The Lion and the Crow (3rd Edition 2019 Reissue) Page 5

  Prince Edward was rumored to be a sodomite, but he was despised for it. And then, too, it had always been the case that the debauchery tolerated at court was a far cry from what was acceptable anyplace else.

  There was one thing William was certain of—it was shameful to want to bed another man. So even if the desire had never left him, William 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 even against his will. But the draw 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 brown eyes, the hint of shyness and a need to please that peeked through the mask of cold strength he wrapped around himself like a cloak. The vulnerability without the strength would have been mawkish. And the strength without the flashes of sweetness would not have appealed. But as it was, William felt almost bewitched at times, so strong was the urge to protect Christian, to stare at him, to brush against him as if by accident, or to clap a hand on his shoulder, or to make him smile.

  God’s wounds!

  Worst of all, it was not only himself 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, 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 someone 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.

  “Outlaws,” Christian whispered.

  William’s hand reached for his sword even as he blinked to clear his eyes. He strained his ears. He heard a soft sound from the brush, barely there.

  William rose swiftly, grabbed his scabbard, and unsheathed his sword as quietly as he could. The metal still sang a soft song in the night. He and Christian stood back-to-back in the moonlit clearing. For a moment there was only silence—William with his sword drawn and Christian with his bow at the ready, the heat of him pressed against William’s back.

  William glanced over his shoulder. “’Tis not necessary when guarding my back to press so firmly into it,” he said, teasing only a little.

  Christian said nothing, but he melted away into the darkness.

  There was a shout and they were attacked.

  William’s eyes had adjusted to the night, and the light of a full moon turned the world a silvery blue. He could see well enough, and what he saw was 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, surprising in its acuteness. He had started to trust Christian, but the young knight was a coward after all. It was true that 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. William waited, letting the anger and blood lust curl in his veins and infuse his body with power. He would 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 outlaw, directly in front of him, suddenly jerked backward 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 shaft.

  Arrows. Christian had not left him.

  With a grin and a roar, William spun around, swinging his sword. One of the outlaws stumbled back to avoid it while another, a man who had not been anywhere near William’s blade, suddenly clutched at his throat and then fell to his knees.

  William looked at the dying man, just a tad annoyed.

  The last two outlaws were running now. William took up the chase with a battle cry, determined to sunder something.

  He heard the arrows coming just before they hit—thwunk, thwunk—mere seconds apart. The remaining outlaws went down, one with an arrow cleanly shot to his heart—dead instantly. The other took a shaft 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 and scratched his head. A lithe figure separated from the shadows of the trees and approached.

  “Let me explain to you the etiquette of battle,” William said tightly as Christian joined him.

  The younger knight’s cheeks were flushed with excitement, the hue of a gray rose in the silver 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 lip. “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.”

  “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 and knocked their foreheads together. “By Christ’s toes, you are a show-off! Trying to impress me, eh?”

  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.”

  “I may have been 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 fire pit, 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.

  “Murdering bastards. 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 of them wanted to linger. They stripped the outlaw’s weapons, wrapped them in a cloth, and stored them on the packhorse. Then they packed up their own supplies and headed out, with hours to go before dawn.

  Chapter 9

  That day they rode along a wide road into the town of Manchester. Christian took in as many of the sights as he could, pleased at William’s slow and dignified pace. He’d passed through the town once before with Sir Robert, but they’d been with an army and had not stopped. Now he strained for an eyeful of the stone church and the half-timbered shops that lined the main road. They were stared at in return, people coming out of the buildings to watch them ride by. Travelers were not so frequent that they were a common sight, particularly not two knights, and most particularly not a knight who looked as handsome as Sir William did riding on Tristan in his red quilted gambeson. And if women stared equally at Christian, well, there was no understanding the inner workings of the female mind.

  They passed a young mother and baby, both rosy-cheeked, both staring at them openly. Christian glanced at William. The rumor at the tournament had been that William was single. But Christian suddenly doubted it. “Have you a wife and babes at home?” he asked.

  “Nay.”

  “Why not? You’re of an age for it.”

  “Haven’t met a woman who makes me want to wed. I like my freedom.” William gave Christian a cheeky grin, but it rang a bit false all the same.

  Christian knew he should let it go. But he couldn’t, not when his curiosity and his blood were up. An old man who sold fruit tossed William a red apple, then another. He caught them both with one hand and placed them in his lap. He gave the man a hearty thanks.

  “Have you lain with a woman?” Christian asked.

  William barked a scoffing laugh and looked around nervously as if worried that someone might overhear. “Of course! What do you take me for? A eunuch? A callow youth?”

  Christian shrugged. “I’ve never lain with anyone.” He tried to sound like he was making casual conversation, but he didn’t think he quite managed it.

  William’s shoulders tensed. He kept his eyes on the road. “I find that hard to believe. The maids at your father’s castle seemed eager enough to get your attention.”

  Was that an accusation or a compliment? Christian said nothing at first. But then his own cowardice at this stupid game made him angry. He pulled ahead of William and stared back at him, determined. “Haven’t met a woman who makes me want to swive.”

  William looked uncomfortable. He glanced around, but they were on a quiet street now, almost out of the town, and no one was there to overhear them. He spoke quietly, as if giving Christian brotherly advice. “Then close your eyes if you must. It’s all the same in the dark.”

  He sounded like he knew whereof he spoke. Christian’s heart tripped in his chest. Was it brotherly advice? Or the advice of a man who shared his inclinations?

  Christian lifted his chin and spoke a challenge. “What if I don’t want to close my eyes?”

  William deliberately ignored his meaning. “You’re to be wed on your return home. Mayhap your wife will please you.”

  “Mayhap I will not return home.”

  William looked surprised. “Oh? Where would you go?”

  “There must be a lord in need of an archer—somewhere far from my father’s lands.” Christian would not go back to the way things were before. Not if he could help it.

  William grunted. “Assuming I’m still alive at the end of this journey, you will return home. I’ll not make an enemy of your father. What you choose to do afterwards is your own affair.” William tossed him one of the apples.

  They ate the crisp fruit as they left the town behind. Christian was not in a good humor. William had deliberately hidden from his words like a child covering his eyes. Perhaps that was an answer in itself, but it held the satisfaction of an empty purse. William’s words worried Christian even more. Assuming I’m still alive….

  The closer they drew to Somerfield’s lands, the more Christian 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. But when a comfortable silence fell, Christian 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 because he has treated her despicably and has no honor.”

  “By the blood! You would.”

  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. He can’t refuse that.”

  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 tilted his head in acknowledgment. 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. Worse and worse. “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, and then William rubbed his chin pensively. “All a man has is his honor. 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 an amused 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 disobey 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 soul.”

  “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, until the sun was high in the sky.

  Christian suddenly said, “I will use all my wiles on the problem.”

  “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 River Ribble. The ferry was not running, and the alternative was a day’s ride out of their way, so they decided to swim the horses across. But it was late in the 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.”