SleepyHollow2BookBundle (34 page)

The corner of Brom’s mouth twitched, and for a moment, he looked as if he might laugh. Perhaps the warning look in John’s eyes stopped him though, for he only shrugged. “If you insist.”

Left to her own devices inside the house, Katrina surveyed the kitchen with a critical eye. There were a number of improvements she intended to make – the house needed a woman’s touch. But as she made a mental list of tasks, it wasn’t housework her mind focused on, but what she’d witnessed in secret that morning. Her body was still tingling with excitement and longing. God willing, the day would pass by quickly so she could slip into bed with Brom and John again.

* * * * *

John really did look as if he’d been kicked in the face by a horse. Even the barn’s shadows didn’t hide his injuries. It was difficult not to flinch each time he emerged from a stall, carrying an empty feed bucket. His bruises were a livid purple, blackened in the worst places, and had formed scabs where his skin had broken when he’d been hit.
 

A muscle beneath Brom’s jaw twitched as the violent scene from the day before flashed into his mind, unbidden. He’d been doing his best not to dwell on it, because doing so left him sorely tempted to ride to Dirck Acker’s home and give the man some severe bruises of his own, but it was difficult, at best, with John there as a constant reminder.

“Is something the matter?” John asked, stepping into the barn aisle and fixing Brom with a critical look.

“Thinking about yesterday, that’s all,” Brom grumbled, scooping up some of the alfalfa hay the horses liked so much.

Strangely, John’s face went pale beneath his bruises. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

“Regret what?”

Now his cheeks turned pink, where they weren’t already purple. “Inviting me into your marriage bed,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“You think
that’s
what I meant?”

“I thought you might – regret it, that is. If you do, I’ll understand.”

Brom suppressed a hint of anger. John had certainly had his share of rough treatment lately – it wouldn’t be right to lose his temper with him. Still, to suggest such a stupid thing, when the morning had been going so well… “No. Not at all. I was thinking about the fight.”

“Oh. I see.” A few wordless moments passed them by, punctuated by a hopeful neigh coming from Torben’s stall – the stallion was eager for his breakfast. “Did you plan it?” John asked, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Last night, I mean. What we did…”

“Not entirely,” Brom said, his head swimming with the haze of memories and phantom sensations John’s words brought back. “Fantasized about it, more like. And then things fell through with you and the Jansens yesterday, and next thing I knew, you were there, in my house. It seemed natural to invite you into our bed, and then… Christ, John. It all happened, just like I imagined, and it still feels like a dream.”

John’s cheeks had flushed as Brom had spoken, and the sight of the color creeping across John’s face was pleasing despite the bruises that obscured much of his blush. Though they weren’t touching, he and John were connected by their thoughts, the shared pleasure they were plainly both remembering. The night before had been amazing; just a passing thought of it was enough to make Brom’s cock harden. Finally making love to Katrina had been incredible, and watching John do it had been just as much so. It had been a challenge not to spill his seed then and there as he’d watched John take her. And then, touching the both of them, lending his efforts to drive Katrina to climax…
 

“I know you enjoyed it,” John said. “I thought you might regret it for Katrina’s sake.”

“She enjoyed it too. That was plain enough at the time, and did she seem troubled this morning at breakfast?”

“No,” John admitted reluctantly. “But she’s so sweet, I wonder if she would tell us if she didn’t enjoy it.”

Brom snorted. Yes, Katrina was sweet, but she wasn’t a fool. And the look on her face when John had made love to her the night before, combined with the way she’d embraced him, eagerly pulling him close and urging him to take her… Brom’s balls tightened. She liked the arrangement just as much as he did, he’d bet his best horse on it. “She would.”

John continued to frown, looking pensive.

“Don’t trouble yourself over a matter that’s not even a problem. Here, take this to Torben – he looks as if he’s considering leaping over his stall door to get a mouthful of it.” Torben was indeed eagerly eyeing Brom’s armful of hay, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

John took the hay and turned in the direction of Torben’s stall, unlatching the door and slipping past it. Scarcely a moment later, a muffled curse came from inside.

“What is it?” Brom asked, hurrying to the door, John’s soft “damn” echoing in his mind.

John rose, a hand pressed tightly against his right cheek. Blood was welling between his fingers and beginning to stream through the cracks. “Torben swung his huge nose right into mine trying to get at the hay.” John shot an uncharitable look at the horse, which had buried its muzzle in hay and was chewing in contentment, oblivious to the damage it had caused.

“Better go inside and let Katrina clean you up.” Clearly, Torben’s accidental blow had re-opened John’s wound. Brom could easily feed the rest of the horses on his own. Maybe a bit of time spent with Katrina was just what John needed to realize what was so plain – that she was happy with the decision the three of them had made and that she loved John just as much as she loved him.

* * * * *

Katrina was industriously scrubbing the kitchen when John entered, his hand sticky with blood. As his footsteps caused the floorboards to shake beneath her knees, she looked up, her eyes going wide. “What happened to you, John?” She was hurrying toward him in an instant, the chore forgotten.

Feeling vaguely guilty, he told her briefly what had happened, assuring her it was nothing serious.

“I’ll fetch a cloth,” she assured him, and whisked quickly away only to return moments later with a cloth and a bowl of water.

John let her pry his hand away and press the cool cloth against his cheek, soothing the wound. It stung where it had been reopened, and ached deep beneath, all the way to the bone. Her touch was tender but sure, utterly soothing. It made his gut twist to think that he might have let things go too far the night before, and that they couldn’t be undone. “Katrina,” he breathed as water beaded on his lip. “Tell me truly – are you content with this arrangement, with what happened last night?” His cock stirred traitorously, even as he steeled himself for her reply.

Her eyes and lips went equally round with surprise as she lowered the cloth from John’s face and dipped it into the bowl of water.

“If you’re not, I apologize.” Water trickled into his mouth, embittered with blood.

“Of course I’m content,” Katrina said. “What would make you think otherwise?”

“It’s only that—” How could he put his worries into words? Yes, she’d seemed to enjoy what he’d done to her the night before – he never would have been able to go through with it if she hadn’t given every appearance of ecstasy – but he’d been half-frenzied, his judgment clouded, perhaps, by his lust. And even if the experience had been physically agreeable to her then, that didn’t mean it didn’t trouble her mind now. “It seems absurd that I should expect you to be content with having given your virginity to a man other than your husband. Especially one such as myself.” He waved a hand toward his face. Being deflowered by a man who didn’t have any real right to touch her, whose face was a mask of bruises and cuts… It must have been a frightful experience.

“Oh, John.” She dropped her cloth into the bowl, where it sank beneath the surface of the reddened water. “You worry too much. I mean what I said; I love you just as I love Brom. How could I possibly be unhappy with what we’ve done? To tell the truth it…it seems too good to be true, and I fear I may wake up to find that it’s all been a dream.”

“Funny,” John said, his stomach knotting. “I feel the same way.” Only he was afraid that he’d wake to find himself caught in a nightmare, despised by Katrina and cut off from Brom. Could the sheer perfection of what they’d experienced the night before really last? Could life truly be lived this way?

Katrina’s lips quirked in a smile, and she placed her hands on John’s shoulders.

“Careful,” he said, “you’ll soil your gown.”

His cheek was wet; a mixture of blood and water tickled his jaw, threatening to drip.

“It can be washed,” she replied, and leaned in, pressing her lips lightly against his.

Her kiss sent a shiver of sensual delight down his spine and roused a burning hunger deep within him. His own nipples went hard as her breasts met his chest, full and soft. The memory of them from the night before was vivid in his mind; the weight of them in his hand, the sweet stiffness of their tips in his mouth. She was perfect. Brom had only told John directly that he loved him once, but his willingness to share Katrina was more proof than anyone could have asked for.

The kitchen door swung open, admitting a rush of cool air, and boots sounded against the floorboards. John jumped reflexively and turned, relieved and anxious at the same time to confirm that it was Brom who’d entered. Despite Brom’s blessing and the love shared between the three of them, accepting Katrina’s kiss still felt sinful.

“Bad news,” Brom declared, saying nothing of the kiss, though his eyes gleamed as he surveyed the two of them. “There’s been some trouble at the schoolhouse.”

CHAPTER 10

“The schoolhouse? But there are no classes today.” While the children were more than capable of getting up to mischief on a school day, it was difficult to imagine anything going awry when they weren’t even there. “Is the roof leaking again?”
 

Brom shook his head, rolling his broad shoulders as if he’d just been carrying a heavy burden. He probably had been. John’s insides twinged with guilt at the thought of Brom performing manual labor while he himself had been inside, snuggling up to Katrina. “The building’s been damaged.”

“What – how?”

“Don’t know. Joel Claus just rode by and stopped to inform me so that I might tell you.”

Joel Claus was another farmer, one who lived nearby. If he knew, most of the village probably did as well. Before John could ask another question, Brom turned back toward the door. “Shall we go and see the damage for ourselves?”

John agreed, and despite the feeling of foreboding that hung overhead like a storm cloud, he still felt warm inside when he cast one last glance at Katrina and bid her goodbye. Then he and Brom were in the stable, saddling horses.
 

Brom rode Torben and John took a sturdy bay gelding that wasn’t as handsome as Torben, but was a significantly better ride than Gunpowder. As they rode through Sleepy Hollow, eventually approaching the schoolhouse, apprehension had John sitting tall in the saddle, craning his neck to peer ahead.

The building was most definitely still standing – John’s nervousness ebbed a little at the sight of it. It had occurred to him during the ride that it might have been burnt, somehow, or otherwise irreparably spoiled. There were some signs of exterior damage, however. The door hung crookedly on one hinge, and the building’s sole glass window had been shattered. After tethering their horses, John and Brom approached the gaping door.

The inside of the schoolhouse was in shambles. All the benches and desks were overturned and had been strewn about the room as if caught up in a tornado. Something streaked down the walls, crusty and odorous – eggs, upon closer inspection. One of the shells crunched under John’s foot as he stared at a place where the wall was bright yellow with dried yolk. The most startling thing, though, was the phrase that had been emblazoned onto the back wall in large, angular letters.
Leave Sleepy Hollow
, it read, the letters written in what appeared to be blood. Below was an ominous, flamboyant signature.

“Vandals,” Brom growled, stepping up to the wall and leering at the crimson letters as if they’d yield evidence of who’d written them if he stared long enough.

“Indeed. But who?”

“Not the headless horseman,” Brom said, “I’ll guarantee you that.”

The blunt message was indeed signed ‘the horseman’, in dripping red letters. Of course, John didn’t believe for a moment that it might have actually been the headless horseman who’d wreaked havoc on the schoolhouse and written the message. Not really.

“Probably Dirck,” Brom said, spitting out the name, “or some of his cohorts.”

“Probably,” John echoed, his gaze lingering on the red letters. It was probably only chicken blood, but… No, it was definitely animal blood. Any one of the local farmers could have acquired it easily enough, and it was no surprise if Dirck and his companions had decided to try to frighten John after what had happened the day before. Anger flared within John as he looked around at the damage. Not only were things a mess, but some of the benches and desks had been broken in places. “School is going to have to be put off for at least another day in order to make repairs. This doesn’t harm me nearly so much as it harms the children. Doesn’t Dirck care about that?”
 

Brom snorted. “Dirck isn’t the sort who values education. I imagine he thought this would be the best place to strike back at you, now that you’re living with me – he wouldn’t dare try anything like this at my home.” Brom stood glaring, his arms crossed over his chest. “Damned coward.”