Christian smirked. “I thought it would build my leg muscles and improve my reflexes.”
“I’m sure it did,” William said seriously, choking back a laugh.
“In truth, the name was meant as an insult.” Christian shrugged. “But it suits me. A crow knows how to get away from its enemies, sitting up high in a tree, watching, invisible. It sees the moment to attack, swoops in, and stings— snatching a sparkling treasure or a bit of prey, and ’tis gone again before it’s even seen. It’s clever and bold, but never foolhardy. That is my warrior’s road.”
William couldn’t help smiling to himself at the earnestness of Christian’s description. He had the pride of any young warrior, still in love with the dream of his own ferocity.
“And you, Sir William? You’re called the Lion. Your strength and bravery is much lauded. But how would you describe your warrior’s road?”
“Me?” William composed his face into a serious scowl. “I sunder things with my sword. Oft.”
Christian blinked at him for a moment and then started laughing. He covered up his mouth as if embarrassed at how it made him look. William felt a wave of anger that Christian had been forced to learn such restraint. He wanted to pull down that hand, to say,
Laugh. Laugh Christian, for there is none here to chide you for it
, but he didn’t. Instead, William smiled back, then he caught Christian’s laughter as if it were a spark, and they chuckled together easily for a good while.
When their laughter died down, William stretched out his legs towards the fire, accepted Christian’s offer of the last swig of wine, and thought about all that Christian had said. He flushed with shame, remembering how it had felt to stand in front of Lord Brandon and admit that his own father refused to help Elaine. But he attempted a teasing tone.
“I’m glad you told me why you joined my hopeless cause. ’Tis good for a man to know where he stands.”
“William… that— that is not the only reason I came with you.”
Christian’s voice was quiet, but there was something in it that made the hair on the back of William’s neck stand up. He looked at Christian then. Christian stared back at him— and held.
William was used to Christian avoiding eye contact of late. But not this time; not tonight. William gazed into those eyes, caught by a pull he couldn’t break. And what he saw in those fire-lit fields of golden brown was an undeniable invitation. Just as their laughter had done, heat jumped from Christian to William, spreading through him, pooling heavily in his groin, and causing his pulse to race like a bolting horse.
At last William swallowed and tore his gaze away. He could feel his face blazing as he struggled to control his body and his thoughts.
“’Tis late,” William said. His voice did not sound like his own. “We should rest.”
He got up and, without looking at Christian again, began his nightly preparations.
****
CHAPTER 7
Sir William lay sleepless that night, watching the dying embers. He was thinking about Edmund. Edmund, his older brother— handsome, quick to smile Edmund, beloved so intently by William, Elaine, and their father. He’d been lost in a battle in Wales when he was only twenty-eight.
William had worshipped Edmund as only a younger brother can. He told him everything. Now he could not stop replaying a conversation they’d had, over and over in his mind. William had been fourteen.
“I need to seek your advice, brother,” William had asked with utmost seriousness.
“My word, it sounds ominous,” Edmund teased. “Did you steal a piece of cook’s pie? And if so, where’s my share?”
“’
Tis
serious,” William protested. “Will you promise to guard my secret?”
It was something they said to one another, Edmund and he, as if secrets were gems that could be locked away in a box.
“Aye. Speak from your heart, Will.”
William could not bear to look into his brother’s eyes. His face heated. “Is it normal for a boy my age to… to have lust?”
Edmund laughed. “More normal than whiskers. More normal than lice.”
“I do not have lice!”
Edmund laughed again.
“Be serious! Is it normal even if you lust for… for…”
“Speak up!” Edmund urged. “Is it Dame Mendelsohn?”
William was aghast. Dame Mendelsohn was gray-haired and wizened. “No!”
“What then? Be not afraid.”
“Other boys.” William stuck his chin out fiercely and met his brother’s gaze.
Edmund studied him for a moment and then laughed. “Aye. ’Tis normal enough. You’re a Corbet male and you’ve fourteen summers. Not even the suckling pigs are safe.”
“But.…” William was astonished by the easy acceptance.
Edmund leaned in and winked. “Any inch of skin, any curve of ass will stir the blood at your age. ’Tis a natural drive, brother. Virility! You’ll thank God for it once you’ve a wife to swive. Our grandfather was still bedding wenches two at a time in his seventies!”
His smiling face grew serious. “But be careful where you stick it, Will. Messing with a boy or two might be tolerated at your age, but not much older. Find a woman grown, a widow perhaps. They love to tutor a boy still wet behind the ears. Only make sure she’s clean. The pox is a living hell.”
“I understand,” William said, though he didn’t.
Edmund’s face grew darker. “There isn’t a man sniffing around you, is there? That’s tutoring of a sort you don’t need.”
William recognized the murderous glint in his brother’s eye. He spoke hurriedly. “No, I swear. ’Tis only in my own head.”
Edmund relaxed and ruffled his hair. “In your head? Or your hand? Perhaps I should find you a wench, ’ey? Give you a release for all that lust before you get yourself into trouble.”
William sputtered and prevaricated and managed to get out of an imminent intervention by his brother. The idea of Edmund taking him to an older woman was terrifying. And not long after, Edmund had left for war and had never returned.
Messing with a boy or two might be tolerated at your age, but not much older.
Now that William was grown and had travelled widely, he knew the truth was both more complex and darker. Some knights used their squires for sexual release. He’d heard it in the dark around him on the road on many occasions. While it was generally tolerated, he thought it an abuse of power, and his respect for the men who did it diminished, especially upon seeing more than a few squires who obviously did not relish the role and appeared beaten down.
Still, to use a boy in such a way was largely overlooked, as long as it happened away from home, when men had no alternative. As long as it
was
a boy.
There was a name for men who preferred other men— sodomites. They were publically shunned here, but on the continent such men were burned. There had been treatises calling for the same in England.
Prince Edward II was rumored to be a sodomite, granting outrageous favors to his male lover. But he was despised for it. And then too, it had always been the case that the debauchery that was tolerated at court was a far cry from what was acceptable anyplace else.
The one thing that William was certain of was that it was shameful to want, to bed, another man. So even if the desire had never left him, he had faithfully ignored it. He suspected he did not enjoy women as much as the next man, despite the Corbet virility, and he still found his eye drawn appreciatively to the male form now and again. But it had never been so irresistibly strong, nor so accessible, that he’d acted upon it. All visitors to his bed had been female.
But now he was alone on the road with Sir Christian Brandon. It wasn’t only Christian’s unusual beauty that provoked William. If he’d been merely a doll with a cold heart, William could have dismissed him readily enough. No, there was something about Christian that struck a deeper chord— a warmth, sweetness, and vulnerability in his deep brown eyes, the hint of shyness, and a need to please that peeked through the mask of cold strength that he wrapped around himself like a disguise. William felt almost bewitched at times, so strong was the urge to protect the man, to stare at him, to brush against him as if by accident, or clap a hand on his shoulder, to make him smile.
God’s wounds!
Worst of all, it was not only himself that William had to guard against. For he was beginning to feel certain that Christian… that Christian was… that he was a lover of men—
Sodomite? Evil, odious word. He could not make himself apply it to Christian.
—and that Christian wanted William too.
That is not the only reason.
The heat in those eyes in the firelight.
William’s cock throbbed and ached, despite having already relieved his lust once before bed, off in the woods. He groaned in frustration and turned onto his stomach, grinding his inflamed flesh into the stony ground. He would discourage by pain what he could not seem to discourage by duty and logic.
Sir William Corbet would not dishonor himself, nor Christian. He would
not
.
****
CHAPTER 8
It felt like he’d been asleep only a few hours, and the moon was still high, when a hand gently shook William’s shoulder. He woke and started to speak, but a hand covered his mouth. Christian’s dark eyes were inches from his own.
“Bandits,” Christian whispered.
William’s hand reached for his sword even as he blinked his eyes to clear them. He strained his ears. He heard a soft sound from the brush, barely there.
And then Christian was gone, melting into the darkness in a crouch. William stood, thrusting off his bedroll and readying his sword. He withdrew it from its sheath quietly, but the metal still sang a soft song in the night. There was a shout and they were attacked.
William’s eyes were adjusted to the night, and the light of a full moon turned the world a silvery blue. He could see well enough, and he could see that they were outnumbered. Five men came out of the woods, two of them larger than William, and all of them rough and vicious-looking. Hell, he could already smell them. They were predators. Maybe they’d been soldiers once, but now they looked eager to skin William and Christian alive for their horses and whatever bits of gold and food they carried.
Christian.
William felt a sudden stab of fear for Christian and he glanced around. With any knight in this situation, he’d prefer to fight back-to-back. But Christian was nowhere to be seen.
William felt a surge of disappointment that was surprising in its acuteness. He had been starting to trust Christian. But the young knight was a coward after all. It was true, the odds stank. But you did not desert a comrade in battle.
The five men drew in tighter, two of them moving around to encircle William. He raised his broadsword above his right shoulder and half crouched. As a younger knight, he might have hurried to attack, trying to gain an advantage by sheer audacity and surprise, but now he knew better. He waited, letting the anger and bloodlust curl in his veins and infuse his body with power. He’d let his attackers make the first mistake.
Where was Christian?
The two men directly in front of him raised their swords and rushed forward.
It happened so fast, it took several breaths for William to realize what was taking place. The largest bandit, directly in front of him, suddenly jerked backwards, like a fish on a hook. An instant later, the man next to him clutched his throat, gurgling. Through the grasping hands, William saw a feathered stick.
Arrows.
Christian had not left him.
With a grin and a roar, William spun around, swinging his sword. One of the bandits stumbled back to avoid it while another, a man that had not been anywhere
near
William’s blade, suddenly clutched at his throat and then went to his knees.
William looked at the dying man, just a tad annoyed. But the last two bandits were running now. William took chase with a battle cry, determined to sunder
something
.
He heard the arrows coming just before they hit—
thwunk, thwunk
, seconds apart. The remaining bandits went down, one with an arrow cleanly shot to his heart— dead instantly. The other took one in the shoulder. He clutched at it with a scream of pain and stumbled on. A moment later, a second arrow through the back finished the job.
William stood in the clearing, his sword pointed at nothing, breathing hard. He looked around at the five corpses. He scratched his head. A lithe figure separated from the shadows of the trees and approached.
“Let me explain to you the etiquette of battles,” William said tightly as Christian joined him.
The younger knight’s cheeks were flushed with excitement, the rosy hue dark in the gray light of the moon. Christian blinked at him, his proud smile faltering. “Uh…”
“It’s considered polite to leave me
at least one
!” William shouted. He thrust the tip of his sword in the ground, underscoring his point.
Christian bit his lips. “I… I’m sorry, William. I guess I got caught up.”
“You got caught up.”
Christian looked around at the bodies. “Well… five is not very many. I could easily have taken out twice that in as much time.”