by Eli Easton
“I survived my brothers for fourteen years. I’m no fool, William. I beg you to have some faith in me. You are not alone in this.”
William felt his will slipping. He knew he would approve the plan in a heartbeat as a military commander. And he did trust in Christian’s strength and agility, his cleverness. He did. But his heart did not want to let Christian anywhere near Lord Somerfield or his forces. It was bad enough that Somerfield had Elaine.
“You must make no move without me,” William ordered. “You will return in one week—sooner if you can. And you will not take risks. No sneaking into Elaine’s quarters, no going into private areas, no risky questions that would give you away. Swear to me, Christian.”
Christian hesitated. “I swear to you that my dearest wish is for us to be together safe again, and that I will act in no way to endanger that.”
Christian moved even closer to William as he spoke, his eyes full of a fierce affection. A wave of desire dried up William’s demands along with his ability to form any words at all. It seemed the more he had of Christian, the more helplessly he wanted him. They’d seen no one for the past two days, had no one’s eyes upon them, accusing or otherwise. And he knew this could be their last night alone. He wanted one more taste. Dear heaven, just one more.
“Have no fear,” Christian said softly. He ran long fingers along William’s jaw. “I will slip in and out like a shadow.”
“You put much faith in your… charms,” William said mildly, even though he was already stiffening.
Christian smiled slyly. “I do. I bought something for us in Kendal.”
He went to his horse and pulled a wrapped object from the saddlebags. He showed it to William. It was a small stoppered jar.
“Poison?” William asked warily.
Christian laughed. “By the blood, I pray not, considering where this is going.”
Christian uncorked the jar and dabbed some on his fingers. It was golden in color. He ran it over William’s lips. William tasted it.
“Oil?”
“Linseed oil.”
“For cooking?”
Christian corked the jar and wrapped his arms around William’s neck, standing on his toes to murmur in William’s ear. “For easing your way into my passage.”
William’s heart seemed to leave his chest and get stuck in his throat. He clasped Christian’s sides and burrowed his face into Christian’s neck. William groaned as lust shook him, and his cock became as solid as his iron sword. “Is that—you cannot want that.”
“I want it,” Christian said fiercely. “This may be our last chance, William. I want to try everything.”
“You are a saucy wanton,” William muttered in a tone that said it was a quality he greatly admired.
He pressed Christian tightly and felt him harden as they strove to get closer, as if they could merge flesh, mouths kissing hot and sweet. William was so primed his cock ached like a sore tooth. He certainly had thought about being inside Christian, not only at the river but every time since—about Christian’s long legs wrapped around him, his lovely arse…. But William would never have asked such a thing of another man and particularly not of a knight. He had too much respect for Christian to ask it.
“Are you sure?” William pulled away from Christian’s kiss. “If it is our last, I want you to enjoy it. I want to give you pleasure.”
“I want it, William, I swear. I want to know what it’s like. Don’t deny me.”
William held himself in check with great determination as he kissed Christian, divested him of every stitch of clothing, and settled him onto the blanket. The act Christian offered seemed to awaken even more tenderness and protectiveness in William than usual. He wanted to kiss and soothe and touch Christian everywhere, preparing him for what he hoped was their mutual bliss.
Only with Christian did William want to take his time like this. Only with him did every touch and every moment William spent drinking his fill with his mouth and eyes spur his arousal higher. When he’d been with women, he’d always been eager to get it over with, sensing he might lose interest.
He could never lose interest in Christian. Christian’s hard, lean body, soft skin, dusky nipples, and jutting cock all worked on William like a dangerous love potion.
Christian let him do as he would, not hurrying him, though his sex was rigid and glistening with arousal and his eyes burned with far-gone desire. William ran his hand over Christian’s chest and stomach and hips again and again. His own cock throbbed each time Christian made an involuntary little gasp. But eventually Christian dug in his heels and lifted his hips.
“Use the oil on me,” Christian said, his voice rough.
William, shaking, obliged. He poured some of the oil into the center of his hand and stroked it over Christian’s stiff cock. Christian arched upward in pleasure and hissed.
“Not there! I will spend in an instant. I beg you.” He spread his thighs and moved over a little so he could pull his knees toward his chest, opening himself up.
It was the most shameless, vulnerable, and erotic thing William had ever seen. He blushed, even as his eyes fell to the pale perfection, and to the tight pink bud Christian revealed so wantonly.
William’s fingers shook as he smoothed oil over that tender flesh, making it slick.
Christian moaned. “Press in.”
William pressed one oily finger gently against the pucker, then, when it did not give, more firmly. The tip of his finger sank in. Christian made an incoherent sound.
“Further,” he demanded almost churlishly.
William thrust the finger deep, determined not to be mawkish in his inexperience. Christian cried out in shock and pleasure. And God’s teeth, the way his channel felt around William’s finger—grasping and hot and slick with the oil. William almost spent against Christian’s thigh like a callow youth.
He muttered Christian’s name and thrust his finger in and out, mesmerized by the sight of it disappearing into Christian’s body. Gradually the tight ring slackened a little against him.
Christian pulled at his arms, trying to get William to lie atop him. “Now, William. I pray you.”
William resisted only long enough to coat his cock with the oil. Then he dropped the jar and covered Christian fully with his body, using his hand to guide himself to the entrance.
He paused there, his face inches from Christian’s, lost in those dark eyes. For a moment they stared at each other, their locked gaze so intense it did not bear breaking, not even for the act they both desperately wanted. Then Christian thrust up his hips. “Breach me,” he demanded.
William pushed in, feeling the resistance. His cock was much larger than his finger and Christian was so tight. He stopped when Christian’s face showed pain. But slowly, slowly, inch by inch, retreat and pursue, he sank deep. Finally he was buried to the hilt and there was only the grasping intimacy and ecstasy of being inside Christian’s body.
Nature took over, causing William to thrust again and again, now fast to spur them upward, now slow to keep it from ending too quickly. He loved the feel of having Christian underneath him, pressed flesh to flesh, of being so intimately united with his body. They kissed. They stared into each other’s eyes. Christian’s hands roamed over William’s back. And all the while, Christian’s channel stroked and suckled William’s most sensitive flesh, giving him blinding pleasure. Emotions chased across Christian’s face, making it clear he was just as affected.
When William could hold back no longer, he rose up onto his heels and pulled Christian into his lap. Poised thus, William could thrust deeply and stroke Christian at the same time. It only lasted a matter of seconds, but the moment burned permanently into William’s brain—the sight of Christian’s slender body, that beautiful face, those eyes so loving and passionate gazing into his. Christian’s cock, so decadent and stiff in William’s hand as he stroked it, Christian’s pale, muscular thighs lying over his, and the sight and sensation of his own cock plunging into that beautiful bo
dy.
In that moment, William knew that this was it for him—the pinnacle of sexual and romantic bliss. Nothing would ever match it—nothing could come close to being as lovely, erotic, and arousing as Christian, just like this, letting William take him. Not a woman, not even another man, if William ever dared such. This was the moment he would take to his grave.
I love you, William thought as his peak ripped through him like a tempest. And even as he recognized the significance of the moment, he was mourning the fact that he would very likely never have it again.
Chapter 14
Christian awoke before dawn. He gently disengaged himself from William, assuring himself first that William was asleep. When he rose, he paused for a moment to stare down at his lover.
By the saints, Sir William Corbet was a handsome man, so healthy and strong. The sight moved Christian, the way he felt moved by a perfect sunset or the view of green rolling plains from a hilltop. He knew it might be the last time he ever saw William, so he allowed his gaze to linger. But soon the ache it provoked in his chest was too much, too large a threat to his will, and he made himself move.
He left his blanket with William and quietly led Livermore out of the camp. If William woke, he would only have more doubts about letting Christian go to the castle, and leaving him behind would just be that much more difficult.
Christian rode all morning, his nerves prickling like live wires when he thought of what he was about to do. When the walls of the castle were close, Christian turned Livermore into the woods. He found a small stream and unpacked his saddlebags. He drew out his purchases: a rolled length of bandaging, a white wimple, a blue linen gown, and a pair of women’s simple black shoes.
Christian had never done this before, and it took him some time. He shaved his chin very carefully and soothed it with the linseed oil. He would have to do that often—he could not forget. He bound his cock and bollocks back between his legs and then dressed, bunching the excess bandages in his bodice and shaping them as best he could.
He put on the wimple, which hid his hair and draped over his gown. It helped mask the unnatural shape of his bosom. When he was done, he stood and looked at himself, head to toe, in the slow-moving water of the stream.
Fear spread its icy finger through his chest.
God’s wounds, this was an insane idea! How could anyone look at him and not see Christian Brandon, a man? How had he ever thought of such a disastrous plan?
His panic held him tightly for several seconds, and then he forced himself to look again, this time with the eye of a stranger. A very odd creature stared back at him, half woman, half man. He blinked. Mostly a woman?
I can do this. I can.
He had thought of it some days back, before he’d ever broached with William the subject of spying in the castle. But he knew if he told William everything he planned, there was no way William would allow it. By Christ’s toes, he’d barely gotten William to agree to let him go to the castle at all, just to get the lay of things.
But as Christian had pondered their situation, he’d come to one inescapable conclusion—their best chance of freeing Elaine was Somerfield’s death.
Yes, there was a chance they might be able to spirit Elaine away, that there might be a time and a place within her daily routine that would allow it, or that her rooms would be but lightly guarded, or even that Christian could get her a message and she could extract herself from her warders and meet them outside the bailey’s walls. But there was also a chance that it might not be so. If Somerfield was the beast he was reputed to be, it was unlikely Elaine would have that kind of liberty. And even if they managed to escape with her and the children, her absence would quickly raise the alarm, and they’d be pursued by Somerfield’s army.
Christian was not completely dismissing that scenario. But he was prepared to go further—should the opportunity present itself. And it was much more likely to present itself in this guise, as was the chance of getting close to Elaine.
Christian looked down at himself critically. His hands were too large. He would have to hide them as much as possible. And by the Holy Virgin, he had not thought of the archer’s calluses on his right hand! If anyone noticed those, he was done for. Christian was not unusually tall for a man, but his height was noticeable for a woman. And his voice…. He practiced a falsetto, but it sounded laughable to his ears. He would have to speak as little as possible. The wimple hid his throat, which was all too male, and accentuated his face, which was the disguise’s best hope. Or so he thought.
When he’d first thought of the plan, he’d been swept up by its cleverness, by the irony of it. His brothers had told him so oft, and so disdainfully, that he was pretty, womanly, soft. That he might use this hated aspect of himself to his advantage was too delicious to resist.
But now, his reflection seemed to only emphasize what was male about him, which was much. He’d spent his whole life acting as masculine and cold as possible. So it was not a woman’s face that looked back at him. He tried to soften it, smiled sweetly at the water. It was an improvement. But would he not revert back to the familiar the moment his attention wandered? It was dangerous.
“Courage,” he whispered over his pounding heart. “I can do this. I shall.”
If caught out, a man dressing as a woman, he would most likely be killed on the spot, if not for a spy, then for an abomination. William would be frothing at the mouth if he knew Christian was attempting this. He would murder Christian if he found out.
Nevertheless, the thought of William calmed him. William.
Christian would save William. He would be clever and invisible and bold.
Resolved, he untied Livermore’s reins and gave the horse a nudge and a pat. “Back to Tristan with you. Go on.”
Livermore looked at Christian indignantly for a moment and then took off at a gallop back to camp.
Christian walked on foot toward the castle.
Chapter 15
“Take this and hurry up with ya!” The cook, Hilde, thrust out a platter bearing an enormous roast goose that was set around with crab apples.
Christian took it, placing both hands on the bottom of the platter to keep them out of view. Not for the first time, he was surprised at the strength women needed to have. By the saints! The platter was damned heavy. He couldn’t imagine his sister Ayleth carrying such a thing. But then, Ayleth was a lady, not a servant. Christian carried it up the stairs toward the dining hall.
It had not been difficult to get work at the castle. There seemed to be a steady exodus of servants from Lord Somerfield’s care and keeping, and Christian had already witnessed enough to understand why.
Lord Somerfield was not quite the age of Christian’s father, but he was close. His hair was still full, but the midnight was shot through with bitter gray, as if his brain’s poisonous thoughts were slowly leaking out. Somerfield’s face was broad, with a sharp nose and full lips. He’d been handsome once, but now indulgence and cruelty had twisted his features, and they were bloated and coarse. His legs were thick and muscled, but a heavy paunch hung above them. Twice in the five days Christian had been here, he’d witnessed Lord Somerfield strike a servant at table. Once because the servant put a pitcher down badly, interrupting Lord Somerfield’s conversation with a bang and sloshing the contents. The other time it seemed the blow had come for no reason at all, except that the servant had gotten too close to the lord at table and Somerfield had smacked him down for it.
Lady Elaine sat next to her husband at every evening meal. She was pretty but wan and egregiously thin. She kept her eyes downcast and her face studiously blank. Christian never saw her during the day. Her rooms, along with the children’s—a girl a year old and another girl aged three—were in the southwest tower, its entrance well-guarded at all times. Christian might have been able to slip Elaine a message in the dining hall, but it would endanger them both, and to what end? To entreat her to escape would be like asking a fish to get off the fisherman’s hook, and even g
iving her news that help was at hand might make her act in a risky manner.
Christian placed the platter of goose on the lord’s table. He dared a glance at Lady Elaine, and she looked up just then and met his eyes. It was only a brief moment, but she did smile ever so slightly before casting her eyes back downward.
As Christian backed away from the table, he glanced at Somerfield.
Somerfield was staring at him with a heavy, hooded look that Christian recognized all too well. His heart slammed against his ribs in a rush of excitement and fear. He dropped his eyes and backed away completely.
In the five days Christian had been in the castle, he’d been surprised that his identity had never once been questioned. Everyone accepted him at face value. And why not? Who would dream of a man choosing to dress as a woman? There had been some glances at his hands, times when he’d had to take a pitcher or scrub the floor, unable to shield them. But they were only glances of curiosity, people probably thinking his hands were unfortunately unbecoming for a woman. Christian had managed to speak little, and his voice was not questioned either. For that matter, the cook herself sounded like a grizzled old man, perhaps from so many hours spent bending over a smoky fire.
Indeed, the most dangerous aspect of Christian’s role thus far had been avoiding the interest he had received from various male admirers. Apparently he was attractive as a woman after all. Christian had said he was married, pulled strongly away from grasping hands, and stayed in the kitchen as much as possible. His admirers had few chances of catching him alone there.
Christian had sympathy for maidens for the first time in his life.
Because he was relatively cultured-looking for a serving wench, the castle steward had assigned him to serve in the dining hall. That had been his first real stroke of luck.
Christian went back down to the kitchen for more platters. Cook handed him a large wooden bowl of what looked like stuffed intestines covered with mushrooms. It smelled pungently sour.
