“Are you saying I was too slow?” William said warningly.
“No! I—” Christian looked at him, aghast, but then saw the grin William was fighting to hide.
William suddenly guffawed with laughter. He pulled Christian in with a strong hand around the back of his neck, ruffling his hair and knocking their foreheads together. “By Christ’s toes, you are a show off! Trying to impress me, ’ey?”
Christian leaned into the touch, almost stumbling off his feet. But William pulled away, suddenly aware of their proximity. Christian had the grace to look abashed. “Well… I may have been showing off a little.”
“Well I may be a little impressed. And in the moonlight too!”
“It wasn’t that good,” Christian protested modestly. “It took me longer than I hoped to get up in the tree. And then I meant to get both the last two in the heart, seconds apart. That would have been impressive. But I missed and got a shoulder instead.”
“Toothless cur! You must try harder next time,” William teased.
He went to the nearest corpse and searched the body. He could almost feel the vermin crawling off the man and onto him, and the stench was overpowering, but he had to look. He found a large, soft pouch and tore it off the man’s belt. Opened, it revealed a nest of some sort. There were still a few embers in the firepit and he took it over to get a better look as Christian cast on a few more pieces of kindling.
The pouch was full of hair, human hair, a dozen colors at least, matted together.
The last of William’s humor faded and he looked up into Christian’s cold eyes and clenched jaw.
“They’re well dead,” Christian said darkly.
William nodded.
There was no remaining at the camp with the corpses, and dragging them into the woods was not distance enough. Neither one of them wanted to linger. So they packed up and headed out, with hours to go before dawn.
****
CHAPTER 9
That day they rode along a wide road, approaching Manchester. They’d be able to refill their wine and provisions in town, and Christian was looking forward to seeing it. He’d passed through it once, with Sir Allendale, but they had not stopped. He hoped for an eyeful of the church at least.
But though he relished travelling, the closer they drew to Somerfield’s lands, the more Christian’s mind worried at the problem of what would happen when they got there. He and William rode side by side on the wide track. They sang awhile— William had a very nice voice. And William talked about his first battle. Christian enjoyed listening to William’s tales, but when a comfortable silence fell, he broached the subject foremost on his mind.
“When we get to Somerfield’s castle, do you really intend to ask for an audience?”
“I do.”
“And you will tell him that you wish to take Elaine home for a visit?”
William narrowed his eyes at the road in front of him. “I will tell him I have come to take Elaine and her children back home.”
“By the Blood! You would.” Christian cursed.
William frowned at him. “What would you have me say?”
“Say that your father is quite ill. You wish to take Elaine and the children to visit him on his deathbed.”
William pursed his lips firmly. After a long moment, he spoke. “’Tis not a bad plan. But I dislike standing in a man’s hall and lying. A knight does not lie. And even if Somerfield bought the tale, he’d be a fool to allow all three of them to go. He’d keep the children so Elaine would have no choice but to return.”
Christian nodded. He’d already thought as much. “Are you sure Elaine would not leave the children? If she hates her husband so much—”
“Never,” William said without a trace of doubt. “Not Elaine. No matter what their sire has done.”
Christian’s chest tightened. “You would not seriously challenge Lord Somerfield to single combat?”
“I must. I can’t raise an army to defeat him. My only option is to get him to fight me man to man.”
“By the saints! You do not challenge a lord in his keep. He’ll have his guard grab you and behead you on the spot. Or perhaps he’ll lock you in the dungeon for a slow death!”
“
Enough
,” William snapped. “’Tis my own affair.”
Christian didn’t argue. They rode on for a bit, then William rubbed his chin pensively. “My best chance is to insult his pride. Somerfield is said to be cruel and vain, and he was a renowned fighter in his younger days. If I say he is too cowardly to face me one-on-one—”
“He will have his guards disembowel you,” Christian finished surely.
“’Tis a chance I must take. You cannot know what he will do, no better than I can.”
“I know
my
father. And I know what he would do.”
William did not reply.
Christian felt his stomach churn with anger. It was even worse than he’d suspected. William’s sense of honor was sure to get him killed. And Christian could not bear the thought of it, if only for the sake of William’s kindness to him if naught else. And there was else— much else. He had to convince William he was wrong.
“Listen,” Christian said, taking on a softer tone, “the lesson I learned in my youth was this— when you do not have the advantage in size and power, you must use your wits and cunning. I don’t suppose that’s a lesson you were ever forced to learn.”
William arched a bemused brow. “Are you saying I lack cunning?”
Christian barked a laugh. “I’m saying you probably have never lacked for power. But such trickery as I have had to learn? Yes, you do lack it. ’Tis no insult, I assure you. Do not go in to see Somerfield boldly. It will go easier if he does not suspect you are there. Don’t ask for Elaine; steal her.”
William frowned, a deep crease on his brow. “Subterfuge would be difficult. He knows my face.”
“But not mine.”
William abruptly reined in his horse, stopping. His scowl was fierce. “You, Christian Brandon, are not going into that castle. I gave my word to your father.”
“You did not,” Christian said coolly. “I did. Or rather, he ordered it of me. I never gave my pledge.”
William looked surprised as he thought about it, recalling the exact conversation with Lord Brandon. “And it means naught to you to obey your father’s orders? Where is your fealty?”
Christian felt his face flush with a surge of bitter rage. “I keep faith with those who have kept faith with me.”
William shook his head in disbelief. “God save me from ever having sons like you.”
“I would wish it on no man,” Christian said sincerely.
William started riding again, but his face was set. “It matters not what I promised or did not promise to your father. I won’t endanger you, Christian. ’Tis not your fight and I won’t have your death on my conscience.”
“I may not know your sister, but I know
you
,” Christian said calmly. “’Tis my fight now, whether you will it or not. I won’t have
your
death on
mine
.”
William’s jaw clenched stubbornly. “I will proceed as I have stated.”
“Then you will die and Elaine will not be saved.”
William said nothing. They rode in silence for an hour, ’til the sun was high in the sky. Christian suddenly said, “I will strategize on it.”
“Now
that
is frightening,” William said.
Christian chuckled darkly.
****
CHAPTER 10
Three weeks into their journey, and a half day’s ride out of Whalley, they had to cross the Ribble River. The ferry was not running, and the alternative was a day’s ride out of their way. They decided to swim the horses across. But it was late afternoon and they’d been riding since dawn.
“Let’s camp here,” William decided. “It will be safer to cross in the morning, when the horses are rested. And then we’ll have all day to let the sun dry us.”
“As you say.” For once, Christian and Livermore looked tired. It was a hot day and the young knight gazed at the river longingly from his mount.
“Let’s set the camp back from the river,” William said. “So we’ll not be seen by anyone drifting by.”
They found a small clearing in the woods not far from the river and tended the horses together in silence. It was still early for supper, and there was not the usual haste to set up camp before nightfall.
“Go bathe in the river,” William told Christian as he finished feeding Livermore. “I’ll start the fire.”
“No, you go. I’ll make the fire,” Christian offered.
William growled. “You are not my squire, Christian. I can start the bedamned fire for once. Go on, before I pick you up and toss you in the water myself.”
Christian opened his mouth to protest, but the look on William’s face stopped him. He grinned. “As you wish, m’lord,” he said playfully. He took some soap from his saddlebags and ran off towards the river with a whoop of joy.
William chuckled to himself. He stretched and started looking around for deadwood, his heart inexplicably light. Gathering the wood did not take long. William dumped it in the center of the clearing and looked at it for a moment. The sun was still warm. It would be a waste of tinder to start the fire now. Besides, he was hot and sweaty and the river beckoned. With a lazy grin, he answered.
****
When William stepped from the woods onto the stony riverbank, and saw Christian in the river, his happy anticipation of a bath was snuffed out like a candle caught in the gust of a brewing storm.
Christian was hip deep in the water, hair and skin wet, as he scrubbed at his arms with a bit of cloth and lye soap. William’s knees were suddenly unwilling to support him. It would be weak to retreat into the forest now, even if he had the will to do so, and he did not. But neither could he bear to disturb this vision. So he quietly made his way to a large, flat rock on the river bank and sat, his legs bent and spread, arms on his knees. And watched.
By the Holy Virgin.
Clothed, Christian was striking. Naked, he was inhuman, a heavenly vision. His shoulders and arms were roped with muscle. His chest and stomach were so lean and pale that every ridge, curve, and nuance that lay beneath the skin could be seen. The bumpy plain of his abdomen marched from breastbone to the waterline like a cobbled road. A girdle of muscle topped his narrow hips and veed inwards, disappearing below the lucky tide.
As they’d ridden further and further from his father’s castle, Christian’s face had gradually let slack its defenses. And now, as he bathed, it was open and vulnerable, with a vaguely dreamy look in those dark eyes. He looked like a male nymph or a godling.
Christian dunked under the water, rinsing himself. Then he floated onto his back, legs kicking. This raised his hips to the surface, revealing his cock, which was long and thick in its silken sheath and slightly swollen.
William drew in a ragged breath. Perfect. So perfect.
The world William inhabited was frequently ugly. Any market in the land was rife with faces ravaged by fevers and pox. Malformations of limbs were not uncommon, by birth or by the crude setting of broken bone. Equally as common were cleft lips, disfiguring birthmarks, scars, and malnutrition. Men were oft times coarse and unwashed. Women had a brief youthful bloom that faded quickly, like wildflowers in the field. But Christian… he was unique, a rose blooming in a frozen tundra. Had Christian been a woman, he might have married a king. As a man, he could have any woman’s bed, or all of them.
He could inspire ballads. He could inspire wars.
William watched, bewitched, as Christian’s lazy kicks spun him closer to the riverbank. He stood suddenly, and he was only thigh deep— thigh deep, water streaming down his skin, and partially erect.
Christian looked down at himself with a musing, distant look, his thoughts far away. His hand skimmed down his chest to grasp himself with a small, secret smile. He glanced up then, towards the woods, as if to verify that he was alone— and froze when he saw William sitting on the rock.
His hand fell from his cock in horror, and then both hands came up to cover it. His cheeks stained scarlet, sending red tendrils as far down as his jaw. He abruptly turned his back.
“I was going to ask if the water is cold,” William teased, though his voice sounded deep and rough. “But the evidence suggests that it cannot be as cold as all that.”
“I didn’t know you were there,” Christian said, a rather obvious statement. For a moment he seemed frozen with panic or indecision. He did not turn around— but neither did he walk further into the river to cover himself. His shoulders relaxed in acceptance.
The air grew heavy and charged.
William felt it thickening around him even as he blinked in dazed attention at his new view. He stared in awe at the shape of Christian’s back— his shoulders so broad for that slender frame, his torso narrowing to the tender flesh of his waist, dimpled
there
at the small of his back, and then swelling again into the plush curves of his arse…
William had been hard since he first glimpsed Christian in the river. But now a powerful lust— a crude word, a crude emotion, but accurate enough— curled around William’s chest and groin like a constricting snake and squeezed. He could scarcely breathe.