The Lion and the Crow (3rd Edition 2019 Reissue) Page 3
For now it appeared they’d be building their own fires, brushing their own horses, and hauling their own water—their own being the imperative words. If Christian expected to be waited upon, he would be sorely disappointed.
William was musing upon this as they left the woods and entered onto a broad track. Christian pulled his horse alongside William’s mount. The mere sight of the man annoyed William and made his sour mood sink lower and lower until his stomach churned with it.
Christian was not wearing the blue livery now. He was in a simple brown quilted gambeson. His armor, along with William’s, was stowed on the packhorse William had bought. And still his straight and easy bearing on his horse, the refined line of his silhouetted face in the light of the rising sun, the gracefulness of his hand as it held the reins loosely on his thigh, the depth in his eyes when he glanced toward William—all of these spoke of an elegance that was, well, personally offensive.
God’s teeth! William did not want to be taking Sir Christian Brandon into danger. And he did not want to have to be close to the man. For weeks. It was the worst possible outcome of his detour to the Brandons’ castle. He’d wasted ten full days, gained no army, and been saddled with a knight too young and far too comely to be of any use as a warrior.
William spoke gruffly. “It will be hard going. I intend a punishing pace. I won’t stop at alehouses—’tis a waste of money. It’ll be blankets on the ground. Dried meat. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Christian looked at him wryly. “Do you imagine I’ve never traveled before? Never spent nights on the ground?”
“Aye. You look like you should be lounging in the queen’s bed, being fed grapes.”
Christian looked shocked for a moment, then started to laugh. He covered his mouth with his hand self-consciously.
“I fail to see the humor of it,” William grumbled.
Christian’s laughter faded. “Not many are so honest.”
William huffed.
Christian sighed. After a moment he said, “Do you know, those are the first words you’ve ever spoken to me, Sir William.”
William frowned. He opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it. He’d talked plenty the day before, as they’d prepared for the journey, but most of it had been to other people—the cook, the steward, the blacksmith, the stableman.
Perhaps every word, in truth. Suddenly his vexation seemed childish and inexcusable. He felt ashamed of himself.
“I…,” he began, only to falter. “What I said to your father, about safeguarding you…. I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
Christian laughed aloud. “Oh, but it was one, a dagger straight to the heart. Nevertheless, it was quite entertaining to see my father and brothers leap to my defense. I think I heard the gates of Hell yawn open over that one. So I suppose I shall have to forgive you.”
William cleared his throat, feeling no less confounded. “It was… generous of you to offer to show me the way.”
Christian shrugged. “I know the way. You needed a guide. I wanted to get out of my father’s castle. If it was a kindness, ’twas not an especially noble one.”
William could have asked questions. Why did you want to get out of your father’s castle? Why should your brothers’ defense of you be surprising? But that would only lead to… talking. Silence seemed wiser.
“William,” Christian said quietly.
William looked at him, forcing himself to meet those brown eyes. They were hard and cold, and they struck an icy chill down the center of his body.
“Do not underestimate me.”
William nodded, once, and set his gaze back on the road.
By the morning of the third day, William had to admit that he had underestimated Sir Christian Brandon. Christian took to traveling as effortlessly as he seemed to do everything else. His horse, Livermore, was an excellent mount, and Christian treated him well. He rode long days without grumbling. Indeed, he often rode slightly ahead, as if impatient to see the scenery. He kept his countenance subdued, but his eyes revealed a child’s delight in the woods and hills.
Though they were equals in rank, Christian deferred to William’s advanced years—William was twenty-five—and took on the more menial tasks. William said nothing, but he was slowly adapting his view of the younger knight, like a man whose eyes were adjusting to a brighter light.
Before, William had seen a youth so unusually beautiful as to invoke disdain. He’d assumed vanity and callowness. He’d assumed a sense of entitlement. He’d assumed the man’s grit ran no deeper than the blush on his cheek. But Christian’s behavior made a mockery of William’s assumptions. He was a hard worker, willing to shoulder more than his fair share, and he never complained.
They fell into a routine in the evenings. William would brush, feed, and water the horses while Christian gathered firewood and built the fire. William would never admit it, but he preferred the duty with the horses because he was tired and it involved less moving around. Though he knew Christian must be exhausted as well, Christian never said so. By the time William had settled the horses, Christian had their blankets laid out on opposite sides of the fire, a pot of water boiling, and dinner cooking.
The third night out, after setting up camp, Christian took a pot from the pack. “I’ll fetch water from the stream.”
William grunted his approval. “Good. We should boil the dried meat. It’s all we’ve got left, and it’s getting a bit rank.”
Christian gave him a look as if he’d stepped in something foul. Without another word, he took his quiver and bow from the pack, too, and headed off into the woods.
William chuckled as he brushed down the horses. So Christian turned up his nose at their travel rations after just a few days on the road? He’d not fare well on this journey, then. Christian might be good with a standing target, but it was another matter to snag game in the woods with a bow. William had tried. Forest rabbits and squirrels were small, fast, and good at hiding. Pheasants and grouse were hard to roust in dense woodland, and deer—a deer would be lovely, but a waste. They’d have to leave most of the meat behind. Besides, Christian would have difficulty dragging a dead animal that large through the woods.
Christian had been gone a scarce hour before he returned with a pot of water in his hands and his bow slung over his back. William kept his knowing smirk to himself. Then Christian set the pot down and unslung his bow—and three small but plump rabbits on a line—from his back.
“Three!” William said, before he could catch himself.
Christian shrugged and looked uncomfortable. “It was starting to get dark. This will fill our bellies well enough.”
Christian plopped down by the fire and set to cleaning and dressing the game. William shut his mouth with a snap and made himself useful by whittling a spit to go over the fire.
The roasted rabbits were delicious. There was an old saying—the easiest way to a man’s heart is by way of his stomach. William’s stomach was feeling much more kindly toward Sir Christian Brandon after that meal. Christian still made William uncomfortable, but perhaps he’d have his uses as a traveling companion.
When there was nothing left but bones, William lay back on his blanket with a contented sigh. It was a warm night, but a breeze played hide-and-seek with his face. He sat up and pulled off his tunic and then lay down, welcoming the air on his skin.
William had refined his peripheral vision for battle, and he became aware, as he stared up at the starry sky, that Christian was lying on his own blanket watching him. William lowered his eyelids a little and shifted his gaze to the right. Yes, Christian was definitely staring at him—at his chest. Gooseflesh broke out over William’s body.
He felt a flash of annoyance and turned his head to glare at Christian, to make a smart remark. But Christian was just getting to his feet. He headed for the forest, though it was now quite dark.
“Where are you going?”
“To make water,” Christian said without stopping.
Christian trundled off into the woods, and William sighed and tried to relax. He shut his eyes. But visions of flowing streams flashed across the backs of his eyelids.
“He had to say it.” With a grumble he got up and headed into the woods to make some water of his own.
William was tired, and he stumbled a bit as he undid the ties on his breeches. Away from the fire, his eyes adjusted to the moonlight. He yawned and stepped deeper into the trees, curious now. Where was Christian? A few steps later, William spotted him up ahead, his back turned. It took a moment for him to register the tension in the youth’s shoulders and the frantic motion of his right hand. Having traveled with armies, William was no stranger to private moments stolen in the woods. He stifled a laugh, walked up to Christian nonchalantly, and stood next to him, pulling out his own manhood for a piss.
He had apparently reached Christian just after he’d finished, and Christian’s gasp at being caught was amusing enough to put William in a good humor for the next ten years or so. But William managed to keep his face neutral, and sighed into the piss.
“Good meal,” he said casually.
“Aye.” Christian hurriedly laced himself up and turned to go.
William sniffed. “Must be a strong wind off the coast tonight.”
Christian looked at him in confusion. He glanced down at William’s cock, then away, crossing his arms.
“I will, uh, head back,” Christian said, and he began walking.
“Oh, Christian?” William called out as he finished and shook himself off.
“Yes?” He sensed Christian stop and turn.
“You know, most men don’t have to pull on it that hard to make water. Mayhap you should see a physician,” he said with all sincerity.
It was hard to tell in the dark, but William was sure Christian turned a bonny shade of red. William burst out in guffaws as Christian fled back to the camp.
On the fourth day, they came to a stream near some rapids. William rode up to the edge of it, scanning the water.
“It’s not deep,” he told Christian, nodding at the opposite bank. “We can cross.”
But when they tried to get Tristan, Livermore, and the packhorse, whom they’d dubbed Sir Swiftfoot, to enter the water, the horses shied away. Tristan shook his head angrily.
“It’s the rapids,” Christian said, pointing to the misting white water just slightly downstream. “They don’t like the look of it.”
William cursed. The bank farther west looked soft and unstable, and the trees were thick. They’d have to backtrack to get around it, and William was not in the mood to lose time.
“Let’s lead them,” he said, swinging himself down.
Christian did the same, and they tried to pull the reluctant horses into the stream. But Tristan gave a panicked neigh and kicked his front hooves into the air. Livermore and Sir Swiftfoot just dug in like mules, refusing to be budged.
“God’s teeth!” William roared. “Tristan has never been a coward before. He’s faced legions of flea-bitten, axe-wielding vermin on horseback and not batted an eyelash!”
Christian tried to smother a smile. “Is that so? Well, every horse has his weakness.”
“Not mine!”
Christian made a noise like a strangled cough. He looked around, scanning the brush.
“Up there!” He pointed.
An old oak overlooked the stream. One of its enormous limbs had been split from the trunk by lightning and was caught in its upper branches.
“’Tis high up and well snagged,” William said doubtfully.
Christian didn’t answer. He stripped off his gambeson and pushed up the linen sleeves of his shirt, revealing strong, wiry forearms rich with veins. He pulled himself up into the tree with surprising strength and agility.
“Watch out for deadly squirrels,” William called out.
Christian just snorted.
Watching him climb, William’s perception shifted again with a bone-rattling jolt. Christian was not soft, he realized. There was nothing of the coddled child in him. He was hard and tough as sinew. Refined? Refined as a purebred stallion, perhaps, or an elemental sprite. But not weak, no. He was a powerful and strong man.
For some reason this shift in perception allowed William to watch Christian, to keep his eyes on the man, unthreatened, for the first time since they’d locked gazes on that tournament field. He watched Christian pull himself up higher and higher, wrestle with the huge limb, lifting and wresting it out of the tree with raw muscle, maintaining his balance all the while. When the limb was free, Christian shoved it off toward the bank of the stream. As it crashed down, he braced his feet wide on a sturdy limb and looked down at William with a grin. His face was open and happy for the first time since William had known him.
And something new stirred to life inside William. Not anxiety, fear, or confusion this time, but something far steadier, thick as honey, and painfully sweet.
It felt like such an integral part of him that William didn’t even question it. He just blinked twice, returned Christian’s smile, and moved to place the limb across the river.
With their way to the rapids blocked, the horses crossed without further ado.
As they headed down the path on the other side, William felt unusually light of heart. He started to sing.
Women, women, lots of women,
Make a bare purse of men.
Some be nice as a nun’s hen,
Yet all they be not so.
Behind him, Christian joined in with a pleasant tenor.
Some be lewd, some be shrewd
All shrewd where’er they go.
Chapter 5
Christian was in seven kinds of heaven and three kinds of hell. He was free of his father’s castle, free of his brothers, free of the need to guard his back at all hours of the day and night. It was even better than when he’d squired for Sir Robert of Allendale. For then he’d been of the lowest rank in the camp, and his role was to serve and be silent. Sir Robert had been good to him, but there had been rough words from other knights and older squires, as well as shoves and smacks when he did not move fast enough or got in the way.
There’d also been a few knights he’d feared in the company, men who looked at him too calculatingly and too long. They would have used him cruelly had they gotten the chance, even though Sir Robert had made it clear that Christian was blood and not to be mistreated.
Those men had been ugly, crude, and cold-blooded. And while Christian might have dreamed his most secret dreams of being held in strong arms, of being filled by a lover’s cock, he knew the experience would be nothing but pain and humiliation with men like that. He’d kept his knife at the ready, always, and he never went into the woods alone.
But traveling with Sir William was different. For the first time, Christian was treated as an equal. He couldn’t fail to notice the looks of approval William bestowed on him more and more—when he made quick work of building the fire, when he caught game for the evening meal, when he rode from dawn to dusk without complaint. Those approving looks and Sir William’s soft words of appreciation and praise were like balm on the torn places in Christian’s soul. He worked harder, did more, acted like he was never tired—ran spritely with aching limbs, climbed trees, and moved boulders—just to see that approval shining in William’s eyes and to earn that precious reparation.
And yet… it was torture too. It was one thing for Christian to ignore his desires in the castle keep, where there was the constant danger of discovery and unguarded moments were few. It had been no hardship to hold himself in check when William had been cold, when he’d obviously disliked the very sight of him. Christian had understood that. He knew his looks inspired scorn in some men and jealousy in others, even though he cropped his hair severely and had learned to school his face against any softness. It had been sharply disappointing that William had turned out to be such a man, but it did have the advantage of keeping Christian from acting the fool.
No long
er. When William looked at him now, there was warmth in his eyes. Now he smiled, now he was generous, now he was kind. Now his eyes lingered instead of shying away. Those long looks, those lovely, aggravating, bewildering looks made Christian hope and burn. And except when they passed through a village, Christian was alone with William day and night.
If he’d thought Sir William handsome before, it was nothing to how he felt now. Like watching a distant rider grow more and more defined the closer he got, familiarity bred an acute awareness of every part of the man. William was as solid as an oak and muscled from long days of training and battle. His sturdy waist seemed to call Christian to wrap his arms around it and even, in his most lurid thoughts, his legs. William’s eyes were like the sea after a storm, sucking Christian in. And his lips—whether they smiled and sang or were pensive and sad—made Christian’s own mouth itch with the need to press against them.
Now Christian looked away, afraid his eyes would reflect the hard, bitter edge of his yearning.
Looking away did not help. He was never less than half-hard, and the woods along their route had seen enough of his covertly spilled seed to establish a forest of Brandons, could babes grow as trees did. Fortunately William had only caught him at it the once, and he’d been good-natured about it and clueless as to the inspiration he’d provided for the act. But by now William must be beginning to wonder if Christian had a malfunction of the kidneys, for he disappeared so often and so long.
It went against Christian’s nature to be circumspect. One did not grow up the youngest of seven boys and not learn to take what’s needed and wanted—roughly if necessary. He’d learned to grab for the platter of meat as it hit the table, or his belly went empty, and no one would feel sorry for him and rectify that. That lesson had been ingrained in him from his youth.