The Lion and the Crow (13 page)

Christian frowned in frustration, as if he could not understand why William was being so difficult.

“Do you love my brother, Christian?” Elaine broke in.

Silence fell around the campfire.
Don’t answer, please don’t answer
, William thought. He wasn’t sure if he could not bear to hear it for his own sake, or if he could not bear for Elaine to hear it.

“With all my heart,” Christian said quietly. He looked at William, the red blush staining his cheeks.

William groaned and put his head in his hands. Dreamers and schemers! It was impossible. Nothing about it was right, nothing could work. Could Christian not see that? Could he truly be so simple-minded? And there he was, already risking his neck just by speaking the truth to Elaine. It was dangerous! William wanted to rend something with his hands.

“Have you no thought of what we would risk?” William hissed, his words heavy with anger. “What I would be risking for Elaine’s sake, for the children’s, much less for yours? What we’ve already done is dangerous enough, but to build a life on it….”

“There is risk. But if we’re careful, we will not be found out. No one will question what they see on the surface.”

“But
I
am a man of honor, Christian! I cannot live a life full of lies. I will not!”

Christian looked at him fiercely, anger sparking in those dark eyes. “William, I have no choice but to live a life of lies. If I go home and marry a woman of my father’s choosing, I will live a lie. At least I can
choose
the lie and find what happiness I can in the sanctity of my own home.”

William shook his head. “As always, you have pretty words, Crow. But I… I cannot live without my honor.”

William’s words were thick with finality. Christian buried his head in his hands, pulling on his spiky locks in frustration. And then, without another word, he rose and ran off into the woods to be alone.

****

William and Elaine sat for many minutes at the fire in silence. William stared at the flames, angry and riddled with doubt and guilt, feelings he could affix to nothing in particular, only the unfairness of life in general, and the hurt he’d caused Christian, even though he hadn’t sought it.

Why had he been born thus? Why had Christian? Why was it that the one person who made him happy, who was brave and true, who made him want to sing love ballads and make of himself a giddy fool, was forbidden to him?

But it was what it was; he could not change it, and he would not waste his breath cursing God like a spoiled child. He rubbed his chin, wiped tiredly at his eyes.

“He’s remarkable, your Christian,” Elaine said finally. “He killed Somerfield.”

“Aye.”

“For that alone I should wed him. Do you love him, Will?”

William heaved a sigh. “He’s a man.”

“’Tis not an answer.”

William said nothing.

Elaine wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “All I want is a safe shelter for myself and my children, somewhere I can see them grow unafraid and strong, and where I could have no fear of being bothered myself. I like the idea of Scotland.”

“’Tis no place for a lady,” William said. “Living so remotely.”

“Sounds like heaven. I’m done with dances and courts. I have dreamt of peace and quiet for so long.”

Sounds like heaven.
For one moment, William’s defenses slipped and he could see them there, in some remote manor house surrounded by mountains and woods. Elaine was relaxed and smiling, playing in the yard with the children. And Christian warmed his bed, welcoming him with a smile….

“What good would I be without my honor?” William asked her in despair. “Tell me, my sister, I pray you. Advise me truly.”

Elaine thought for a bit. “It was my duty to marry the man my father chose for me— a daughter’s duty, a lady’s role in life. Sometimes, William, what the world asks of us is wrong. And when it is
that
wrong, there is no honor in obeying it.”

“You sound like Christian,” William growled. He looked down at his hands, rough and strong. He’d sworn to be loyal and true when he’d become a knight, but to whom did he owe his allegiance now? His father? The King? God? Elaine? Himself? Christian?

“I do love him,” William admitted reluctantly. “God help me, I wrestled with the devil himself trying to avoid it.”

Elaine smiled at him then, a sweet, sympathetic smile, the first he’d seen on her face since he’d come for her. “Think how different my life might have been had I wed someone like that, while I still had a heart left in me. ’Tis no small thing, Will, to have someone’s love.”

William nodded.

“Some might say it’s worth any risk. Do not discard it recklessly, Brother.”

William put another piece of wood on the fire.

****

CHAPTER 18

Christian had to get away. He was so frustrated he could scream. He could feel the emotion tightening his chest, strangling his lungs, threatening to burst his heart if he did not let it out. But men did not cry, let alone knights. He stumbled on into the dark woods, crashing through them like a wounded boar.

He’d never be able to change William’s mind. Damn the man’s blasted sense of pride and honor! He’d never yield. No, William would ensure that Christian was sent back to his father’s castle, alone, his heart crushed as truly as if it had been ground with a mortar and pestle. And he would never see William again. William would go home to his father and marry some woman, determined to live an honorable life. The thought made Christian wretched with anger, jealousy, and a sinking hopelessness. Such was the price for daring to dream.

He paid little attention to where he was going, only heading directly toward the waxing moon so that he might be able to retrace his steps. He’d just climbed over a fallen tree, and had stopped to rest for a moment on the other side, when he heard a noise, a soft footfall behind him.

“William?” Christian said in surprise, turning.

A sack descended over his head in one swift move and strong arms bound his elbows to his side, locking and squeezing. Christian fought with fear and fury, trying to throw them both back, but to no avail. He writhed, trying to shake his attacker, trying to free his arm enough to reach for his dagger. But the man was strong, whoever he was, and he was prepared for a fight. He dug in and hung on.

And then Christian became aware of a throat-clogging smell within the sack, tasted bitter powder on his tongue.
Poisoned
, was his last, frantic thought as his mouth went numb and his body slack. Darkness slid over his mind like an eclipse over the moon.

****

When Christian awoke his head was pierced with pain, a sharp throbbing ache that was no doubt the result of whatever powder had been in the sack. He didn’t open his eyes nor lick his lips, even though they were cracked and dry and he was desperate to do so. He tried to determine his situation.

He was lying on a cold, stony floor. He thought it must be a castle, perhaps a dungeon. But the air smelled sweet and fresh, and a breeze chilled him. Daylight shone bright against his eyelids but he could not feel its heat on his skin. He was outside, then, in the shade. There was no sound at all. A rope bound his upper arms to his sides and his calves to each other tightly. He tried pushing his limbs outward, to test his bonds. They were tight and sure.

After a moment he opened his eyes.

Sitting no more than a foot away on the ground, watching him, was Malcolm.

Christian released a groan. The desperateness of the thing hit him like a slap in the face. Malcolm had him, had him helpless and far away from any possible source of censure. If Malcolm had followed him all this way….

He would never see William again. No one would ever know what had happened to him.

“Awake at last, darling brother,” Malcolm purred. His face was calm, but his eyes were purely demonic. “’Tis well. I was getting bored.”

Christian looked overhead. He could see the top of stone walls and the midday sky. By the position of the sun, it was just after noon. The drug had kept him unconscious all night and through the morning. And they were in some old ruins. Likely Malcolm had taken him east towards Hadrian’s Wall. Ruins littered that area.

Christian would have screamed, but it was likely useless. Chances were high there’d be no one near to hear him, and Malcolm would only gag him with something foul. Christian turned his eyes on his brother.

“How brave of you. You must be proud to have mastered me at last— with rope and drugs. Too bad you could not beat me as a man.”

Malcolm smiled. There was more wolf in it than hound. “I have you at my mercy, brother. I care not how I got you there.”

Christian’s eyes narrowed. “You are pathetic and weak.”

Malcolm shrugged. “We’ll soon see who is pathetic and weak. I followed you. I wanted to make sure you’d never come home.”

“How boring for you. Slinking after us all these weeks.”

Malcolm’s smile was razor sharp. “Not boring at all. I watched you and your Sir William Corbet fornicating in that river, and then writhing in your bedrolls, making the two-backed beast. Foul, brother. So very foul.”

Christian felt his face burn. He would kill Malcolm for those words, were he capable of it.

“I was almost tempted to denounce the pair of you. But… no. ’Tis far better like this. Our family should never have to carry your shame.”

Christian looked up at the blue sky, a cold calm filling him. “Kill me then.”

“Oh, I will!” Malcolm said. “In good time. I know you were in Somerfield’s keep. I know you had something to do with his murder, even if I know not how you accomplished it. Did you seduce a wench and get her to do your bidding? Such a whore, Christian. Truly.”

So Malcolm did not know everything. Really, what did it matter?

He felt Malcolm move closer. His face leaned in, his lumpy countenance blocking the sky. His lanky hair hung down like seaweed. Malcolm studied Christian’s face almost serenely. He drew a finger down Christian’s cheek. Christian turned his head away, shuddering at the touch.

Then he felt Malcolm’s mouth on his cheek in a sexual, open-mouthed kiss, wet and passionate. Christian shut his eyes, forcing himself not to wince.

“No one need ever know,” Malcolm whispered. “Roll onto your back for me, Christian. Spread your thighs whenever I say. Tell me that you want me. Speak well, Brother. Convince me. And maybe I will let you live.”

By the Virgin, Malcolm’s voice…. Christian had never heard him sound like that before— soft, pleading, and completely mad. It sent a chill of horror through Christian as he realized there could be worse things than death.

Was this why Malcolm had always hated him? Had he harbored some secret desire all these years? Or was this just a brief fancy caused by whatever was rotting his brain?

Christian turned to look into Malcolm’s eyes. They were hopeful, pathetic.

“The only way you will ever touch me,
Brother
, is when you have bound me thus, so tightly that I can do nothing to prevent it. I will never let you take me willingly. I’d sooner cut off your cock than let it near me.”

The door that had been open in Malcolm’s eyes slammed shut and his face turned murderous.

“Foolish, foolish choice, Brother,” Malcolm hissed. “Now I am going to fuck you, trussed up like the bitch that you are, and then I’m going to carve you up like mincemeat.”

Christian pressed his lips tightly to hold in his frustration. He looked up at the sky as Malcolm’s hand rubbed down his body, over the rope, onto the tunic at his waist, and down to cup him through his hose. Malcolm’s hand was hot and sweaty even through the wool.

“You not only desire a man, you add incest?” Christian said, trying to think of anything that would change Malcolm’s mind. “Truly, you beg for hell-fire, my brother.”

“Ah, but you shall feel its heat first, sweet Christian. In fact, you’ll be there today.”

Malcolm put his hands on Christian’s sides and rolled him over like a sack of grain onto his stomach. Dear God, but Malcolm stank— of man’s sweat, of his horse’s, and of piss. Christian’s face rubbed against the unforgiving stones and stung. Malcolm had wrapped the ropes around his arms and chest so tightly that he could scarcely breathe. He felt the hem of his tunic pulled up, felt Malcolm press against his arse through his hose, his cock already hard.

“Whore,” Malcolm whispered in Christian’s ear, panting and aroused. He thrust his member against Christian through two layers of wool.

Christian closed his eyes. He tried to summon up words that would so anger Malcolm that he’d be killed on the spot. If he had to die, he’d rather not face the indignity of rape first, and he did not want to leave this earth remembering Malcolm’s touch instead of that of his beloved William.

But at that thought, all the fight went out of Christian. A numbing despair and sadness burst through his breast in a warm gush, as if his heart had cracked, sending blood flowing, or perhaps it was the tears he’d held inside for so long, breaking free of their dam.