SleepyHollow2BookBundle (27 page)

He withdrew with a last ragged breath, sinking onto the mattress beside John and wrapping an arm around him, pulling him close. Brom’s lips were hot against John’s, still swollen from their last kiss. They kissed again anyway, their tongues meeting as their breath rushed warm and uneven against each other’s faces. When it ended John rested his head on Brom’s shoulder, letting his exhaustion creep over him like a heavy blanket despite the fact that his cock was still hard. At some point he dozed off, slipping into what seemed an erotic dream. It proved real when he emerged from the haze of sleep with Brom’s hand wrapped around his erection, stroking him slowly and thoroughly. Each tug brought him a little more fully back into the world of the waking, and soon he and Brom were entangled again, each eagerly seeking release.

* * * * *

“Four. That’s correct.” John smiled down at Mary, a towheaded pupil of his who’d just grasped the concept of division. “Now if you—”

“
Ugh
!” A heavy thump and a grunt shattered John’s line of thought, causing him to whip his head around to peer toward the back of the classroom.

“Timothy! George!” John stepped quickly over a stack of textbooks and dashed down the aisle between the students’ benches, towards the fight that had broken out in the last row. One of the boys was none other than Timothy Jansen, the other another student two years Timothy’s senior and nearly twice his size. It only took a moment for it to be made painfully clear who would lose the fight. Timothy bounced onto the floor, hands clutching his mouth.

The other Jansen boys got there before John, and the scuffle transformed from a one-on-one punching match to a five-boy melee. George was in the center of it, suddenly and hopelessly outnumbered. Even little Joshua was doing his best to defend his brother. “Stop this
at once
!” John roared, reaching into the mass of wriggling bodies and seizing Timothy and Joshua each by a shoulder and managing to pull them out of the brawl. “Sit!” he ordered, shoving them each down onto a bench.

The two older Jansen boys were still pounding on George, who’d been knocked onto his rear end. “I said stop!” He stepped between the two Jansens and was rewarded with a well-placed, if accidental, punch to the kidney. Biting back a curse, he seized George by the scruff of his neck and dragged him from the mayhem.

“Master Crane!”

 
John turned, frowning, to face Elijah, the oldest Jansen boy.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” he said, the redness of anger and exertion draining from his face, which was rapidly turning white.

John grimaced as his kidney throbbed – Elijah was fifteen, and between the width of his shoulders and the power of his punch, he would likely grow into a formidable brawler in just a few short years. “You’re not to hit
anyone
in the schoolhouse. What’s the meaning of this?” Usually, when any of John’s students had a disagreement, they waited until after classes were dismissed to settle it in one of the fields that surrounded the schoolyard.
 

“I don’t know, sir.” Elijah’s cheeks flushed, but he stuck out his chin defiantly and shot George a dark look. “I only saw
him
punching my brother.”

George had collapsed onto a bench, where the rest of the students had gathered around him, exclaiming excitedly over his bloody nose and swelling eyes.
 

“Timothy?” John shot the boy a stern look.

Timothy had acquired quite a spectacular split lip, but didn’t seem bothered by it. He grimaced despite the injury, and his eyes glittered with indignation as he shot a disgusted glance in George’s direction. “He called you a superstitious coward,” Timothy said, meeting John’s gaze, “and said I was a fool for believing you!”

“Believing me?”

“About the headless horseman, sir. He said you lied about seeing him.”

John’s stomach contracted, leaving him feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut instead of the back. He entertained a few uncharitable thoughts regarding George’s parents and let out a long sigh, wishing to God that the school day was over. He no longer suffered from the fatigue caused by late night patrols, but a new problem had arisen when he and Brom had stopped their nightly rides after their chilling encounter with the headless horseman: not all of the villagers believed his and Brom’s claim to have confronted the spectral rider. The morning after their encounter, Brom and John had decided that there was little to be done other than to calmly warn the citizens of Sleepy Hollow and urge them to stay indoors after dark. For the most part, people listened. As for the minority who didn’t…

Brom had met John at the schoolhouse during the afternoon of the day after their last nightly patrol. He’d arrived with a busted lip, though it was nothing, he’d said, compared to the damage the other fellow had walked away with. John was aware of how grating it must be for Brom to endure the scorn of other villagers for believing in a phantom; at times, John was still faintly surprised that Brom
did
believe. The encounter had been that convincing, that
real
. John pressed his fingers to his throat, where a hand-shaped bruise lingered, yellow and brown. It had been there when he’d woken the morning after, purple and livid. Brom had been the first to notice it when they’d risen together during the sunny late morning, having made love on and off ‘till dawn, as Brom had promised. It had attracted many stares since, though alternative explanations had made their way through the village’s gossip vines, most of which involved Brom strangling John for making improper advances toward Katrina.

At least they didn’t know the truth of
that
matter.

“Master Crane?” Joshua’s voice called John back to the matter at hand. “Aren’t you going to punish George?”

John managed to maintain a stern expression as he gazed down at the youngest Jansen, who had been his most loyal supporter ever since the incident with the headless horseman. John had told Joshua that his crucifix had delivered him from danger, and that he’d given it to Katrina Van Tassel so that it might keep her safe. Of course, he hadn’t told the whole story, or mentioned that Katrina had been present during the ordeal, but the knowledge that his handmade cross had been a success had thrilled Joshua. He’d taken to telling anyone who’d listen that the headless horseman was real, and that the crucifix had deterred him, saving John’s life. “I think George has had quite enough punishment,” John said, frowning at the sight of blood trickling down the boy’s chin.

Joshua frowned, clearly of a different opinion, but wisely said nothing.

“You boys, on the other hand,” John said, “know better than to engage in violence at school.”
 

The Jansen boys all frowned back at him with assorted expressions of betrayal. One had a bruised cheek, another a split lip, but they’d all fared much better than George.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you all home early. I’ll speak with your father this afternoon.”

All four boys gathered up the books they’d brought and began to shuffle sullenly from the schoolhouse. They wouldn’t mind missing their lessons, but they were surely dreading facing their parents. Maybe John could dismiss the rest of the students a little early too, and convince Mr. Jansen to take it easy on his sons. After all, poor Joshua had been trying to defend John’s honor, and he and George had been a ridiculously unfair match. The other three boys had only been defending their brother. Given, they had gone overboard, but…
 

“You go home too, George, and have your mother clean you up.” John turned to the rest of his pupils, scanning the small crowd for an older boy of sufficiently calm temperament. “Edward, walk George home, please.” He couldn’t just send George stumbling home alone, his face bloodied.

“Yes, Master Crane.” Edward hopped up from his bench, no doubt delighted to take a break from his lessons.

John resumed the lesson as normally as possible, but his pupils fidgeted in their seats, and there was a marked air of distraction about everything they did that day. He finally gave up an hour before the usual dismissal time and sent his students home, much to their joy. All of Sleepy Hollow would know about the boys’ fistfight within the hour, if they didn’t already. Would they blame John? Probably. Frowning, he exited the schoolhouse and began the walk to the Jansens’ home where, God willing, he’d be able to preserve the boys from the worst of their parents’ wrath.

* * * * *

“It’s a shame about that lip,” Martha Smit said, leaning casually against the table in the Van Tassels’ kitchen. “It won’t heal by Friday, you know.”

“I suppose it won’t.” Katrina channeled her annoyance into the task of kneading bread dough and did her best to appear unaffected by Martha’s chatter. The woman had materialized on the doorstep a quarter of an hour ago and marched into the house as soon as Katrina had opened the door, gossiping away and making annoying observances, the latest of which was that Brom’s split lip wouldn’t have time to heal before their impending wedding.

“You’ll look like an angel, I have no doubt, and he standing beside you looking like a hot-headed ruffian!” Martha chuckled. “Reminds me of his younger years, when you were no more than a girl. He was quite the rowdy, you know.”

Katrina mumbled something noncommittal, resisting the urge to seize the opportunity to make a less than charitable comment about Martha’s age.

“Got in more fights than anyone could have counted,” Martha continued. “Was always brawling over something. And such a strapping young fellow he was, too.” She sighed, apparently relishing the memory of Brom’s scandalous youth. “But he grew out of those habits, didn’t he? When his parents died, the poor dears, and left him the farm to manage. A week ago, I would have sworn he’d never go back to his old ways.”

“He may have gotten into a few scuffles lately,” Katrina said, affecting to make her voice sound light and untroubled, “but he was provoked, I’m sure.”

“Oh, to be sure,” Martha agreed graciously. “After all, people have been saying the most dreadful things.”

That much was true. As his fiancée and the daughter of one of the area’s most respected men, Katrina had been spared some of the gossip, but there was no avoiding it all together. Most of it was pure nonsense, bordering on the outrageous.

“Did you hear that he’s supposed to have strangled the schoolmaster, John Crane, in a fit of rage?” Martha lowered her voice just a little, as if imparting some great secret. “He’s said to have done it because John made an improper advance toward
you
.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake!” Katrina snapped, breaking an egg over the edge of a bowl with enough force to send a shower of shell particles into the batter of what was to be another loaf of bread. “There’s no truth in that claim, and you ought to know it.”

Martha had the grace to look mildly abashed, but her eyes glittered with repressed glee. Provoking such a reaction from Katrina had probably been her goal in the first place, Katrina realized too late.

“Of course
I
know that, but the other folk…well, everyone knows that John’s fond of you.”

“I’m fond of him too – we both share a love of books, of which he has many, and is kind enough to share with me.”

Martha raised an eyebrow in Katrina’s direction. “Yes, but he was one of your many hopeful suitors before you and Brom became engaged, was he not?”

Martha was clearly persisting for the satisfaction of forcing Katrina to admit that it had been more than mere scholarly fellowship that had drawn John to her.

“As you said, that was before Brom and I became engaged. John and Brom are good friends, and John would never do anything to betray their friendship.” Her cheeks heated as she spoke, though with any luck, Martha would attribute the flush to the heat of the nearby fire.
 

Martha made a noncommittal sound in the back of her throat, clearly unconvinced.

“Stir this, would you?” Katrina asked, thrusting the bowl full of batter into Martha’s arms. “Be sure to pick out the bits of shell first, or else they’ll become lost in the dough.” If the woman was going to loiter about her kitchen, she could at least make herself useful. As Martha eyed her sudden burden with wide eyes, Katrina returned to kneading dough with more force than was strictly necessary. She had only to endure three more days of this; three days, and then she’d be married to Brom, who fortunately was not a close neighbor of Martha’s.

* * * * *

“I hope you won’t be too harsh with the boys, Mr. Jansen. Though their behavior was reprehensible, Timothy was badly provoked, and his brothers were concerned for his safety.” After dismissing the children for the day, John had pulled aside a couple of students who sat near the back of the room and managed to get the entire story out of them. As it turned out, George had been antagonizing Timothy all morning, calling him names and poking him with the sharp end of his writing quill. What little sympathy John felt for George was purely obligatory – after all, he was the schoolmaster, entrusted with the welfare of all his pupils.

Mr. Jansen’s face was a mask of disapproval as he stared across the table at John. “Timothy told me what happened,” he grunted, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “That other boy got what he deserved, but that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate my boys brawling in school.” He leaned forward in his seat, and his cold blue eyes locked with John’s. “My wife and I took you in because we want our boys to grow up educated. They could learn to fight in any tavern or alley – when we send them to the schoolhouse, we expect them to practice other things, such as reading and arithmetic.”