SleepyHollow2BookBundle (21 page)

The display of animosity would have been more threatening if Gunpowder hadn’t immediately gone back to grazing, eagerly tearing up thick tufts of autumn grass. John snatched Gunpowder’s reins in one deft movement and managed to swing into the saddle before the horse could bite his leg. “Where to now?”
 

“A quick ride through the village. Then I’ll escort you back to the Jansens’, and we can search the road through the forest again on the way.”

John nodded and heeled Gunpowder into a trot. Together, he and Brom made a circuit of the sleepy little village. Everything was silent, and nothing out of place. In no time at all, they had turned around and were headed in the direction of the dark wood again.

“What do you make of those hoofprints we saw?” John asked.

Brom rode silently for a few moments, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “I haven’t decided yet,” he finally said.

Brom usually had an opinion on everything – the fact that he hadn’t supplied one for the disappearing tracks was a mark of how bizarre they truly were.

“To be honest John, I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen them with my own eyes. It makes me wonder if what the Smits claim to have seen is possible after all.”

A cold chill raced down John’s spine, leaving him feeling as if he’d been doused in icy water. He gripped the reins tighter as he and Brom approached the forest, and stole a long glance at the other man. The sight of him riding straight and sure in the saddle was a comfort, but the thoughtful set of his mouth was not. John had set out tonight with the intention of opening Brom’s eyes to the possibility of a supernatural phenomenon, but now that it seemed he’d succeeded, he found himself unable to savor the victory. He kept a straight seat in the saddle as they entered the shadowland of the wood, refusing to let his shoulders hunch forward as darkness swept over them.

CHAPTER 5

The hoofprints were still there when they reached the place where they ended, and John’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, forcing him to realize that he’d half-expected them to be gone. They hadn’t, in fact, changed at all, and were still just as perplexing. Brom said nothing as they passed the tracks, glancing down at them only briefly before raising his gaze again, scanning the trees and the road ahead for any sign of company.

They encountered no one during their ride back to the Jansens’ farm. By the time they reached the stable, John’s nerves were as taut as fiddle strings. The ride through the woods had been uneventful, but not peaceful. John had been prepared for something terrible to happen, and now that it hadn’t, he was left with an excess of restless energy.

“If you’ll come with me tomorrow night, perhaps we’ll find more than hoofprints,” Brom said as John slid from the saddle.

“Very well,” John agreed, holding the reins beneath Gunpowder’s whiskery chin, wary of being bitten.

“I’d like to ride by the Van Tassel farm again then too,” Brom said. “I can’t get the sight of her wandering alone out of my head.”

John nodded in sympathy, his heart wrenching as he imagined Katrina blindly stumbling across terrain that might very well be plagued by something sinister. The threat of cold and beasts alone would have been bad enough, but the added danger of an otherworldly horseman made his heart ache with the desire to wrap an arm around her slender shoulders again and keep her safe between himself and Brom.
 

“Shall I help you rub down the wicked nag?” Brom asked, dismounting before John could reply.

They slipped inside the stable, lit the lantern they’d left there, and Brom placed Torben temporarily in an empty stall. Together, he and John unsaddled Gunpowder, replaced his bridle with a rope halter, and began to rub him down, cleaning the dust of travel from his mottled grey coat. With his head tied on a short rope to a ring that hung from one wall, Gunpowder was powerless to bite either of the men, and apparently lacked the energy to try kicking or stomping on their toes. With an air of surrender, he relaxed beneath their hands.

“It’s an eerie night,” John said. “I wish I didn’t have to think of you riding back through the wood alone.”

Brom shrugged, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a casual gesture, though his mouth was pressed into a tight frown. No doubt he was still thinking of Katrina. It would shake any man to see his bride-to-be wandering through the cold night, oblivious to the peril she risked. John experienced a pang of sympathy not just for dear Katrina, but for Brom as well. “I’m sure the Jansens would be glad to offer you a place to sleep for the night – they think you’re quite the hero for volunteering to hunt down the headless horseman.”

Brom shook his head, still frowning. “I’d rather not.”

“You wish to ride by the Van Tassel farm again?”

Brom nodded. “Mr. Van Tassel might grow weary and fall asleep.”

There was no way John could argue with that – if Brom thought it necessary to ride by the Van Tassel home again to verify that Katrina was still safe inside, nothing would stop him. Nor would John have wanted to, if it wasn’t for the thought of Brom riding alone through the forest. What if a being that had hidden from two men would find the courage to show itself to one? “I understand,” was all John said.

“Of course you do,” Brom replied. “You love her.” He raised his gaze and met John’s eyes across the bony ridge of Gunpowder’s spine.

“I…” John’s mouth went dry as he searched his mind for words of denial, but the challenging gleam in Brom’s dark eyes told him that he wouldn’t be able to convince the man. Still, silence filled him with guilt – saying nothing was as good as admitting to being in love with another man’s fiancée, and how could he countenance that? And yet, he did love Katrina – as dearly as he loved Brom, though not in quite the same way. The love he felt for Brom had an edge of possession to it; the love he had for Katrina lacked that, but made up for it with hopeless longing. “She’s impossible not to love.” The words were out before he could stop them, but they were true. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

“Don’t be. I’m not sorry I love her, and neither should you be. I’m not sorry I’ve been granted her hand in marriage either, but that doesn’t mean I’ll pretend not to know your feelings. The only thing I’m sorry about is that only one of us can marry her, and that the other must suffer for it.”

John nodded mutely, his hands sweeping over Gunpowder’s thin, warm side.

Brom reached over Gunpowder’s back and laid a hand over John’s. “You’ll still have me, John,” he said, gripping it tightly. “Even after the wedding.”

“I know.” A bitter-sweet mixture of relief and guilt flooded through John, making him feel as if his chest might burst open with it, and his heart flop out to land at his feet. How could he continue to love Brom when he claimed to love Katrina? And how could he possibly stop? The two loves were irreconcilable.
 

“The nag is as clean as a whistle,” Brom said, stepping away from Gunpowder’s side.

The gelding’s hide gleamed in the dull glow of lantern light. John nodded, untied Gunpowder’s head and hastily exited the stall. Once outside it, he rinsed the dirt and horsehair from his hands in a bucket of water, his gaze wondering automatically to the shadowed world beyond the barn and the road that wound into the dark forest. If only Brom didn’t have to pass through the wood to reach his home – if only there was another reasonable path.

Brom laid a hand on John’s shoulder and gripped it, tight. “Before I go,” he whispered, “it would be a shame not to take advantage of the solitude.”

John nodded, his hands flying to Brom’s hot, solid body as if of their own volition. All the longing, fear and guilt he’d experienced throughout the night welled up in him and solidified into a vicious lust, a burning need for human contact. Before he knew what was happening, he and Brom had slipped into an empty stall and were tumbling in the clean straw on its floor.
 

Brom was on top of him, his considerable weight a comfort as he drove John down into the hay. John pressed his mouth to Brom’s, relishing the surge of sensation that rushed straight to his cock as their lips met and their tongues meshed together, hungry for every bit of contact the other could give.
 

Brom pressed a hand between their bodies and fumbled with the front fall of John’s breeches for a moment before successfully laying it open, and then reached inside to grasp John’s cock. John moaned, arching his hips so that Brom’s hand slid to the base of his erection, his fingers wrapped firmly around the shaft. Brom had rinsed his hands too, and the lingering coldness of his fingers felt shocking against John’s lust-heated flesh. His balls still ached, though now also with the urge for release, in addition to the soreness caused by his bareback ride. He forgot all about the discomfort when Brom straddled him, leaning over his body so that his breath rushed hot against John’s hips. “Oh, God,” he breathed when Brom’s lips met the head of his cock.

Brom drew John’s erection unhesitatingly into his mouth, closing his lips firmly around it, and swept his tongue first over the crown, then down the length of the shaft. John gasped when Brom seized his balls, fondling them in the palm of his hand. Despite the pain this incited, the intense gratification of it was almost more than he could bear. He threw his head back in the straw, careless of the stalks that poked his neck and scratched his cheek. All that mattered was that white-hot pleasure was pooling inside him, somewhere near the base of his spine, and surging through his body in a tidal-wave of desire, threatening to make him spill himself into Brom’s mouth after no more than a few strokes of the tongue.

Brom took John deep, pushing his lips to the base of his cock, all the while rolling John’s balls in his hand, squeezing just enough to blur the line between pleasure and pain. John stiffened, arched against the floor, and came. As his seed rushed out of him and into the warm embrace of Brom’s mouth, it was all he could do to bury an eyetooth in the soft flesh of his inner lip, stifling the overwhelming urge to cry out loudly enough to spook the horses and possibly wake the Jansens. He clenched fistfuls of straw, tasting blood as the fierce pleasure began to fade and the world that had temporarily blurred in a haze of ecstasy came into focus again. Brom rose, and as soon as he was able, John did the same.

Brom’s cock stood tall in his lap, straining the front of his breeches. John hurried to undo the front fall, pushing Brom against the nearest wall as he grasped the thick shaft of Brom’s cock. It was hard as stone, and at the tip, as soft as velvet. He wasted no time in kneeling and pressing his lips against the crown, letting it slide into his mouth.

Brom groaned and flexed his hips, penetrating John deeply. John worked past the natural reflex to gag, managing to take all of him. Remembering how Brom had done the same for him, John began to pleasure him without reservation, tasting every inch of his cock, from the base to the tip and back again. A hint of a salty flavor teased his tongue, and he reached below, cupping Brom’s balls. They were hot and tight, ready for release. He squeezed them, relishing the weight of them in his hand.
 

Brom laid his hands on John’s head, yanking away the ribbon that secured his hair and tossing it aside, running his fingers through the loose locks. The back of John’s neck prickled with delight as Brom cupped his skull, guiding his movements by applying and easing pleasure, seizing fistfuls of hair large enough that it felt good instead of painful when he pulled. At Brom’s silent insistence, he moved faster, sliding his tongue and lips repeatedly up and down Brom’s shaft, pausing only to sweep his tongue over the tip and to take him extra-deep into his throat. Before he knew it, Brom stiffened, his thigh going tense beneath the hand John had placed on it. A moment later, he groaned, and his release rushed hot and salty into John’s mouth.

When John raised his head from Brom’s lap, he pressed his sleeve against his mouth, carefully removing any traces of what he’d just done. “Was it that good?” he asked. When Brom only looked at him, he elaborated. “You’re still moaning.”

“It was good. But I’m moaning because I feel as if I’ve been hit in the ass by a blacksmith’s hammer.”

“That’s right – you took a nasty fall when Torben reared. Let me see.”

Brom grimaced and stood, holding his breeches around his thighs and obligingly raising his shirt, baring his buttocks to John’s scrutinizing gaze.

“You
look
as if you’ve been struck in the ass by a hammer.” One of the firm, muscular halves of Brom’s rear was dominated by a purple circle the size and shape of one of Mrs. Jansen’s griddle cakes. “Are you sure you want to ride home in this condition? I could have Mrs. Jansen prepare a poultice for the bruise.”

“Nobody’s poulticing my backside,” Brom said, pulling up his breeches and tucking his shirt into the waist. “I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight.” He turned around, his eyes gleaming with decision.

“All right. But for God’s sake, if you encounter the headless horseman, say a prayer or something – don’t try to outride him.”

Brom glared down his nose at John, as if affronted. “If I encounter this supposedly headless horseman on my way home, I shall leap from the saddle and see for myself whether he really does have a neck to strangle. Human or not, the bastard has caused enough trouble already.” Tenderly laying a hand on his ass cheek and smoothing his breeches over it, he strode toward Torben’s stall. When he rode away, he gave no sign of pain, save for sitting a little straighter in the saddle than usual.