck his hand, hard, and he dropped the dagger. A moment later he was pulled up and tossed over Crooked Nose’s shoulder like a trophy.
Christian raised his head from the rough wool of his captor’s back, trying to get his lungs to draw air. His eyes met William’s across the room. William was bloody but still standing amid the rubble of broken tables, chairs, and limbs. One of the swordsmen was crawling away on his elbows, the stump of his hand leaving a red stream in his wake. Another lay flat against the wall. He cracked his eyes open, saw Christian, and closed them again, playing dead. Christian took all this in in an instant, as well as the look of calm hatred on William’s face as he started stalking after Christian and his captor.
But Christian would be damned if he was going to be carried like some mewling bride or rescued like a princess from a dragon. He could feel mail under his abductor’s tunic, but his arms were clad in thin wool. He grabbed Crooked Nose’s sides for leverage and bit into the unprotected flesh on the back of one arm, digging his teeth in as hard as he could.
Crooked Nose cursed and dropped him. In a flash, Christian grabbed his dagger from the floor and, from his knees, plunged it straight up under Crooked Nose’s tunic and mail. The blade met soft flesh and the man screamed. He staggered away, going deathly white, and collapsed, holding his hands over his groin. Very likely he would be fathering no children. Christian was not the least bit sorry.
“Move,” William said, grabbing his arm and pulling him up. “We need to get out of Kendal.”
Christian realized the toothless alewife and several older, burly men who had taken refuge behind the bar were watching them. Their faces were fearful and… set hard. William was right. While they’d only defended themselves from attack, the idea of being questioned, of the accusations Crooked Nose had made being hashed over by the town authorities or even the baron of Kendal Castle was intolerable.
They left the alehouse, grabbed their horses, and rode as quickly as they could out of town.
When they were a safe distance from the town, they stopped at a stream to wash up. Christian had dried blood on his hands and sleeve, and he did the best he could to clean it off in the cold water.
William hadn’t said a word since they left the alehouse, and Christian’s sense of something being very wrong grew until he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“They couldn’t have known,” he said.
William was wiping down his sword. He carefully put it back in his sheath before he spoke. “Someone saw us.”
“It signifies naught. We’ll not come back this way again,” Christian argued firmly.
“We’ve taken too many chances.”
William still hadn’t looked at him, but his voice was heavy. No, don’t, Christian thought.
“It ends here.” William mounted his horse.
Christian was still squatting at the stream. He let his head fall and shook it in denial. This—this was what he’d feared. “William….”
“The price is too high if it means your life, Christian. Or my honor.”
“It’s not too high for me!” Christian said.
William set his jaw stubbornly. “You said we’d reach Somerfield’s castle in two days, so it was done soon anyway. It is what it is, Christian. Does no good for either of us to fight it.”
William turned Tristan and began to ride slowly away. Christian followed, his chest aching.
Chapter 13
It took them two-and-a-half days to cross the mountains on horseback. Christian remembered where to find the best path and where to avoid straying off it onto misleading shepherd’s trails. The fells were beautiful and much cooler than the lowlands, but neither man was in much of a mind to enjoy them. For two nights their blankets lay on opposite sides
of the fire, which made Christian so frustrated he wanted to rip apart the bare earth with his hands. They had so little time left as it was. But William seemed to have decided he was acting for Christian’s own good, and Christian knew he needed some time to realize he was… well, being a fool.
They descended to the foothills on the third day and made an early camp, still far enough away from the castle to feel safe.
“If I leave at sunrise,” said Christian, “I’ll arrive at the castle before midday.”
“I am still not easy about your going into the castle bailey alone to spy.”
“But we agreed,” Christian replied calmly. “My face is not known. I’ll get the lay of things and be back in one week. At best, I will learn something that gives you a better option. At worst, you’ve lost some time.”
William wiped his face with a large hand. “But if you’re caught as a spy….”
“I will not be caught.”
“You won’t be able to take your quiver. You’ll be vulnerable.”
Christian raised his gambeson to show off his wicked dagger. He removed it and looked around the clearing. In a heartbeat he raised the dagger overhand and threw it. It buried itself with a loud shht in the center of the trunk of a fat tree. “Not that vulnerable.” He went to retrieve it.
William chuckled for the first time in days. “Impressive, Crow. What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? Remind me to stay on your good side.”
Christian grinned with delighted pride. He pulled his knife free, and when he returned, he stepped far closer to William than was proper. The heat that was always banked between them stirred and rose. This time William did not pull away.
