The Lion and the Crow (9 page)

Christian hesitated. “I swear to you that my dearest wish is for us to be together safe again, and that I will act in no way to endanger that.”

Christian moved even closer to William as he spoke, his eyes full of a fierce affection. A wave of desire dried up William’s demands along with his ability to form any words at all. It seemed the more he had of Christian the more helplessly he wanted him.

“Have no fear,” Christian said softly. He ran long fingers along William’s jaw. “I will slip in and out like a shadow.”

“You put much faith in your… charms,” William said mildly, even though he was already stiffening.

Christian smiled slyly. “I do. I bought something for us in Kendal.”

He went to his horse and pulled something from the saddle bags. William had wondered why Christian had been so long in the shops. When he returned he held out a small stoppered jar.

“Poison?” William asked warily.

Christian laughed. “By the blood, I pray not, considering where this is going.”

Christian uncorked the jar and dabbed some on his fingers. It was clear. He ran it over William’s lips. William tasted it.

“Oil?”

“Linseed oil.”

“For cooking?”

Christian corked the jar and wrapped his arms around William’s neck, standing on his toes to murmur in William’s ear. “For easing your way into my passage.”

William’s heart seemed to leave his chest and get stuck in his throat. His hands moved to Christian’s sides and his face burrowed into Christian’s neck. He groaned as lust shook him and his cock became as solid as his iron sword.

“Is that— you cannot want that.”

“I want it,” Christian said fiercely. “This may be our last night alone together, William. I want everything.”

“You are a saucy wanton,” William muttered, in a tone that said it was a quality he greatly admired.

He pressed Christian tight against him, felt his lover harden as they strove to get closer, as if they could merge flesh, mouths kissing hot and sweet. William was so primed his cock ached like a sore tooth. He certainly had thought about being inside Christian, not only at the river but every time since— about Christian’s long legs wrapped around him, his lovely arse.… But William would never have asked such a thing of another man and particularly not of a knight. He had too much respect for Christian to ask it.

“Are you sure?” William pulled away from Christian’s kiss. “If it is our last, I want you to enjoy it. I want to give you pleasure.”

“I want it, William, I swear. I want to know what it’s like. Don’t deny me.”

****

William held himself in check with great determination as he kissed Christian, divested him of every stitch of clothes, and settled him onto the bedroll. The act Christian had offered seemed to awaken even more tenderness and protectiveness in William than usual, and he wanted to kiss and soothe and touch Christian everywhere, preparing him for what he hoped was their mutual bliss.

Christian let him do as he would, not hurrying him, though his cock was rigid and glistening with arousal on his stomach and his eyes burned with far gone desire. William could not get enough of touching that sweet flesh. He ran his hand over Christian’s chest and stomach and hips again and again. His own cock throbbed every time he passed over a dusky nipple and Christian made an involuntary little gasp. But eventually, Christian dug in his heels and lifted his hips.

“Use the oil on me,” Christian said, his voice rough.

William, shaking, obliged. He poured some of the oil into the center of his hand and stoked it over Christian’s stiff cock. Christian arched upwards in pleasure and hissed.

“Not there! I will spend in an instant, I beg you.” He spread his thighs and moved over a little so he could pull his knees towards his chest, opening himself up.

It was the most shameless, vulnerable, and erotic thing William had ever seen. He blushed, even as his eyes fell to the pale perfection, to the tight pink bud Christian revealed so wantonly.

William’s fingers shook as he smoothed oil over that tender flesh, making it slick.

Christian moaned. “Press in.”

William pressed one oily finger gently against the pucker, then, when it did not give, more firmly. The tip of his finger sank in. Christian made an incoherent sound.

“
Further
,” he demanded almost churlishly.

William thrust the finger deep, determined to not to be mawkish in his inexperience. Christian cried out in shock and pleasure. And
God’s teeth
, the way his channel felt around William’s finger— grasping and hot and slick with the oil. William almost spent against Christian’s thigh like a callow youth.

He muttered Christian’s name and thrust his finger in and out, mesmerized by the sight of it disappearing into that pale flesh. Gradually the tight ring slackened a little against him.

Christian pulled at his arms, trying to get William to lie atop him. “Now, William. I pray you.”

William resisted only long enough to coat his cock with the oil. Then he dropped the jar and covered Christian fully with his body, using his hand to guide himself to the entrance.

He paused there, his face inches from Christian’s, lost in those dark eyes. For a moment they stared at each other, their locked gaze so intense that it did not bear breaking, not even for the act they both desperately wanted. Then Christian thrust up his hips. “Breach me,” he demanded.

William pushed in, feeling the resistance, stopping when Christian’s face showed pain. But slowly, slowly, inch by inch, retreat and pursue, his cock sunk deep. Until finally, he was buried and there was only the grasping intimacy and ecstasy of being inside Christian’s body.

Nature took over, causing William to thrust again and again, now fast to spur them upwards, now slow to keep it from ending too quickly. He loved the feel of having Christian underneath him, pressed flesh to flesh, of being so intimately united with his body. They kissed. They stared into each other’s eyes. Christian’s hands roamed over his back. And all the while, William’s most sensitive flesh was stroked and suckled, giving him blinding pleasure, and the emotions that chased across Christian’s face made it clear he was just as affected.

When William could hold back no longer, he rose up onto his heels and pulled Christian into his lap. Poised thus, William could thrust deeply and stroke Christian at the same time. It only lasted a matter of seconds, but the moment was burned permanently into William’s brain— the sight of Christian’s slender body below him, that beautiful face, those eyes so loving and passionate gazing into his, Christian’s cock, so decadent, stiff in William’s hand as he stroked it, Christian’s pale spread thighs lying over his, and the sight and sensation of William’s own cock plunging into that beautiful body.

In that moment, William knew that this was it for him— the pinnacle of sexual and romantic bliss. Nothing would ever match this; nothing could come close to being as lovely, erotic, and rousing as Christian, just like this, letting William take him. Not a woman, not even another man, if he ever dared such. This was the moment he would take to his grave.

I love you,
William thought as his peak ripped through him like a tempest. And even as he recognized the significance of the moment, he was mourning the fact that he would very likely never have this again.

****

CHAPTER 13

Christian awoke before dawn. He gently disengaged himself from William, assuring himself first that the older knight was asleep. When he rose, he paused for a moment to stare down at his lover.

By the saints, Sir William Corbet was a handsome man, virile and strong in a way that made Christian feel profoundly moved, like the sight of a perfect sunset or the view of green rolling plains from a hilltop. Christian knew it might be the last time he ever saw William, so he allowed his gaze to linger. But soon the ache it provoked in his chest was too much, too large a threat to his will, and he made himself move.

He left his bedroll with William, and quietly led Livermore out of the camp. If William woke, he would only have more doubts about letting Christian go to the castle, and leaving him behind would just be that much more difficult.

He rode all morning. When he could see the walls of the castle, he turned Livermore into the woods. He found a small stream and unpacked his saddle bags. He drew out his purchases: a rolled length of bandaging, a white wimple, a blue linen gown, and a pair of women’s simple black shoes.

Christian had never done this before, and it took him some time. He shaved his chin very carefully and soothed it with the linseed oil. He would have to do that often. He could not forget. He bound his cock and bollocks back between his legs. He dressed. He bunched the excess bandages in his bodice and did his best to shape them.

He put on the wimple, which hid his hair and draped over his gown. It helped mask the unnatural shape of his bosom. When he was done, he stood and looked at himself, head to toe, in the moving water of the stream.

Fear spread its icy finger through his chest.

God’s wounds, this was an insane idea. How could anyone look at him and not see Christian Brandon, a man? How had he ever thought of such a disastrous plan?

His panic held him tightly for several painful seconds, and then he forced himself to look again, this time with the eye of a stranger. A very odd creature stared back at him, half woman, half man. He blinked. Mostly a woman?

I can do this. I can.

He had thought of it some days back, before he’d ever broached the subject with William of doing espionage in the castle. But he knew if he told William everything he planned, there was no way William would allow it. By Christ’s toes, he’d barely gotten William to agree to let him go to the castle at all, just to do reconnaissance.

But as Christian had pondered their situation, he’d come to one inescapable conclusion: Their best chance of freeing Elaine was Somerfield’s death.

Yes, there was a slim chance that Elaine might be able to be spirited away, that there might be a time and a place within her daily routine that would allow such, or that her rooms would be but lightly-guarded, or even that Christian could get her a message and she could extract herself from her warders and meet them outside the bailey’s walls. But he doubted it. If Somerfield were the beast he was reputed to be, it was unlikely Elaine would have that kind of liberty. And even if they managed to escape with her and the children, her absence would quickly bring alarm, and they’d be pursued by Somerfield’s army.

Christian was not completely dismissing that scenario. But he was prepared to go further— should the opportunity present itself. And it was much more likely to present itself in this guise, as was any chance of getting close to Elaine.

He looked down at himself critically. His hands were too large. He would have to hide them as much as possible. And— by the Holy Virgin— he had not thought of the archer’s callouses on his right hand. If anyone noticed those he was done for. His voice… He practiced a falsetto, but it sounded laughable to his own ears. He would have to speak as little as possible. The wimple hid his throat, which was all too male, and accentuated his face, which was the disguise’s best hope. Or so he’d thought.

When he’d first thought of the plan, he’d been swept up by its cleverness, by the irony of it. He’d been told so oft, and so disdainfully, that he was pretty, womanly, soft. The fact that he might use that to his advantage was too delicious to resist.

But now, his reflection seemed to only emphasize what was male about him, which was much. He’d spent his whole life acting as masculine and cold as possible. And now it was not a woman’s face that looked back at him. He tried to soften it, smiled sweetly at the water. It was an improvement. But would he not revert back to the familiar the moment his attention wandered? It was dangerous.

“Courage,” he whispered over his pounding heart. “I can do this. I
shall.
”

If he was caught out, a man dressing as a woman, he would most likely be killed. William would be frothing at the mouth if he knew Christian was attempting this. He would murder Christian if he found out.

Nevertheless, the thought of William calmed him.
William
.

Christian would save William. He would be clever and invisible and bold.

Resolved, Christian untied Livermore’s reins and gave the horse a nudge and a pat. “Back to Tristan with you. Go on.”

Livermore looked at Christian indignantly for just a moment and then took off at a gallop back to camp.

Christian walked on foot towards the castle.

****

CHAPTER 14

“Take this and hurry up with you!” The cook, Hilde, thrust out a platter bearing an enormous roast goose that was set round with crabapples.

Christian took it, placing both hands on the bottom of the platter to keep them out of view. Not for the first time, he was surprised at the strength women were expected to have. By the Saints! The platter was damned heavy. He couldn’t imagine Ayleth carrying such a thing. But then Ayleth was a lady, not a servant. Christian carried it up the stairs towards the dining hall.