Knightly Love

KNIGHTLY LOVE

Fyn Alexander

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Knightly Love Copyright © November 2011 by Fyn Alexander All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. eISBN 978-1-61118-633-8 Editor: Judith David Cover Artist: Marci Gass Printed in the United States of America Published by Loose Id LLC PO Box 809 San Francisco CA 94104-0809 www.loose-id.com This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author‟s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Author’s Note A word about language in Knightly Love: While the author and editors have tried to guard against careless anachronism, in the end and for the reader’s enjoyment we’ve also chosen clarity in storytelling over authenticity that obscures present-day meaning and readability.

Chapter One Holt House, near Liverpool, Lancashire Having always been a nervous boy—who did not improve with age—there was nothing I dreaded more than arms practice. Even the beauty of this February day, under an arc of blue sky with birds singing a chorus in its honor, did not ease my apprehension. On the instruction of Master Edmund Carlisle, my father‟s steward of arms, I lunged, thrusting my sword at the pell. The man-size wooden post was large enough that only a blind person could fail to hit it, but with my father standing by watching, I was uneasy. A magpie flew low across my line of vision, distracting me momentarily, and I missed altogether. The momentum of my thrust pulled me after it. My sword tip stuck in the ground, tripping me up, and I tumbled head over heels on the grass, losing my sword entirely and landing on my arse. “Idiot!” Master Carlisle shouted. Around me on the practice field, a low rumble of laughter followed my fall but was quickly stifled when my father ran over, shouting, “Get back to your own business.” Shaking his head, he said, “Get up, boy. For God‟s sake, try to act like a man with some sense instead of a court jester.” “Lord Robin is a danger to himself, my Lord Mossley,” Carlisle said. “And he could kill someone else unwitting.” I attempted to pull my sword from the ground, but the practice field was well used and trampled down hard. My sword was jammed in deep. After several failed tries, I looked at my father, my cheeks flaming as they did so easily. Francis Holt, Lord Mossley of Mossley Hill and all the surrounding villages, pushed me aside with his forearm in my chest before grabbing the sword to pull it with ease from the ground. He was in the act of handing it back to me when he withdrew it again. “What‟s the point? You‟ll kill yourself with it before you‟ll kill an enemy of mine or the king.” “I am sorry, sire,” I mumbled, looking into the disappointed face of the man whose love I had always sought and always failed to win. “Look at your brothers.” He pointed across the field to where Thomas and Charles, now thirteen and sixteen years old, were mounted on stout horses while they charged at moving targets. “They never miss. You never hit. What‟s to be done with him, Carlisle?” “Put him in a gown and veil and pass him off as a girl,” the man said impatiently, but at an angry look from my father, he said, less arrogantly, “Forgive me, my lord, but I give up.” He spread his hands in defeat. “There have been stirrings of a threat against me from that brigand, Sir Roscelin Branton. Would you help defend me, Robin, if I were attacked in my own forest?” “Yes, sire,” I said at once.

“With what? A broom handle? Get off the field.” Such was his disdain that I wished I could curl up like a dried leaf and blow away. Skirting the field to avoid being pierced by a spear or ridden down by men in armor racing their horses, I hurried away. As soon as I reached the forest, I ran through the bare trees to the summerhouse, tears already pricking my eyes. I was eighteen years old. There were men in my father‟s army younger than I, but I could never compete with them on horseback, in the sword, or even drinking in the great hall. I was a miserable failure at everything a man was supposed to excel in. The old summerhouse had become both a refuge and a prison to me. A refuge because it was long disused since my father had built a fine new one for my mother beside the lake; a prison because it was where Master Eadward Chancey and I met in secret. At that hour, he should be occupied in the house with my three sisters, who despised him as much as Thomas and Charles did. My tutor had arrived at Holt House three years prior with excellent letters of reference, and my father had employed him to teach all six of his children. But from the start, it was I, the eldest son and heir to my father‟s vast and wealthy estate, whom he had singled out. Since at least the age of twelve, I had known that only a man could ignite my passion and set it blazing. I looked upon maidens with the tenderness of a brother, but they never caused my member to rise. From the moment I had met Master Eadward, his handsome smile had enchanted my heart, but there was also a certain cruelty in his beautiful gray eyes and tapered jaw that was impossible to ignore. The woods encroaching upon the summerhouse made it dim inside. Leaves scattered the floor, blown in through the open windows and doors. Glad to be alone with no one to witness the shame of my tears, I threw myself into an old wooden chair and sobbed. I would never be the soldier and stalwart son my father craved. Only my mother was kindly about my failings. “Everyone is different. You have many talents, Robin, but sadly none that you need as the firstborn son of a lord,” she had said one evening as we sat beside the hearth in the solar. I wanted so dearly to please my mother, but I did not know how to be a lord. “What are you crying about now?” Startled and quickly wiping my tears with the heels of my hands, I looked up at Master Eadward. “I thought you would be instructing the girls at this hour.” “Your sisters are far too intelligent for females. It will do them no good. They finished their lessons early, and so I let them go to their needlework which will benefit them far more than reading French and Latin.” His mouth twisted as he spoke. Master Eadward hated my sisters, but he was not allowed to thrash them as he did my brothers and me, so he insulted them at every opportunity. “Stand up when I enter a room, boy.” I rose at once and moved aside for Master Eadward to take the chair. He sat back comfortably, looking up at me, his ever-present birch rod resting across his knees. “Strip,” he ordered.

“I don‟t want to.” I met his eyes steadfastly, having long since tired of our intimacy. “I came here to be alone.” At fifteen I had obeyed Master Eadward because I thought I loved him, and his constant threats to reveal my first indiscretion had always been sufficient to hold me in thrall. On that freezing winter day three years before when I had crept out of the house to meet him as ordered, he had shown me what he wanted and expected. He had set a pattern that I did not dare counter. When he first began to tell me he loved me, I had been happy, because I wanted to be loved. But as the months and years slipped by, meeting Master Eadward at the summerhouse had become exhausting, a thing I dreaded. “Am I supposed to care what you want, boy? You will do what I want, and you will do it cheerfully.” I shifted uncomfortably as I stood before him, knowing I would end up relenting. I had tried to say no several times over the last half year, but did not have the courage to persist in the face of Master Eadward‟s determination. “I saw you on the field just now, Robin. I was watching you. You made a horse‟s arse of yourself as usual, and your father was disgusted. Now take your clothes off and be quick about it.” I removed all of my clothing and laid it carefully on the floor where it would not get too dusty. Then I waited several feet away from Master Eadward with my hands at my sides as expected. My tutor shook his head. “You are far too thin, such a weakling. A pale, pathetic milksop of a boy.” I listened to his insults, no longer believing what he had always told me, that it was valid criticism and that I would grow from it. I did not grow. I shrank more and more as the years went by, withering under his cruel words as the garden withers under the winter frost. “Kneel,” Master Eadward said, rising from his chair. I obeyed without protest and did not flinch when he brought the birch down across my shoulders several times. “On your hands and knees, boy.” Again I obeyed. We had played this game many a time. With the full force of his shoulders, Master Eadward thrashed my buttocks until I cried out. My organ rose and thickened, as it always did, and I quickly shot my milk onto the floor. At length he flung himself back into his chair, panting and looking at me, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. “Do you love me, Robin?” “Yes, sir.” I uttered the expected response. My arse burned with pain, and yet I found the pain a wonderful distraction from the memory of my father‟s disappointment. It distracted me also from the gnawing emptiness growing inside me and the intense desire to leave Holt House and begin a new life. But there was nowhere I could run from the expectations of my birth. “Shall I fuck your arse now, boy?” Master Eadward asked.

Again I gave him the response he desired. “Yes please, Master Eadward.” It was always the same. Master Eadward would flog me until I spent. His flogging me aroused him, and then he would fuck me. He lowered his hose and knelt behind me. Too late we heard the rustle of men making their way through the thick brush outside. Too late we were alerted to the drawing of a sword and the cry of disgust rising from Lord Francis‟s throat. I looked up in horror to see my father with Master Carlisle, and beside them, my brother, Thomas, with a look of triumph on his face. “I told you, sire. I told you what they were up to.” As tall as me and far more manly, so good at the sword and all the lordly pursuits, Thomas was after only one thing: my right as firstborn son to inherit my father‟s wealth and title. He wanted to supplant me. Master Eadward leaped to his feet, protests springing to his lips. “The boy needed punishment, my Lord Mossley. I brought him here so that his brothers would not be witness to his shame. He can do nothing right.” As he spoke, he dragged his hose up to cover his backside, making a grab for his birch rod. Naked, I rose from my undignified position on my hands and knees. My father was a big, ruddy-faced man who liked his ale and, despite his love for my mother, bedded numerous whores. “I know he can do nothing right. You do not need to tell me that, Chancey. Robin has brought me naught but shame. But I know also that you have been making a maiden of him. Is it not so, Thomas?” One hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his broad shoulders and thick arms making my slenderness yet more apparent, Thomas said, “Yes, sire. I discovered them at it this last sennight, but I suspected their devilry far longer. They meet here and play at being man and wife.” I began to pull on my hose and tunic, looking all the while at Master Eadward, who had told me repeatedly over the last three years that he loved me. I waited now for him to say something in our defense. “Lord Mossley, I had no choice,” he said, his eyes darting between me and my father. “The boy threatened to tell lies and have me dismissed from my post. I value my association with your family and the name of Holt. I value your other children. Lord Robin would have torn my life apart had I not succumbed to his vile wishes.” Stunned at his betrayal so close on the heels of my brother‟s, I reeled. I looked at my father‟s face and saw the play of emotions as he sought to make sense of the story. Would he believe Master Eadward‟s scurrilous tale? Overcome with fear and disgrace, I said haltingly, “Master Eadward, tell my father you love me. You said you love me.” “Ridiculous boy!” Master Eadward all but spat the words at me. “You used threats and coercion to force me into an unholy alliance, and now you cast the blame upon me.” A thin silence stretched among us as if we all stood on the very precipice of something terrible and chaotic. The fear in my heart sank into a deadness from which I

felt I would never rise again. If my father banished me, then so be it. I wanted to leave Holt House anyway. If he beat me senseless, then I would take it without a tear. But how could Master Eadward betray me so thoroughly? At last Lord Francis broke the silence. “Chancey, you will leave my house before sunset. Take all your belongings, since you will never return. I will give you no letter of reference, and should anyone ask me about you, I will tell them you fuck boys!” “I did not do so willingly! Your son forced me, Lord Mossley. I cannot leave. I have nowhere to go.” Master Eadward was cut short by the tip of my father‟s sword at his throat. Master Carlisle drew his sword also. “You can sleep in the forest for all I care,” Lord Francis shouted. “But make sure it is not my forest. You are banished from my land. You used my son ill. He has never been manly, but you have made of him a girl.” To Carlisle he said, “You will escort Chancey to the house to collect all he owns. Then see him off Holt land. If he attempts to return, you have full leave to do as you will with him.” “Sire,” I whispered. “He said he loved me. You do believe me, don‟t you?” My father spat on the ground at my feet. “You have shamed my house and the name of Holt. I have no wish to hear the details of this sordid affair.” His voice rose as he spoke; his eyes blazed with anger. “You will go to the Monastery of St. Asaph in Wales and remain there among godly men, where you will be strictly disciplined until I can write to my cousin in France. I only hope he will allow me to bring forward your marriage to his daughter, Esme. She is young, only sixteen years old, but at least she is a maiden and not a man. Now return to the house and pack your clothes. You will leave at once.” When I failed to move, Lord Francis screamed, “Get out! Both of you!”

Chapter Two St. Asaph Monastery, North Wales Three months I had lived at St. Asaph, and every Monday afternoon, the abbot called me to his little cottage on the monastery grounds for the same purpose. I hated this meeting and yet never shrank from it. The abbot was going to beat the sin out of me, and I suppose someone had to. My dealings with Master Eadward had left me feeling soiled and sinful, and if the abbot chose to cleanse me, then perhaps I should encourage him. The old monk who lived with the abbot and waited on him showed me into the parlor where I stood in silence by the door, my head bowed. Sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair, the abbot said, “Brother Robin, how are you finding life at St. Asaph?” He always asked the same questions, and my answers never differed from week to week. “As I have found it these last three months, Father, very peaceful, thank you.” “And do you enjoy your work in the infirmary with Brother Damien?” Brother Damien was a nasty, petty man who made my life miserable at every turn. “Yes, Father. I like to help people. I am learning a good deal about herb lore and caring for the sick.” “I am glad you like to help others. So do I.” His face a hard mask of arrogance, the abbot asked, “Do you find your mind wandering to unsavory topics such as the reason my Lord Mossley sent you to us?” I met his small, dark eyes. “Yes, Father.” I always answered the same, and his reply followed upon it like dawn follows night. “Sinful boy!” Placing both hands flat on the desk, he pushed himself upright. The abbot was a big, verbose man who suspected everyone around him of foul thoughts and sins of the flesh. “If you taint the monks of St. Asaph with your lust for sodomy, I will report you to the appropriate authorities despite your father‟s generous endowment to the monastery. Do you understand?” “Yes, Father.” There was no point in arguing with the man and no point in telling him that the brothers did not need me to corrupt them. The assignations between some of the monks had been apparent from my first day. I had been approached more than once by Brother Abelard, who wanted me to walk the prayer garden with him after dark. Each time I declined, his frustration grew. “On whom do your lustful thoughts center, Brother?” The abbot snatched up the thick birch rod that stood in the corner near his desk. Tapping the rod against his palm, just as Master Eadward had done, he strode to the middle of the small parlor, his hawkish gaze upon me.

In truth I had had no lustful thoughts concerning anyone at St. Asaph. But I might as well make him happy, since he would beat me anyway. “Father, I have lusted after the farrier who comes up from the village to collect his mother‟s medicine.” The farrier was a handsome young man, but he was also stupid, which appealed to me not at all. “I knew it! The farrier is a robust young man. You must let Brother Damien serve him from now on.” Triumph tilted the corner of his sneering mouth and he pointed at the leather-padded prayer stool. The day I arrived at the monastery, I had been handed an old monk‟s robe, a rope for the waist, and a pair of sandals. My own rich clothing had been left with the abbot. Without pause or argument, I unfastened the rope about my waist, dropped it on the floor, and pulled off the coarse, brown robe that had rubbed my nipples raw for the first few weeks. Naked, I knelt on the prayer stool and bowed my head. The embarrassment I had experienced the very first time he had beaten me like this had never returned. I felt nothing. “You have not been flagellating yourself,” the abbot accused me. “There is not a raw mark on your shoulders.” He raised the birch rod high in the air and brought it down across my shoulders with such speed that I felt the rush of air before the pain and heard the familiar hissing sound that had so aroused me in the first couple of years with Master Eadward. With this mean old man, I felt no arousal and bore my penance in silence, though I suspected he wished to make me cry out. Five strokes and he was done. I rose and dressed quickly. My hand was on the large iron ring of the door when the abbot stopped me. “Brother Robin.” I faced him again, longing to leave and yet knowing he would keep me as long as he pleased. “Yes, Father?” “You have the scars of a birch rod on your backside.” The beatings I had endured— and wanted—from Master Eadward had taken their toll over the years, and I was permanently marked. “Yes, Father.” “Did Lord Mossley need to thrash you so often and so hard that he marked you?” “My sire only rarely thrashed us boys and never the girls, Father. Those marks are the work of Master Eadward, the man whom my father hired to teach my brothers and sisters and me.” “No doubt he caught you at your devilish practices and was forced to punish you,” the abbot said. “No, Father. Master Eadward was the man who led me into those practices.” Approaching me until he was no more than a foot from me, the abbot looked ready to strike me again. “Are you saying your father was misled in his judgment of a man‟s character?” “He was, Father.”

The abbot struck me a stinging blow across the cheek with his hand. “If that was the case, Lord Mossley would have told me. Since he did not, I believe you are lying and maligning your teacher and your father. Lord Mossley merely said you had a taste for sodomy. Evil boy!” “My father sent Master Eadward packing the same day he sent me here, Father. Make of that what you will.” “Get out!” he said. Relieved to escape the dark, confined cottage and the malignant presence of the abbot, I hurried through the awakening gardens back to the monastery. On the first two or three occasions, my shoulders had ached from my thrashing, but that was no longer the case, and I could go back to my work in the infirmary with no trouble. Brother Damien had been shocked when he discovered my ease at reading, but my talents benefitted us both. After my first day in the herbarium, he had handed me his precious book with the receipts for the various compounds written in it and ordered me to make medicines for the people from the village who came to the monks with their ills. Brother Damien need not waste time instructing me, and I was spared his company while I worked. At the large table in the center of the room, I took the mortar and pestle and began to grind wolfsbane into a paste. Quietly I hummed to myself, since Brother Damien was out in the garden tending the newly planted herbs. If he were present, he would shut me up at once. The snorting of horses and raised voices outside in the courtyard drew me to the window, and at the sight of men and a horse-drawn cart, I ran outside to see if I could help. Several men, knights by the looks of their fine clothes, stood around a cart where a tall man lay unmoving, still in his armor and covered in mud and horse manure. Brother Damien was already there, shoving the men aside to look at the knight. “Could you not at least have got him out of that heavy armor?” he complained. “Get it off him now.” He looked at me. “Brother, bring a stretcher.” It took a long time to get the knight out of his armor and into the infirmary, and while he moaned a few times at his rough handling, the man never opened his eyes. When at last he lay, still unconscious, on a narrow cot in a wooden walled cubicle, Brother Damien turned to the men who stood around the bed, worried looks on their faces, and at the boy kneeling beside the knight, sobbing. “Who is this man? What mischief did he get into?” Brother Damien hated outsiders, especially men he considered godless. A heavyset man spoke for them, his meaty hand smoothing his auburn beard nervously. “He is Sir Benedict Childerley. The most popular knight in the joust.” “Joust indeed! The joust is for men with nothing better to do with their time. Who are you all?”

“I am Sir Nicholas,” the man said. “I also work the tournaments.” He pointed at a younger man. “He is my squire, and that boy crying his eyes out is Sir Ben‟s squire, young Perkin.” He introduced two other knights and squires of their company and a couple of very young pages. The small room was crowded with their presence, so I stood quietly in a corner awaiting instruction. “You must all leave.” Brother Damien pointed at the mud they had tracked onto the spotless slate stones of the infirmary floor. “If you wish to stay on the monastery grounds, you must see the abbot to make arrangements. Otherwise you had better get on your way.” The men obeyed, but Perkin stayed his ground, holding tight to his knight‟s hand. “I‟ll not leave him. I must stay to serve him and care for him.” Fervently he kissed the large, calloused hand. Sir Nicholas grabbed the boy by the arms and dragged him to his feet, before cuffing him around his ear. “You‟ve been crying like a damsel from the moment Sir Ben relinquished his horse and flew over the tilt. Behave yourself, boy.” From my corner, I watched them go, impressed at their devotion which said much about Sir Benedict. Perkin halted in the doorway and looked again at his knight before Sir Nicholas dragged him from the cubicle. “Good riddance,” Brother Damien said, leaning over the knight to press his ear to his chest. “From the way he is breathing I‟ll wager he has several broken ribs, but the lungs have not collapsed. Get him cleaned up. He stinks.” From the kitchen, I fetched a bucket of hot water, and soap and linens from the supply cupboard. Sir Benedict had not moved in my absence, but remained flat on his back, muddy and smelling foul as if he had landed in horse manure after his flight over the tilt. I took a cloth and dipped it into the water, rubbed some soap into it, and began to gently wash his face. The skin under the mud was smooth and golden from the sun, and with a few careful wipes, a handsome face, strong and manly, emerged from under the dirt. With great care, I wiped the mud from around his eyes and ears. “His helmet flew off when he hit the ground,” a small voice behind me said. Sir Benedict‟s squire, a lad of no more than fifteen years, had crept back and stood in the doorway watching me. “Don‟t let Sir Ben die, Brother. I love him.” “Sir Ben won‟t die,” I said with a smile to reassure the lad. Sir Ben. The name was pleasing and very masculine. I found I liked the feel of it on my tongue. It encompassed a sweetness and a strength that were opposites and yet somehow not at odds with one another at all. “Brother Damien is well versed in healing. He will see him well and on his way before you know it.” I took a fresh cloth, soaked and soaped it, and rubbed it over the knight‟s sweaty golden brown hair. “Since you are still here, Perkin, you can help me get his shirt and hose off.” Between us we stripped Sir Ben naked while I held my breath and tried to focus my thoughts on helping the man. His figure was handsome beyond words, muscled from hard

labor and evenly sunbrowned from time spent outdoors. I judged his age at no more than seven and twenty. Without my leave or control, my cock responded to him. I glanced down quickly. Such things were easier to hide when wearing a loose robe, and the squire was too distracted to notice, thank God. Taking the soapy cloth again, I washed Sir Ben‟s hairless chest, wishing my hand, not the cloth, was touching his beautiful skin. The tiny pink nipples puckered, stimulated by the movement of my cloth. I pretended not to notice and carried on down the length of his body. The knight‟s cock and balls lay limp against his strong thighs. I tried not to look at them, looking instead at the squire who sat beside Sir Ben‟s head, gazing into his sleeping face. “How long have you been his squire, Perkin?” I asked. With his hand, the boy brushed Sir Ben‟s overly long hair back from his forehead. “I was his page from the age of eight, and I became his squire last year. But Sir Ben no longer fights in the wars. He works the tournaments now. He has done so for the last five years because he wants to get rich. Winning tournaments can make a man rich, and Sir Ben always wins.” The pride in the youngster‟s voice made me smile. As I looked at this fresh-faced innocent, I felt older than my eighteen years. Regardless of my own failure as a knight‟s page, I had once been like this boy, longing for life and love. Master Eadward had beaten it out of me, not just with his cane but by manipulating my heart. “Is he not a firstborn? Won‟t he inherit his father‟s estates?” I asked. His face growing still more serious, the boy seemed anxious to share his knowledge of his knight. “Before he took to the tournaments, Sir Ben fought for the king and did his family name proud, but he‟s not…” “Shut up, Perkin.” We both looked at Sir Ben, whose eyes fluttered open. “Sir Ben, you‟re alive.” The boy fell on his chest, hugging him. “Good God!” Sir Ben cried out. I lunged for the boy, pulling him away. “Be careful! His ribs are broken.” Perkin sat up quickly. “Sir Ben, did I hurt you?” “I am hurting all over.” The knight‟s voice was weak and strained with pain. “But I am not dead. Did you think a mere fall from a horse would kill a man like me?” He tried to smile but fell just short. “No, Sir Ben, but you did not merely fall. You flew over the tilt at least five horses‟ lengths. You looked as if you had wings.” “I felt as if I had wings until I hit the sod like a dead Frenchman.” Perkin laughed, and this time Sir Ben‟s eyes squinted with mirth—and then quickly with pain. “But I beg you, do not tell me that that useless cur Sir Reynald unseated me?”

“Not before you unseated him, Sir Ben. It was a comedy the way it played out. You knocked him off his horse. The crowd began to cheer. He flew across the tilt and into you, knocking you from your horse. Then you flew.” “But I won the match?” Sir Ben‟s lovely brown eyes looked anxious. “You always win.” Perkin grinned. “Sir Nicholas collected your prize for you.” “Then it was worth a couple of broken ribs.” His eyes drifted shut, and Sir Ben‟s voice was weak from talking. “Go now, boy, and let the monk take care of me. While I‟m here, you must obey Sir Nicholas.” “As you wish, Sir Ben. But if you need me, you must send for me. I‟ll be awaiting your orders.” Sir Ben fell back into a fitful sleep, and with difficulty I managed to turn him onto his side to wash his back and bottom. The knight was far bigger and heavier than I, but in the course of my work in the infirmary, I had been taught how to turn sick people who offered no help. For the most part, the patients were monks, many of them elderly and fat—not easy to turn. I washed Sir Ben‟s back and then carefully cleaned his backside and legs. Brother Damien walked in just as I rolled Sir Ben onto his back once more. The monk looked at the naked man, then at me. “He is handsome and of a manly build. Perhaps another monk should tend him.” “Whatever you wish, Brother,” I said, praying he would not order me away. I took the rough linen blanket and spread it over Sir Ben to cover him from the waist down. Through narrowed eyes, Brother Damien looked slyly at me. I suspect he had been wanting to confront me for a long time and took the opportunity now. “I know why your father sent you here. The abbot informed me of your unnatural lusts so I could protect myself from you.” Brother Damien had likely never been an attractive man, not even in the full bloom of his distant youth. His face was as sour as his manner. I took in his paunchy belly and receding chin. “I hope you do not think yourself in danger from me, Brother, because I assure you, you are not.” Brother Damien seemed to despise physical contact of any kind unless it was to strike someone. Indeed I had noticed many times that he would even avoid touching the patients when he could. And when the abbot had flogged one of the young monks last month for some small contact with a dairy maid from the village, he had ranted all day about the sins of the flesh. Yet I swore he looked insulted when I told him he was safe from my lusts. Now he threw me a scathing look and leaned over the knight, feeling his ribs, tapping here and there, listening with his ear to the chest. “Stand there,” he ordered. I came to the other side of the bed. Brother Damien pointed at Sir Ben‟s chest just below his left nipple. “Put your ear there and listen.” I obeyed. “What do you hear?”

Hear? I heard nothing immediately because I was so overwhelmed by the feel of my cheek against the knight‟s skin. It was warm and smelled of the oatmeal soap I had used to wash him. But there was more, a subtle, masculine scent that was uniquely Sir Benedict‟s. “What do you hear?” Brother Damien was impatient. “The man‟s heart, Brother.” I tried to concentrate. “The rhythm is even, and the beat is strong.” “Which means?” I kept my head close to Sir Ben‟s chest and allowed my gaze to travel down the flat belly to the line of soft blond hair that led to his cock. “Brother, the internal organs are not hurt, and there is no bleeding inside the body.” “Correct.” Brother Damien never praised and barely acknowledged an accurate response, but he was quick to punish a mistake. “Listen to his breathing.” Straightening up, I leaned over the patient once more, and just as my face neared his, he opened his eyes. “I am going to listen to your breathing,” I whispered, unable to articulate any louder. “Do not speak to him. Get on with it,” Brother Damien said. I leaned down very close until my ear was an inch above Sir Ben‟s mouth. “His breath is fast but even, Brother.” “So is yours,” Sir Ben whispered in my ear. Startled, I stood up. “I believe he will mend completely, Brother.” “So do I. It remains only to bandage his ribs and let him recover, and if he wants to return to the field in pursuit of fame and fortune instead of fighting for God and king, then he is an idiot and deserves all he gets. Now go and fetch bandages and the pot of comfrey poultice for the broken ribs.” When I returned with the medicaments, I found Sir Ben sitting up on the side of the narrow bed and Brother Damien looking at him with that disgust I had seen on his face before. The blanket lay discarded at the foot of the bed, and Sir Ben was naked. Perhaps Brother Damien too lusted after men and fought a battle every day against it. That would be enough to make a man angry. The knight was in pain from moving and seemed unaware of the monk‟s look. He sat up straight, his hands gripping the thin straw mattress until his knuckles turned white. “Apply the poultice and bandages. Do a careful job. I will return later to see that you have.” With that, Brother Damien left us alone. “Can you stand on your feet, Sir Ben? It will be easier for me to bandage you. If not, I can do it while you sit.” “I can stand.” Slowly and with great difficulty, he pushed himself to his feet, his face contorted with pain.

On his feet, Sir Ben stood half a foot taller than I and much broader. Even wounded and weak, he was as knightly as any man I had seen in my father‟s service. In my rough, brown monk‟s robe, still as slender as a young boy, I felt small and insignificant. Placing the earthenware crock of poultice on the stool beside the bed, I laid out the bandages. “I am going to put the poultice on your ribs, Sir Benedict. It‟s warm and comforting. If you keep very still, it will keep the pain at bay.” I took a handful of the warm comfrey paste and spread it over Sir Ben‟s ribs, avoiding his eyes and concentrating on my work. The poultice needed to be evenly spread and thick enough to be effective. If my hands shook, Sir Ben did not comment on it but remained unwavering and silent, though his pain must be great. “I‟m going to bandage you now, Sir Ben. I must bandage you tightly to keep the ribs supported. Will you lift your arms?” Gingerly, the knight raised his arms, standing quietly and passively while I circled him, wrapping his chest tightly. Though he was still and well behaved for me, I suspected that when he was in good health, Sir Ben was never still for long. “God‟s teeth,” he groaned when I gave the bandage a final tug and tied it off. Terrified I had hurt him, I stepped back. “Sir, I‟m sorry. I did not mean to cause you more pain.” “No, it is not your fault, boy. Calm yourself. You are doing a grand task of piecing me back together.” He smiled, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. Seeing his need to lie down, I said, “Let me help you back onto your cot, Sir Benedict.” With great care, I assisted the knight to lie down and once more covered his naked body with the rough blankets, grateful to have it out of my sight. “I must go back to my work now, sir. A brother will come in a little while with food. It is almost time for the evening meal.” “I want you to bring my food, and I will need help eating it.” Sir Ben, comfortable again now he was lying down, managed a grin. I bowed my head, knowing I was being teased. He must have overheard Brother Damien‟s remarks, and if he knew my thoughts as I tended him, I would be the one lying on the cot with broken ribs. “Brother Abelard makes the food and brings it to the infirmary,” I said quietly. “Though I do help him sometimes.” “What is your name, Brother?” “Robin, Sir Benedict.” “Your eyes are as blue as a robin‟s egg.” He paused as if contemplating something great, and I knew he was teasing me again. “No, not a robin‟s egg but more like the sky in midsummer.” Turning away abruptly, I left him alone, remembering a man in my father‟s guard last year who had flattered me and toyed with me on the practice field one day. He was handsome and much younger than Master Eadward, who was perhaps thirty-six or -seven

years old. When at last I had responded to his advances and touched his hand, he had drawn back, threatening to tell my father about me. Then he had crossed the field to join his fellows, and they had broken into raucous laughter. He had played with me on purpose to draw me in, obviously on a bet that he had won.

**** It was dark when I returned to the infirmary to look in on the patients. Carrying a single candle, I went first to Brother Boniface, the oldest monk in the monastery, who had not left his bed this last fortnight and who had been kind to me from my first day there. When I drew the blankets up closer under his chin against the cool night, the old monk grasped my hand. “Good boy, Robin. You are such a sweet boy. You have been very tender with me these last months.” I smiled down at him. His consistent kindness meant much to me. “It is my pleasure, Brother,” I said, and it truly was. “Won‟t you kiss me? Just a little kiss.” The old man had never made an improper move toward me nor spoken a word that was not paternal and kind. Tenderly I kissed him very briefly on the lips, then rested my cheek against his weathered face for a long moment. “Follow your heart, Robin. There are more ways to reach God than fasting and beating yourself. God wants us to be happy,” the old monk whispered, releasing my hand. “You are always so kind to me. Good night, Brother,” I said, disturbed and yet touched by the encounter. “God go with you, boy.” I looked in quickly on the other monks and then went to Sir Ben. Inside the cubicle, I placed my candle carefully on the wide stone sill. The knight lay asleep, his head to one side on the bolster, the blanket pulled up to his chin. The air in the room was cold, and so I hurried to the supply cupboard and returned with another blanket. With great care, I covered him and tucked in the blanket around the straw-filled mattress to preserve the warmth. Even in summer, the stone walls kept the monastery cool, especially at night. I dreaded the winter ahead, and yet I had no desire to go home to Holt House. On the low stool beside the bed I sat to watch him for a moment, since I knew Brother Damien had gone to his cell. A sudden light draft blew out the candle, but the moonlight from the high arched window was enough to see by. It shone on Sir Ben‟s face, catching the gold in his hair. I looked closely, listening to his even breathing. He was sound asleep and as handsome in repose as he was by day. The concern in the eyes of his men and the devotion of young Perkin told me he had their respect and love. What kind of man engendered that response? If only I had been sent as a youngster to serve a knight like this I might have done better than I did serving my father‟s youngest brother. Sir Reginald had had no patience with my shyness and no interest in me. He had quickly passed me off to a lesser knight in

his service who had used me as nothing better than a servant, teaching me naught, until eventually I was sent home in disgrace barely two years later. Would you have been kind to me, Sir Ben? Would you have made me a better boy? I would give much to serve you. A madness encouraged by the beautiful face and strong body of the knight took possession of me then. Watching his face for any sign he would wake up, I lifted the blankets and slid my hand underneath. A warm, hairy thigh, solid as stone, was the first thing I touched. I ran my hand over it toward his groin, wanting urgently to feel the warmth and weight of his organ in my hand. My eyes remained fast on Sir Ben‟s sleeping face while my hand sought out his cock. As if reaching for a prize, I grasped it in my palm and felt it harden immediately. Sir Ben was a lusty man, and even in sleep, he could not resist the urges of a hand on his member. If he woke up just now, I knew I would breathe my last, because as patient and benevolent a master as he may be, he would not care for my kind. I released his thick cock and slid my hand between his warm, hairy thighs and over his balls. They were hot to the touch and felt large and heavy inside their delicate skin. I hefted them in my hand like two sweet plums. The desire to eat them like plums was almost overwhelming, and I wondered how his cock would feel in my mouth. My eyes never leaving Sir Ben‟s face, alert for any sign that he would awaken, I rolled his balls around on my palm, wishing I could take them in my mouth and suck on them. I released them and again grasped the thick cock, now so rigid it made a tent in the blanket. Squeezing his cock hard in my hand, I pumped it several times, then ran my palm up and down the shaft, feeling the ridges. A deep moan rumbled from Sir Ben‟s throat. Terrified, I snatched my hand back only to find my wrist gripped hard. The golden brown eyes, dark in the moonlight, flew open. I was so afraid I feared my bowels might open where I sat. This man could, and probably would, kill me for taking such a liberty. I tried to speak, but my mouth was suddenly so dry my tongue stuck to the roof. My breath came sharp and heavy. I was afraid and humiliated at being caught touching a sleeping man. My future flew before my eyes, and in it I saw myself pilloried before a laughing crowd, or at the very least publicly thrashed in the chapel. “Don‟t stop,” Sir Ben said. So shocked I did not move, I looked at the knight‟s handsome face for confirmation that he was not playing with me, and when I felt safe that he was not about to kill me on the spot, I slowly opened my hand and took his member once more in my palm. Sir Ben released my wrist and nodded for me to continue. I slipped my other hand under the blanket. In my right, I began to roll his sweet plums around, squeezing them and pinching the soft skin between them. With my left, I gripped his shaft and rubbed slowly and strongly up and down its length. Sir Ben‟s eyes never left my face, and I was glad the candle had blown out so he could not witness my scarlet cheeks. My own organ was rigid and painful. Still, I did not want Sir Ben to see the evidence of my arousal.

After a time, Sir Ben closed his eyes. He was having immense difficulty suppressing his moans, and he put the side of his hand into his mouth and bit down on it. I confess I was both impressed and awed at how long Sir Ben could hold back his pleasure. Just when I thought I could happily sit there until dawn made gold the sky, hot liquid spilled out, running over my fingers. Sir Ben bit down harder on his hand and arched his back from the bed in spite of his bandaged ribs. When at last he collapsed back, panting loudly in the still night, I looked about us in fear we had been heard, but the only noise in the quiet infirmary was the soft snoring of the other monks. “Thank you, Brother Robin. You have healing hands.” Sir Ben grinned and patted the edge of the narrow cot. “Sit here, boy.” I obeyed at once, relieved he was not angry with me but afraid he might turn nasty now the act was complete as Master Eadward so often had. Sir Ben reached his long arm down to grab the hem of my robe and pulled it up, running his hand over my bare thighs. I breathed hard, fighting back the urge to cry out. He grabbed my cock and held it tightly, pumping it several times. The pain was excruciating, and I could not release my pleasure. “You have a nice cock, my boy,” Sir Ben said quietly. “Not too big but not shamefully small either.” I dipped my head, wanting only for him to stop. Sir Ben rubbed my cock for a while longer before saying, “Let it go, boy. Take your pleasure.” “I cannot, sir.” Even to me, my voice sounded tense and desperate. “I cannot.” “Because you are a monk?” Sir Ben asked. “No sir. I just cannot. I cannot.” I was not a monk. I was the outcast son of a lord. And I could not release my pleasure without having my backside beaten, but I would not shame myself by telling Sir Ben such a thing. I wanted to get up and hurry away to my cell to be alone with my thoughts and with the feel and smell of Sir Ben‟s cock and balls still burning on my hands. “Please, Sir Benedict, forgive my behavior and do not tell Brother Damien.” “Why would I tell that old fart?” He smiled. He reached up a hand and gently stroked the backs of his fingers over my cheek. “Come back tomorrow, Robin, and apply your healing hands to me again. You‟ll have me up and about in no time.” “Yes, Sir Ben.” I rose, and as I turned, I saw the young squire, Perkin. He seemed unperturbed, though I had no idea how much he had witnessed. “I‟m going to stay with him,” the boy said, defying me to turn him away. “As you wish, but do not let Brother Damien see you.” Perkin threw himself onto the floor beside the bed and curled up to sleep. I looked at Sir Ben, but his eyes were already closed, and he was deeply asleep, exhausted with pain and pleasure. My cell, like all the novice‟s cells, was no larger than a few paces square. I curled up on my narrow cot and drew my blanket up over my shoulder. A sliver of moonlight piercing the high window was the only light. I closed my eyes while the scene I had just

played out with Sir Ben filled my head, making my heart soar with longing. If a man like him would take an interest in me, I should be the happiest boy in all England. But I must be on my guard. Just because he had allowed me to pleasure him as he lay ill and defenseless did not mean that tomorrow he would not turn on me. If he told the abbot what I had done, I would admit to my sin and take my thrashing. Sir Ben‟s semen had dried on my palms. I pressed my face into my hands to inhale his scent and licked them clean, savoring the salty taste. I drifted into a peaceful sleep with the memory of his gentle brown eyes lingering in my dreams.

Chapter Three Brother Abelard, carrying a tray laden with empty bowls, blocked the doorway to the infirmary. I dipped my head. “Good morning, Brother.” “Good morning, Brother Robin.” His smile always reminded me of a cat that had managed to secure the best place beside the hearth. As if he were always scheming his next act. “Brother Boniface did not eat his porridge,” he said. “I removed his bowl untouched. You had better look in on him, but I think you would rather visit the handsome knight first.” I did not reply but waited until he stepped out of my way. “What is that boy doing here?” Brother Damien‟s voice rose up from along the passage. I hurried toward it and found him just inside Sir Benedict‟s cubicle. Tousle-headed and pink-faced from sleep, Perkin scrambled up from the floor beside Sir Ben‟s bed. “I have every right to stay beside my knight. I am his squire. It is my duty.” Brother Damien advanced on the boy, his arm raised to backhand him. With difficulty Sir Ben pushed himself up onto his elbows, his face contorted with pain but also anger. “You will not touch my squire, Brother.” I could not help but smile. It warmed my heart to see him protect Perkin with a look of fatherly determination on his face. Even injured he would get out of bed to protect the boy if he had to. Brother Damien halted, lowering his arm. “Then send him outside. He is not allowed in here. This infirmary is for monks. And many of them are old. You and your men are disturbing the peace of St. Asaph.” “It is my desire to leave as quickly as I can, Brother,” Sir Ben said. “Go back to the camp, Perkin. I am well taken care of here. We will be ready to leave soon. I am much recovered already.” Reluctantly the boy left. Brother Damien crossed the tiny cell in a couple of steps and pulled the blankets off Sir Ben. He prodded at his ribs without care or mercy, ignoring Sir Ben‟s gritted teeth, and then stuck his finger under the bandages. “The poultice is dry. He needs a fresh one, Brother.” I turned to the door to obey when Brother Damien said loudly, “What is this?” The remains of last night‟s pleasure was crusted and dried upon Sir Ben‟s thighs and on the blanket. The look on Brother Damien‟s face belonged on a church gargoyle. “Were you and that boy up to filthy practices in the night?” He paused before turning his unwavering scowl upon me. “Or was it this sinful boy you consorted with?” I looked into Sir Ben‟s eyes, certain that like Master Eadward, he would betray me. A moment ago he had defended his squire, but I was nothing to him—merely a boy in a monk‟s robe who had stroked him while he slept.

“Actually I was up to no good with myself. You can‟t blame a man for that, Brother.” Sir Ben smiled such a boyish, impish smile that I smiled also. Brother Damien was forced to take several long breaths. The power of speech appeared to have fled him momentarily. “Filth! Filth!” he managed at last, his hands shaking. “The sin of Onan.” I met Sir Ben‟s eyes once more and bowed my head in gratitude. “I will fetch the poultice.” “And you will change it. I will not countenance this sinner. The sooner he gets well, the sooner he may leave the monastery and pollute these holy stones no longer.” I ran from the cubicle, my heart singing. Sir Ben had lied to protect me. A man I hardly knew had lied for me when I had concluded that all men were as self-serving as Master Eadward and as unloving as my father. Before fetching Sir Ben‟s poultice, with joy in my heart I went first into Brother Boniface‟s cell to see that he rested well. He lay on his side, utterly still. Even before I placed my hand gently on his shoulder and whispered his name, I knew he had departed this world for the next. If I had been a monk, I suppose I would have said a prayer, but neither a monk nor quite so jaded as I thought, I bit on my thumbnail and began to cry as I ran back to Brother Damien. “What is it now? Can you do nothing without direction?” His tone was impatient and still angry. “Brother, I looked in on Brother Boniface on my way to the herbarium. He died in the night.” “Do not cry for the dead,” Brother Damien said. “Brother Boniface was very old and has gone home to God. I envy him.”

**** For the rest of the day, the monastery bells tolled for Brother Boniface. I remained in the chapel except for a brief interlude when I changed Sir Benedict‟s poultice, unable to speak and with tears running down my cheeks unchecked. Sir Ben took my hand briefly before I left him. “Brother Damien is right. The old monk has gone home to his maker and is probably glad of it.” I could not answer, but I was grateful for his kindness. At the end of the west range was the entrance to the chapel. In the center aisle rested Brother Boniface‟s body, wrapped tightly in a shroud and raised up on a platform. The monks came in twos and prayed to God to have mercy on the old monk‟s soul. Four hours at a time, each pair stood, heads bowed under their hoods, hands folded into their sleeves. I was not allowed to stand in place of a monk, so I prayed with them. But I had refused to leave since I began my watch at sext, and I was still there when matins was chanted. At the end of the office, the monks lined up and walked out in single file. An older monk, a kindly man, came to me and spoke quietly. “You have watched all day, Brother

Robin. It is our turn now. Go and rest. Brother Boniface‟s soul needs no special assistance to go home to God. He was a true and blessed man.” “He was,” I agreed. I was tired, and now my initial grief had blunted, I tried hard to see the best of the situation. Down the aisle in the muted candlelight I walked, the air thick with incense. “Robin,” a low voice whispered from behind a pillar at the chapel door. Sir Benedict leaned heavily against the pillar, looking tired, but his bright smile was the ray of sunlight I needed in the darkness of my grief. “Sir Benedict, you are supposed to be in the infirmary, asleep.” “I have been sleeping all day. I need a little exercise. Come and walk with me.” “This way.” I took his arm to assist him and led the way along the chill, dark passage and outside into the moonlit courtyard. At a door in the wall, I released his arm, standing back for him to enter before me. I took him through into a walled garden with paths and hedges and several tall trees. “This is the prayer garden. A place to contemplate God.” I showed him to a wooden bench under a great spreading yew tree. Stiff but remarkably better compared to yesterday, he sat down, and I sat beside him. “Are you very upset about the old monk?” Sir Ben asked, resting one hand lightly on my shoulder. “Yes. Brother Boniface was kind to me.” “Are the other monks unkind?” Sir Ben asked. “A few are kind.” I did not add that most of them assumed I was among them so suddenly as some sort of punishment and treated me as a sinner, to be spurned or disciplined. “Last night Brother Boniface asked me to kiss him. He had never done that before. He knew he was going to home to God.” “Perhaps,” Sir Ben said kindly. “No, Sir Ben. He knew.” Sir Ben nodded. “You knew him well, so I am sure you‟re right.” “Yes, Sir Ben. But you must return to the infirmary now, or you will slow down your healing.” “I will go when I am ready.” Sir Ben pushed back my hood and ran one hand over my dark, close-cropped hair. His touch both surprised and aroused me. With just a little encouragement, I could fall into his arms. “Why do you not have a tonsure, Robin?” “Because I am not a monk, Sir Ben.” “No? Then why are you here wasting your youth in a monastery while that sour old infirmarer orders you about?” Hot shame flooded my cheeks and neck, and I was grateful for the shadows cast by the yew branches, for the moon was bright that night. Sir Ben would leave the infirmary soon, and I would remain, so what reward was there for me in deceit? But I could not bring myself to tell him the true reason. “My father sent me here. He was angry with me.”

“Why was he angry?” Sir Ben let his hand settle on the back of my neck just inside my robe. The skin there was very sensitive, and it flamed at his touch. “I disappointed him.” With my eyes lowered, I said, “He wants me to be able to defend our home and honor, but I am clumsy at swordplay and nervous on horseback. I was sent to be my uncle‟s page when I was eight years old, but he passed me on to another man who sent me home, refusing to train me any further. He said I was an idiot. I never became a squire.” When I finished speaking, I looked up into his handsome face, expecting to find disgust written there. “Not every boy is meant to be a knight or a soldier.” His tone was so gentle I wanted to cry. “What is your age?” “I am eighteen years, Sir Ben.” “And your father suddenly became angry with you for not being manly enough?” He scratched his chin comically, and even in my sadness, I wanted to smile. “I suspect there is something more.” Sir Ben lowered his voice. “I think he caught you kissing another boy. Is that true?” I did not answer but looked down at my hands. I would not tell this decent man of my shameful liaison with Master Eadward. “I‟m just not very good at anything, especially the things expected of the son of a lord.” “Ahh, a lord. And who is your father?” he asked. “Francis Holt. Lord Mossley. I am his firstborn son, so you must see why he is disappointed in me.” Sir Ben withdrew his hand and leaned back against the bench. I looked at him, his hands folded in his lap. “I know of him. He knows my father, Berard Childerley, Lord Childe.” He looked up at the sky, and I followed his gaze. It was a wonderful clear night. The dark sky dotted with stars looked like a velvet cloak with brilliants encrusted upon it. “Fathers and sons disappoint each other sometimes. Fathers also have obligations they do not always live up to.” “Are you a firstborn son also, Sir Ben?” I asked. “Yes,” Sir Ben said in a low voice. “But neither of our fathers is here, and we are. Now tell me why you grabbed my cock last night.” “Sir Ben, I am sorry.” I was surprised at the turn in the conversation, and my shoulders tensed. “I thought you were asleep.” He chuckled and roughly rubbed my head again. “Do you stroke the privates of every sleeping man in the infirmary?” The sudden tension in my body melted away at his laughter. “I do not, Sir Ben.” “It must be because I am uncommon, then,” he continued in the same teasing tone. “Am I uncommon, Cock Robin?” For a long moment, my gaze locked with his. I wanted so desperately to trust this knight I hardly knew, but I must be on my guard against betrayal. “Follow your heart,” Brother Boniface had said. All at once, I felt impudent and forward. I might as well

follow it for as long as Sir Ben was in the monastery. I was already in disgrace, denounced as a sinner. What more was there to lose? “Your cock is uncommonly big, Sir Ben, judging by those I have viewed.” The knight laughed out loud before quickly subduing himself. I glanced around in case we were heard in the silent monastery garden. “How do you think it would feel in your mouth?” he asked, his laughter gone. I looked down at the bulge at Sir Ben‟s groin, remembering my unbidden desire of the night before. I had wanted so much to take his member into my mouth and taste it. “I think it would feel very good,” I whispered. “And taste wonderful.” Shifting his hips, Sir Ben shoved his hose down to his knees, releasing his cock and balls. The moonlight was sufficient to see that the tip glistened with fluids. “Have you tasted a man‟s cock before, Robin?” “No, Sir Ben, but I wanted to last night. I did not know it was possible.” Sir Ben looked surprised. “You seemed confident last night when you rubbed me.” “I never intended to do what I did, Sir Ben. I wanted only to hold you in my hands, to feel you. But once I began to touch you, I realized quickly what you wanted. It was my desire to make you happy that showed my hands what to do.” “Sweet boy,” he said. “This will be just as easy. Kneel between my legs.” I obeyed at once and without question, an eager pupil, dropping to my knees on the grassy path. I rested my hands on Sir Ben‟s bare thighs while he hefted his cock and balls, offering them to me. “Suck me hard, boy, and I will endeavor not to bring the monks out of the monastery with my moans.” “Not too loud, Sir Ben.” I threw a quick look along the path to the gate in the wall that led to the chapel. The monks should be in their cells by now, all except those praying for Brother Boniface. With my right hand, I lifted his balls, and with my left, I held his cock reverently. Sir Ben rested comfortably against the back of the bench and waited. I looked up into his eyes for a long moment and saw nothing but kindness and desire. If he was using me only for his pleasure, then that was enough for me, because he was kindly with it. I lowered my head, opening my mouth as I did so, and licked the moisture from the tip of Sir Ben‟s cock. Unlike the stuff I had licked from my hands last night, which was dry and mingled with my sweat, his juice now was fresh and sharp. With a sigh of pleasure, I opened my mouth wide, drawing his cock inside. For a moment, I clamped my teeth down on it but carefully, to cause no pain but only an intense pressure. His body stiffened and stretched out longer still. Then my rhythm began. I knew what to do even though just yesterday I had hardly dreamed of such a thing. The art came naturally to me. Sir Ben reclined, his eyes closed, looking absolutely content, his bruised and battered body healing as I sucked. “Boy, you are an angel sent from God for my delight,” he whispered into the night.

His words fueled my desire for him still further, making me suck stronger and deeper. I was a soul at peace. I was in my natural place, caring for a man, pleasuring him, serving him. Not only did it come easily to me to please a man, but I found solace in it. His voice hoarse and breathy, Sir Ben said, “Suck my balls, boy.” Without pause I released his cock and mouthed his balls one after the other, going back and forth, handling one while I sucked hard on the other. Then again I took his rigid cock into my mouth and drew it in to the hilt until the very tip touched the back of my throat. Without releasing his cock, I looked up to see him tightening his stomach muscles, moaning out loud. His breath came hard and fast; any moment he would lose himself. Without instruction, and to my own surprise, I slid both my hands up under his tunic and pinched Sir Ben‟s nipples hard between my fingers and thumbs, twisting and pulling on them. He lifted his hips off the bench, jerking convulsively, slamming his groin into my face. At last he fell back, limp, wrung out and sated. I sat back on my heels looking up at him, happy that I had pleasured him so completely. “Sweet boy,” he whispered. I rose up on my knees between his thighs. “Good, obedient boy. My pleasure was sound. You are a good lad, Robin.” Still kneeling, I took his hands in mine and kissed them. I wanted to cry with relief and happiness, but I could not cry before this brave knight, so I remained as still and silent as a statue. “What makes you so quiet, boy?” Sir Ben asked after a while. “Are you thinking about the old monk again?” “No, sir. You called me good and sweet,” I whispered. “And so you are.” He kissed the top of my head like a priest offering a benediction. “Help me back to my bed. I am exhausted now.” I got to my feet and took Sir Ben‟s arm, helping him to rise. He was a little unsteady now from tiredness and the effects of his injury. I pulled up his hose and tied the leather string at his waist. “The pain in my ribs has returned. I need to lie down, but your ministrations below my ribs had a healing effect.” He threw his arm around my shoulders and haltingly walked back to the infirmary while I assisted him.

Chapter Four The funeral of Brother Boniface was conducted in the morning under a bright blue sky which lifted my heart. During the three months of my stay at St. Asaph, I had walked the prayer garden and the woods many a time, the old monk leaning heavily on my arm. “God’s beautiful sky and the warmth of God’s sun. What more could an old monk ask for, Robin?” he would ask. “What more except a kind boy to walk with me.” So it was fitting that the sun shone on his funeral and warmed his shrouded body, which had lain cold in the chapel all night. A slight disturbance caused us all to look up when two men on horseback raced past the cemetery toward the monastery, but they were quickly forgotten in the solemnity of the moment. The monks kept their heads bowed as they chanted prayers for the departed soul. Even at the graveside, I was unsure if it was my encounter with Sir Ben last night or the fact that Brother Boniface would be smiling down from heaven upon me, but I felt uplifted in a way I had not felt since childhood. Perhaps it was the act I had done last night in the prayer garden, or perhaps it was Brother Boniface‟s final blessing on me, but life seemed suddenly bright again. Sir Ben would need perhaps a week more to recover, and while he was here, I could serve him. The remainder of the day at the monastery was spent in prayer and fasting, except for those in the infirmary who were not expected to fast. Late in the afternoon, Brother Abelard asked me to help him with the supper and handed me a bowl of soup and some bread to carry to Sir Benedict. I had not seen him since helping him to bed the night before, and my heart thudded as I approached his cell. But I was disappointed to see Perkin sitting on the side of the bed and Sir Ben holding his hand. A stinging moment of jealousy overcame me, but I quickly suppressed it. Perkin was Sir Ben‟s squire and had more right than I to his comfort. But why was the boy crying? They both looked at me when I entered and came to the foot of the bed. “Forgive me for interrupting, Sir Benedict, but you must eat some food.” “I cannot right now. You can see I am busy.” His tone was dismissive, and my heart floundered. I was drawn back to the few tender moments I had shared with Master Eadward when he had told me he loved me and then later been cruel and dismissive in front of others. I placed the food on the wide window ledge and left them alone. Quickly I fetched another bowl of soup to Brother Timothy in the next cubicle. The monk was old and very infirm. Much of the time, he was unaware of who changed his linen and fed him his meals, so he did not appear to notice that I was inattentive and listening closely at the thin wooden partition as I spooned soup into his mouth, wiping up the dribbles with care.

“I do not want to leave you, Sir Benedict, you are my knight. I am not yet ready to be a man.” Perkin‟s voice was quiet but clear. “If you are not ready to be a man, then I have not done my job in making you into one,” Sir Ben replied kindly. “You have, you have,” Perkin wailed. “Why did my father have to die so soon? Why could he not have waited a few more years?” The two riders who had raced by the funeral must have been men from Perkin‟s household bringing news of his father‟s early death. “I doubt he chose to die; he was still young,” Sir Ben answered. “Perkin, we must meet our challenges when they come to us. If I found an enemy at my door, would I say, „Sir, I am still in my nightshirt, you must return later after I have broken my fast and have my sword in my hand‟? Or would I take him on, even if I was naked and had nothing but a stick to defend my household?” “You would use the stick,” Perkin said quietly. “But Sir Ben, you are strong, and you know everything. No enemy could take you by surprise.” “Yet here I lie with my ribs bandaged and a boy bringing me soup to eat like an old man.” I heard the smile in Sir Ben‟s voice. “Perkin, you must return to your estate with your father‟s men. They are your men now. I do not want to lose you, my good squire, not when my page is still so young. I thought I would have you at my side for three more years. And now you are taken from me. This is a sad day for me as well as for you. I lose your good service and a boy I have come to love. You have lost your father, and now you must return to your mother and brothers and sisters as the man of the family.” “Sir Ben, you have been my father all the years I have served you. My own father I hardly knew,” Perkin said. “Thank you, boy. That means everything to me, because I will never be a father in the true sense. You know I will never have a wife.” Never have a wife? Could it be that Sir Ben was like me? A man who could only love other men and not just a man who took what I offered because it was free for the taking? I had wondered if he wanted me only because no woman was available. I finished feeding Brother Timothy and left him. At the open door of Sir Ben‟s cubicle, I paused to see him rising with difficulty. I put the bowl on the floor before rushing to his side. “Sir Ben, what are you doing? You must rest.” Sir Benedict rose to his full height and stood naked. All the feelings of the night before in the prayer garden flooded back. I wanted to drop to my knees and take his cock in my mouth again. “I must go out to my men‟s camp in the woods and knight my squire, since the abbot will allow no weapons inside these walls.” “Sir Ben, you are going to knight me now?” Perkin questioned, his eyes wide. “I am, my boy. Do you think I would allow another knight the honor?”

“But I have not prayed and fasted, Sir Ben. Nor kept watch over my armor and weapons in the chapel for a full night. I do not have my ceremonial clothing.” With his hand on the boy‟s shoulder, he said, “Perkin, you have become a man sooner than we expected, but a man you are, and you must carry your title like a man. Would you prefer that we wait and meet up at some future time?” “No, Sir Ben. But am I ready?” “You are ready, because I believe you are ready.” He put his arm around Perkin‟s shoulder. “Help me dress.” I picked up Sir Benedict‟s tunic, but Perkin snatched it from his hands. “I will dress my knight. I am still Sir Ben‟s squire.” Sir Ben ruffled the boy‟s hair, smiling at his proprietary manner “You can come with us, Robin. I will need you to bring me back.” “Sir Ben, I am not allowed to leave the monastery grounds without permission. I will have to ask the abbot,” I told him. “To the devil with the abbot. I give you permission,” Sir Ben said. Perkin laughed. “I see you are back to your old self, Sir Ben.” To me he said, “Sir Benedict is his own master. He asks permission of no man.” We left the monastery quietly through a side door in the East Range that led to the kitchen garden. Sir Ben walked slowly, with Perkin on one side and me on the other. But he leaned more heavily on Perkin, who insisted he would serve his knight until the moment he had to leave. We followed the path to a door in the wall and passed through it into the woods. From there Perkin was proud to show us the way to the camp, a good distance away. The men had built a fire pit with large stones and erected their tents around it. The horses were tethered to the trees, and their gear was stacked up on a cart. Shouts of pleasure erupted from the party at our approach, the men throwing goodnatured insults at Sir Benedict. “There is the man who flew over the tilt like a Frenchman flying through the window of his manor house when the English come to sack his property.” “And he hit the ground like a pig on slaughtering day and was just as filthy,” another called out. I looked up at Sir Ben to see how he would take the taunts and caught him grinning widely. “You are all jealous because none of you have flown so far, and you have all been knocked from your horses more times than I have.” The men came forward to give Sir Ben careful embraces, asking how his ribs were healing. “Good to see you, Sir Ben,” Sir Nicholas said. “I am only sorry you are losing your squire. He has been crying since his father‟s men came for him this morning.” “I have not!” Perkin protested. A small boy of no more than eight years old ran up to Sir Ben and hugged him around the waist. I recognized his page from the infirmary. Sir Ben rubbed the boy‟s blond head. “How is Page Simon faring without me?”

“Will you make me your squire now, Sir Ben? With Perkin gone, I am next in line.” The child was so small and thin, I doubted he could lift Sir Ben‟s breastplate, let alone help him into it before a tournament. “You have much growing to do first. You will remain my page,” he said firmly. Even though the group was composed of several knights and their underlings, they all gathered in silence after the banter had ceased, waiting for Sir Ben to speak. It was plain to me that he was their natural leader. I left the group to walk back among the trees, watching at a distance where I felt less conspicuous in my monk‟s robe among knightly men and boys. Sir Nicholas brought a sword and stood close beside Sir Ben, watching with concern in his eyes to ensure he remained steady on his feet. “Your sword, Sir Benedict.” “Thank you, Sir Nicholas.” With great solemnity, Sir Benedict spoke. “Peter Warwick, come forward and kneel before me.” Swallowing hard, his fists clenched and a nervous look on his face, the young squire walked toward his knight and knelt at his feet. Sir Ben looked down at the boy who still had a long path to follow before he would truly be a man. “I took you into my service when you were eight years old and nicknamed Perkin. You were my first page. I had been knighted myself by the king, as you all know, only months before. You served me for six years until you became my squire when you were but fourteen years old. You should be serving me as squire for another three years until the age of eighteen, but God has chosen to take your father and thrust you into manhood early.” Absolute silence had settled over the group as they hung upon Sir Ben‟s words. He had a gift of leadership and authority that was as natural in him as his brown eyes and dark blond hair. The very tone of his voice held others in thrall. “Peter Warwick, you must remember at all times the code of chivalry. Do you promise to defend the weak, be courteous to all women, be loyal to your king, and serve God at all times?” “I promise, Sir Benedict. You have taught me well,” the boy said. His eyes glistened, but he held back his tears masterfully. Sir Benedict raised his sword and brought the flat of it down on Perkin‟s right shoulder. “I dub thee Sir Peter Warwick.” He raised the sword in an arc over the boy‟s head and slapped the flat down on his left shoulder. “Arise, Sir Peter.” The boy rose and threw his arms around Sir Benedict‟s waist. There was little time for celebration after the ceremony. Sir Peter went at once to gather his belongings and prepare to ride home with his men. And when the party was ready to leave, the embrace he shared with Sir Benedict was long and heartfelt. As the young man rode off, Sir Ben called out, “We will be near your estate next spring. Be sure to make us welcome.”

“The best room in my house will always be ready for you, Sir Ben.” Sir Peter waved and was gone. The moment the boy was out of sight, I hurried toward Sir Ben. “Get me back to the infirmary, Robin. I need a few more days in bed before I am fit to travel again.” “I‟ll help you back, Sir Ben,” Sir Nicholas said. “No, Nick, there is no need. The monks are not welcoming to us, and the sooner I am gone from there the better. I will be well in a few days, and we can get on our way. I long to be home now.” Sir Benedict leaned on my shoulder as we walked back through the woods, and when the monastery walls were in sight, he stopped to lean against a tree. “Are you tired, Sir Ben?” I asked. “Tired of being in bed. Tired of my ribs hurting, though I am much improved with the help of your poultice.” He smiled. “Not to mention your talent with your hands and mouth.” The sun, low on the horizon but still golden, caught the gold in Sir Ben‟s hair, and I saw before me the handsomest of knights—young, strong, and very manly. But his words caused a pink flush to spread over my cheeks, and I dropped my gaze to the ground, focusing on the twigs and leaves at my feet in hope that he would not see. “Do not be ashamed of the pleasure you have given me, boy,” Sir Ben said. “Look at me.” I looked up into his golden brown eyes. My hands began to shake. I was so filled with admiration and desire that I wanted to fall on my knees before him. “Sir Ben, I want to serve you, sir.” I said the words before my mind had formed the thought. “Take your robe off,” he said. I did not move. Was he serious? I looked about me. We were completely alone and the sun was declining, but it was still broad daylight. I watched Sir Ben‟s face for any sign that he was jesting. His mouth did not twitch in a smile, and his eyes remained serious but kind. He was waiting. “Yes, Sir Ben.” I untied my rope belt, dropping it to the ground. Grabbing the shoulders of my robe, I pulled it over my head and dropped it on top of the belt. After looking briefly at Sir Ben‟s face, I lowered my eyes once more, my arms hanging loosely at my sides. “Turn around,” he said. I turned slowly around until I came back to face him. A look of confusion crossed Sir Ben‟s face. My belly tightened with apprehension. Was I too thin? Was my cock too small? Did Sir Ben find me unattractive in the daylight; nothing but a pale, ordinary boy? “Who whipped your backside like that?” I swallowed hard. I had forgotten the scars on my buttocks. He would think me obstinate that I needed to be thrashed so cruelly. “My old tutor, Sir Ben. He found me stupid and lazy, so he punished me.” “I do not find you stupid or lazy. I find you intelligent and eager to please. Was this man so exacting with your brothers or just you?”

“He taught my brothers and sisters, but it was I he disciplined most harshly. I never pleased him.” “You have pleased me,” Sir Ben said, an easy smile creeping across his face. Relief swept through me. “I find you very pleasing, Robin. There was no need for him to beat you until your arse was marked. I would never do such a thing.” “Did you beat Perkin or your page?” I asked, still self-conscious and wishing I could grab my robe if only to hold it in front of my privates. “I have cuffed Perkin many a time and taken a stick to his arse once or twice when he got cocksure, but I never left a mark on him.” “He loves you,” I said quietly. “He loves me because I am fair and only ever wanted the best for him, to make him into a man.” Looking me up and down but not in a way to find fault, he said, “I could make a man of you.” I half laughed. “I think even you would find that impossible, Sir Benedict.” With one finger, Sir Ben beckoned, and I took several steps closer until there was only a foot of space between us. Looking straight into my eyes, Sir Ben grabbed my cock and balls in one large hand. I gasped but did not move, not even when he squeezed hard. “Shall I fuck your arse?” he asked. My breath came short and fast. I did not speak nor look away. The pleasure in my cock was as intense as the pain. “Speak boy. Shall I fuck you?” “I am at your service, sir. Do what you will with me. I want only to please you.” Sir Ben stepped away from the tree trunk. “Then I shall help you to please me. Face the tree.” I obeyed without pause, my cock rigid. “Brace your hands on the trunk, spread your legs and push your arse out for me.” I listened with care to his instruction and then strove to follow them exactly. When I was in position, I remained still, waiting, but nothing happened. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sir Ben looking me over. “What do I see when I look at you, Cock Robin?” he asked. “A boy who wishes to please you, Sir Ben.” “Yes, I see that,” he agreed. “I see a boy who is obedient. But I also see a handsome, slender boy with strong muscles that need to be worked and made stronger. I see beautiful blue eyes, and I see an arse I want to fuck.” Sir Ben shoved his hose down to his knees. His cock was thick and bulging, with clear fluid spilling from the arrowhead tip. I wanted to drink it, but I wanted also to be fucked by him. With both hands, Sir Ben grasped my buttocks and pulled them apart. He positioned the head of his cock at my tight hole and thrust hard. With one swift movement, he rammed it in up to the hilt, and my legs went weak. Indeed I feared for a moment that I might fall. With his hands on my hips, he thrust hard. I had been fucked many a time by Master Eadward, and in the early days, I had spent easily. But Master Eadward could not get his cock hard without whipping my arse,

and as time went on, I found that unless he whipped me, I could not spend, no matter how aroused I was. But I would be ashamed to tell such a thing to Sir Ben. Now, even though hot arrows of sensation shot through my legs and belly, my cock remained painfully hard but would not release its load. Even with the wonderful feeling of fullness up my arse, of being possessed and owned and penetrated by Sir Ben, I could not let go. In no more than nine or ten good hard thrusts, Sir Benedict spent. I experienced intense delight at the grunts and moans of his pleasure and the rush of hot fluid up my arse. As the last sensations were wrung from his cock, Sir Ben reached round to grab my organ. He squeezed hard, pulling on it. “Let it go, Robin,” he said. But I could not. At last he released me, panting, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. I turned round and reached out to assist him. “Do you need to sit down, Sir Ben?” He shook his head and stood upright. My cock had grown purple with bulging veins. “Is there some reason why you have not released your pleasure with me?” “I do not know, Sir Ben.” I looked down at myself, wishing my cock would soften if only to ease the pain. “Are you displeased with me?” My body tensed as I waited for his reply. “Not at all. You please me very much. Get me back to my bed now. I am weakening.” Warmed by his words, I pulled on my robe and took him back to the infirmary.

**** I enjoyed the deep quiet and focus of the chapel when the offices were chanted. The smoky smell of incense filled my head while the monks‟ chanting calmed my mind. But in truth, I had never contemplated God with the intensity with which I now thought about Sir Ben. In his presence, I grew exhilarated. When I was alone in my cell or mixing medicines in the herbarium, my mind wandered through a garden of delights where the fragrance was his sweat and the fountain spouted juices from his cock. The sounds were not of birds and insects but his breath, his strong voice, his laughter. I saw not brightly blazing flowers but the brown of his eyes and the gold of his hair. I went that evening after compline to walk in the prayer garden to contemplate not God but Sir Benedict Childerley. Walking the narrow paths, I chanted not my prayers but, “I love you, Sir Ben. I love you, Sir Ben.” “There you are, Brother Robin. I was looking for you.” My mind was so filled with images of my knight that I had not noticed Brother Abelard walking the paved path toward me. “Do you need my help, Brother?” I asked. “Will you sit with me a moment while I speak with you?” I had no desire at all to speak with Brother Abelard, since I did not like him as a man. Still, he had done nothing with which I could reproach him, so I had no choice but to be polite. “Of course, Brother. But we are past time for our beds.” “Come, Robin.” He walked past me, and I followed him beyond the bench opposite the statue of the Virgin and beyond another placed by a statue of our Lord upon the cross.

Brother Abelard led me directly to the bench I had sat on with Sir Ben, and I began to suspect we had not gone unnoticed during our time in the garden, most especially because he sat exactly where Sir Ben had sat and pointed to the spot where I had sat. “Sit down, Brother.” Keeping as much distance as I could between us, I obeyed. “When is your father coming to collect you from St. Asaph?” “As soon as he has arranged to bring forward the marriage between me and Esme Ste-Claire, his cousin‟s daughter from France.” “He sent you here because he wanted to protect you from your unnatural lusts.” I met his gaze. “Who told you that, Brother?” “The abbot told Brother Damien, and he in turn told me, since I have to pass you every day.” My anger rose up. “What do you think I am going to do to you, Brother?” The contempt I felt for him was betrayed in my voice and likely in my countenance, for his expression changed from one of teasing victory to anger. “Why do you scorn me and accept the attentions of the knight?” Brother Abelard would not be an attractive man even if his smile was genuine and his motives honest. However, it was his character—not his lack of physical beauty—that disgusted me. “Sir Ben is noble, and you are cowardly, coming upon me and threatening me like this. Sir Ben is honest, and you are deceitful.” “I have not threatened you with anything, Brother Robin. And that knight you so admire is injured and weak at present. Do you think he would have you pleasure him if a maid were available? He would not. He is using you for his own gratification. In a day or two, he will leave, and you will remain here at your sire‟s pleasure.” His words had already wandered around my fear-filled heart, that Sir Ben was only making use of me. “If you can serve him, you can serve me,” he said. “Or I will speak to the abbot, and he will send Sir Benedict packing this night.” For a long moment, we sat in the silence of the prayer garden with the sky darkening and the moon rising. The night air was warm and smelled of the new roses that had bloomed in the last few days. I would lose Sir Ben soon enough, but I could not bear for him to be sent on his way while he still needed succor, nor could I bear to have him sent from me one moment sooner than need be. “What do you want?” “Do to me as you did to him last night while you sat here.” When I neither responded nor moved, he said, “Or he will leave this night.” I got on my knees and performed the act. When it was done, I spat his fluids onto the ground and walked away without a word.

Chapter Five My mind in a whirl of confusion and anger, I slept little after my encounter with Brother Abelard. He would want the same again each day until Sir Ben left, and I was willing to be a whore to keep him there longer. The next morning when I entered the infirmary after prime, Brother Abelard handed me Sir Ben‟s breakfast. “I thought you would like to take this to him.” He smiled. “I will see you in the prayer garden after dark.” I took the bowl of porridge and went to Sir Ben‟s cubicle. But the smile on his face did not warm me, and I found myself ashamed to look him in the eye. I felt like the whore I was, and yet I knew I would meet Brother Abelard that evening just to keep Sir Ben at St. Asaph for another few nights. “Good morning, Robin,” he said, pulling himself up awkwardly. “I feel better but still not ready to leave.” “A few more days, Sir Ben, and you‟ll be well again and on your way,” I said, attempting to sound bright, as if his leaving was a good thing. I would not let him know I resented every moment that brought us closer to parting. He took the bowl from my hands and began to eat with the appetite of a young boy. That was a good sign, and it made me smile in spite of my low spirits. “This food is all pap, porridge, and soup,” he said. “Most of the monks in the infirmary are old; it is all they can manage. I will tell Brother Abelard you need some meat.” I turned to leave, but Sir Ben grabbed my hand. “After you change my poultice, you must take me for a walk.” “Yes, Sir Ben.” I could already taste his cock as we spoke and feel his nipples hardening under my hands. I dropped my voice to a whisper. “Perhaps we could go into the woods.” “Good boy, Robin,” he said. “And this time, I will make sure you lose your shot.”

**** Five more days followed, and with each, Sir Ben grew stronger. Five more nights in the prayer garden I pleasured Brother Abelard, feeling disgust and anger at both him and myself. If Sir Ben knew I was selling myself for a few more days with him, he would not want me. But he would never know, and soon he would be gone. He grew stronger each day, especially after I told Brother Abelard to add meat to his meals and the small, sweet strawberries from the kitchen garden. Each day when I walked beside Sir Ben, he needed less and less assistance, and his desire for pleasure grew stronger. I would give him release in whatever way he desired, and afterward he would squeeze and rub my cock, growing frustrated when he could not make me spend. “I am beginning to wonder if you do not find me handsome,” he said one day, only half teasing. We stood beside the stream in the woods where I had helped him bathe, scrubbing his hair and body with chamomile soap.

“I find you very handsome, Sir Ben.” My rigid cock was turning blue, and I stepped into the stream to let the cool water ease my pain. “You need to get away from this monastery. Then you will have no trouble.” He laughed, splashing water in my face. Sir Ben‟s good humor, which returned more each day, was as infectious as the winter grippe. Everyone around him got it. He had even made Brother Damien smile one day. On the eighth day of Sir Ben‟s recovery, he announced his intention to return to his camp and leave Wales the following morning. I removed his poultice, finding that he no longer needed another. The bruises had faded, and his ribs had healed. Sir Nicholas entered the cubicle as Sir Ben was pulling on his hose. When he saw Sir Nicholas, he smiled broadly and slapped at his bare chest. “Look, Nick. I am well thanks to this boy and ready to return to camp. You can escort me back.” The big-bellied Sir Nicholas grinned widely. “A pleasure, Sir Ben, a pleasure.” My heart sinking, I thought, he has forgotten me already. Brother Abelard was right; Sir Ben had used me for his pleasure only. Instead of feeling jealous and discarded, I should feel grateful that I had served him, if only temporarily. At least I would no longer have to serve Brother Abelard, and that was a blessing. I slipped quietly from the cubicle, and when the noon meal was served in the infirmary, I found him gone and the straw mattress standing against the wall to air. “He is gone, Brother Robin.” Brother Abelard had entered behind me. I did not answer and tried to slip past him, but he blocked the door. “Just because he is gone does not mean you and I have finished our business. You will continue to do as I ask, or I will go to the abbot and tell him you tried to lead me into sin.” “I do not care,” I told him. And I didn‟t. If Sir Ben was gone, then I cared about nothing.

**** Vespers had ended, and the monks walked in single file to the hall where the evening meal was served. I walked as always at the end of the line and was about to enter the hall when the abbot‟s servant caught my eye and beckoned me. “Father wants to speak to you.” In my first few weeks at the monastery, I would have immediately followed on his heels to the abbot‟s cottage. Instead I watched him go and went into the hall and took my place. The meal was served, and I ate it, then strolled through the pleasant evening to see what the abbot wanted of me. He had already whipped me for the week, but if Brother Abelard had been to him with his tales of lechery, then he may want to beat me again. I saw no need to rush to my punishment. The abbot was not alone when I was shown into his parlor. Master Carlisle sat in a comfortable chair looking at me. He did not rise for me, even though I was the eldest son of his lord. He looked at the abbot for permission to speak and was granted it with a stately nod.

“My Lord Mossley sends you word that your marriage to your second cousin from France will take place on midsummer‟s day. You are to leave here with me in the morning and return home to prepare.” Though he should have called me my lord, he did not. I decided to ignore his lack of protocol. “Thank you, Master Carlisle.” If I ever took over my father‟s household, I would remove him. I looked at the abbot, wanting permission to leave. “You may go, Brother Robin. Collect your bag with your belongings. You will need your clothes for the journey. The summons for compline has begun. God go with you.” I went first to my cell to leave my bag. I had brought much clothing with me but had not used it at all. From there I walked to the chapel in time for compline, but I was distracted during the office and neglected to chant the prayers. Had Master Carlisle arrived yesterday, I would have been thrown into despair. But Sir Ben had left the monastery and would leave Wales in the morning. I had heard nothing from him all day. He had forgotten me already, and I would be happier if I forgot him. After compline I went directly to my cell. The chill settled about me as soon as I entered its confines. My cell faced north; therefore, the one tiny window never got a single ray of sunshine. It was very cold when I had arrived at the beginning of March. At least I would not have to overwinter here. When the first freezing days set in, my bed would be warmed by Esme, my soon-to-be wife whom I must pretend to be interested in. Poor girl. She would be no happier than I. I do not know how long I slept, but it was black in my cell when I was awakened by a hand on my shoulder. I wondered if I had slept through the summons for matins and began to sit up. Two hands pushed me down onto my narrow cot, and I felt a man‟s weight in the blackness bearing down upon me. I attempted to call out, but he clamped his hand hard across my mouth as he dragged my robe up to bare my bottom. I struggled with all my strength, but he had taken me by surprise. I heard him spit onto his hand and felt him rub it into my arsehole. His cock slid up my arse, filling me. I went limp, lying still while he had his way. I found no enjoyment in his touch, and my cock did not harden. With a long, deep groan, he fell hard on my back, panting into my ear. “Brother Abelard, get out of my cell or I shall surely report you to the abbot. You have threatened me once too often. I am done with you.” He rolled off my back between me and the stone wall, lying on his side in the cramped space and grabbed me around the waist, pressing me into his belly when I tried to get up. “Brother Abelard brought me my meals whenever you did not.” Stunned, I stifled a cry, whispering, “Sir Ben?” “Aye. Who did you think was fucking your arse? Him? The cook? What has he done to you?”

“Nothing. He wanted me, and I refused him. I thought it was him come under cover of darkness.” “You said, „You have threatened me once too often.‟ With what did he threaten you?” A quandary of fear settled upon me. I could not have him know that I had whored myself out to a man I despised just for the gratification of having him at the monastery for a few more days. I could not tell this noble knight that my young heart desired him so much that I gave up my morals. “Sir Ben, he wanted me, and he threatened to tell the abbot I had stolen food from the pantry one night when I was hungry.” Now I was a liar as well as a whore. “The old miser,” Sir Ben said, angrily. “Come here, boy.” He pulled me to his chest, and I rested against him. “Why did you come to me, Sir Ben?” He gripped my bare arse in his big hands and squeezed hard. “Because my cock was hard for a sweet boy‟s backside.” I could hear the grin in his voice, though I could not see his face. His hand found my cock and enclosed it in his palm, squeezing and pulling on it. My organ rose and thickened in his hand. “Please, Sir Ben, do not arouse me.” “Why? Because you cannot complete your pleasure?” “No, I cannot,” I whispered, ashamed. “Why?” he asked. “What is wrong?” I took his wrist, pulling his hand away from my privates, and he allowed me to. “Perhaps it is girls you prefer, and your exploration of me that first night was nothing but curiosity. Do you like girls, Robin?” he teased. “I am to be married,” I said. “But no, I do not want to bed a woman, and I do not know how I will bed my wife.” “We are all expected to marry,” Sir Ben said. “It does not mean we have to. I do not like women in that way either.” I was relieved at that. At least he had not used me only because no woman was available. “Sir Ben, why do your men not call you my lord?” “Because I am not a lord.” “But you are your father‟s firstborn son, and he is a lord.” “I am his firstborn. Two years older than my drunken brother, Giles. But he was born by Berard Childerley‟s wife, and I was birthed by his whore. The woman he claimed he loved the best, but he still would not declare me his legitimate offspring.” The bitterness in Sir Ben‟s voice filled the tiny cell. I stroked his face, wishing I had said nothing. “He raised me in his house after my mother died when I was three years old, and I was treated no better than a servant.” “Sir Ben, I am sorry.”

“It is done,” he said, but I could feel his anger; it was palpable in the air. This knight who was cheerful even when his ribs were broken became a sullen boy when his father was spoken of. “Let us speak of him no more.” Sandaled footsteps coming down the passage caused us both to stop and listen like alert deer at the sound of the hunter‟s horn. We held our breath while someone paused outside and then scratched at my door. Silently, and with surprising agility for a man so recently injured, Sir Ben rose and took the two or three steps that bought him to the opposite wall. When the door opened, the torch in the wall sconce along the passage threw some small illumination into my cell. Brother Abelard stepped quickly inside and closed the door. Cast once more into pitch darkness, I waited. “You did not come to the prayer garden. I was expecting you, Brother Robin.” “You had better leave, Brother Abelard. You are not welcome here.” “Do you want the abbot to know what I saw you do with Sir Benedict? I shall tell him of your sin if…” But I cut him off. “If I do not sin with you? Get out.” I wanted him to leave before he said anything that would let Sir Ben know what I had done. “At least I am sanctified by God. He is nothing more than a fool who risks his life for gold. You sucked my manhood each evening so I would allow you to suck his later. He will leave tomorrow, but I am not finished with you. While you live at this monastery, you are mine.” “And you are mine, you barn rat!” When Sir Ben‟s voice filled the cell, Brother Abelard cried out in shock and fear. I heard a tussle, and Brother Abelard cried out again. Sir Ben struck him several times, though I could not see where. “You will never threaten this boy again, and you will never touch him again, or I will kill you.” Sir Ben opened the door and threw Brother Abelard out into the passage. The monk stumbled and fell to his knees. I watched from my cot as he scrambled up and ran off. Sir Ben closed the cell door and sat down on the side of my cot just as I had sat on his for so many days. “He saw us?” “Yes, sir. The night we went to the prayer garden. He was there watching all the time. He has been trying to make me his since I arrived here, but I would not have him.” “So he threatened you?” “Yes, Sir Ben, he did,” I said quietly. “And you succumbed to the threat?” I felt stupid and cheapened. Why did this man I so admired have to find out? “Sir Ben, I did not know what else to do. I could not bear for you to leave.” I could not control the sob that broke from my tight chest. For a few moments, he patted my back rather roughly. “Stop that now. You are a man, not a child.”

The impatience in his tone made me take a sharp breath and bring myself under control, ashamed of my behavior. “I am sorry, Sir Ben. If Brother Abelard had told the abbot, he would have thrown you out even though you were not yet healed.” “You did not need to whore yourself for me. My men would have taken care of me if the abbot had turned me out.” “I did not want you to leave any sooner than you had to. I was willing to pay the price for that.” Without another word to me, he left. I did not attend matins when the bell summoned the monks to the chapel. I lay on my cot numb and afraid. I should have said no to Brother Abelard just as I should have said no to Master Eadward. Sir Ben knew me now for a coward, which to a man like him was even worse than a whore. But a whore I had been, and he knew that too. In the morning, he would leave, and so would I, never to see him again. I would marry Esme and be miserable.

Chapter Six On the road to England Two days on horseback to return home to Holt House was a daunting prospect to a nervous rider, and that was if the weather remained clear. All horses turned skittish around me, and for that reason I avoided them. My arse would be sore before nightfall and my hands covered with blisters from the reins. Worse still, I knew not if I would ever see Sir Ben again, or if he would even think of me once he rode out. Every milestone we passed on the well-worn trail took me farther from him. I had never asked him where his estate was, but I knew that knights who followed the circuit of tournaments traveled far. His father‟s estate was near Chester, but he may have been anywhere in England. Master Carlisle, two of my father‟s men-at-arms, and I had left the monastery grounds a little after dawn. Master Carlisle rode beside me, and the men-at-arms rode one behind and one before us. The journey would be safe enough, and I was less afraid of malefactors than I was of falling from my horse should we break into a gallop. “You will be well settled before the year is out,” Master Carlisle said. “That should keep you out of mischief.” They were the first words he had spoken since we set out, and his tone was mocking, as if he had a right to speak to me like a disappointed uncle and to neglect to use my title. Since he had witnessed my disgrace, I suppose he thought he was superior to me, even though I far outranked him. I could not help but wonder how far the news of my indiscretion had spread among my father‟s men. But I did not want to be out of sorts with Master Carlisle for the remainder of the journey, and I had never dared rebuke him in the past. Silence fell upon our procession, and I focused on the songs of the birds greeting the day. Lulled into the peace and quiet of an uneventful journey, neither the men-at-arms nor Master Carlisle were alerted to the outlaws until it was too late. They came upon us where the road ran through dense forest. They were not wearing body armor, but they wore helmets to disguise their faces. My heart pounded with fear as the men-at-arms went for their weapons, but in a trice they had blades at their throats and their hands froze upon their sword hilts. We were surrounded and outnumbered, and our party came to a halt. Through the band of perhaps a dozen outlaws, one man rode forward. Master Carlisle spoke, his face twisted into a mask of anger. “We have no gold, and we are protected by Francis Holt, Lord Mossley.” Carlisle was a man who liked to be in charge and to win. I suspect he was as much angered by his own stupidity and lack of vigilance as by fear that he might lose his own life or mine. “I do not see Lord Mossley here,” the big man said. Behind his helmet, I could hear amusement in his voice. “Dismount.”

“We will do no such thing,” Master Carlisle said. I glanced around at the band of outlaws and decided the safest course was to obey. Since my pride was not caught up as Master Carlisle‟s was, I slid carefully down from my horse. Following my lead, my party dismounted also. The leader nosed his horse forward. He took my bag from my horse and placed it in front of him. Then, one after next, he slapped our horses on the rear until they ran. We stood huddled together in the midst of mounted, armed outlaws. “Give me your hand.” The leader extended his arm to me. I paused for a moment and then took it. With a strength I could not match, he pulled, and I followed his lead, having no choice but to mount his horse behind him. “Hold on tight, boy,” he said over his shoulder before setting off at a roaring pace, his men following, whooping with laughter. “Sir Ben?” I asked as we left my escort far behind. “Who were you expecting? Robin Hood?” With my arms tight around his broad chest, I hung on for dear life as he rode at a dizzying gallop through the forest. We stopped when we came to the carrefour where, hidden among the trees, the rest of Sir Ben‟s entourage and the large cart with their tents and jousting equipment waited. The men stowed their helmets in the wagon, and we took the road east. I pressed my cheek against Sir Ben‟s shoulder, my face splitting into a grin. He had come for me. I thought I would never see him again and he had come to take me home with him. My knight.

**** Near dark we stopped in a clearing in the forest. As best I could, I tried to help the squires and pages build a fire and set it alight with flint. I had never done menial work except when I was a page. I was not very good at it, so I occupied myself with unrolling Sir Ben‟s bedding and setting it on the ground, since no tents would be erected for just one night. The men had gone off as soon as we stopped and returned a short time later with a boar. While the men jested and drank from a cask of wine, the boar roasted over the fire. It grew late, and we were all tired, so when the meat was cooked enough to eat but still dripping blood and juices, I served Sir Ben as the other squires served their knights. “This would be better with rosemary stuffed into the sides and a longer time on the spit,” I said as I handed him a large piece from the haunch. “Would it, boy?” he asked with a smile. “Get some meat and sit with me.” The boar did not last long with so many men digging in, but we all had a healthy share. Page Simon sat beside Sir Ben, sucking on a bone after his meat was gone. Sir Ben pulled a chunk of meat from his own portion and handed it to the boy, who took it with a smile. I had never seen such a gesture of affection to a page. Sir Ben was a kinder knight than my uncle.

Everyone began to grow quiet, tired from a day of traveling. Simon finished his meat and was falling asleep where he sat. “Simon, go and sleep under the cart with Sir Nick‟s page,” Sir Ben ordered. The child obeyed at once. The men too began to lie down, settling themselves for sleep. Sir Ben lay down and pulled me into his arms, my back pressed against his belly. I was shocked that he embraced me so openly and tried to draw away, afraid of what the other men would do. But Sir Ben would not release me and held me fast with his strong arms. “What are you afraid of, boy?” “The men,” I whispered. “Look about you, Robin.” The fire blazed brightly, illuminating the immediate area. The pages, four in all, had crawled under the cart together and were already asleep. The men stretched out, some on their bedding and some on the bare ground. A few feet away, Sir Nicholas lay with his arm slung over another man‟s waist, a man as hairy and fleshy as himself. “Who is that with Sir Nicholas?” “His man, Corbin, the blacksmith.” Across the fire from us, two slender young men slept curled up together, and another couple lay nearby. No one seemed ill at ease with the situation. I was both excited and confused, and turned in Sir Ben‟s arms to look into his face, outlined in gold by the firelight. “Are they like us?” I whispered. “Yes,” he said. “Do the other knights have their own estates?” “Yes, except Sir Nicholas. He was knighted on the field of battle like me but was given no land. I got my scrap from my father with an old house and a few chickens. But wait until you see what I have done with it over the last five years with gold earned in the tourneys. And as for Nick, he and his man live with me and always shall. We are family now.” My confusion only deepened. I had thought that men like me, if there were others, because I knew not how many we numbered, would always live in hiding and dread of being caught. I had wondered if they chose other men only when no women were around. “But what we do is a sin. My father sent me to the monks for this sin.” “I suspected as much,” he said. “The abbot beat me every Monday to knock the devil out of me.” “Did it work?” I caught his smile even in the darkness. “No,” I whispered. “But I thought…” I did not know how to ask him if he had used me for a pastime. “What did you think, Robin?” There was no teasing in his voice now. He was in earnest.

“I thought you had used me for your amusement, nothing more. Just to pass the time.” “You thought I used you like a whore, just as the monk did?” “Yes,” I whispered. “But with you, I wanted to.” “You must think very little of yourself.” He paused before saying, “And me. You should have told me about the monk, but what is done is done.” “Are you angry with me about Brother Abelard? I did his bidding because I could not bear to part with you.” “I had already decided that would not happen,” he said. “No, I am not angry, but you should have told me.” “Do you think me a whore?” I whispered, praying he would say no. “I do not,” he said and pulled me closer. “Neither do I understand why you did not punch him.” He put his finger to my lips. “Hush now, Robin. We must sleep. We have a long ride ahead tomorrow.” He took my hand and shoved it down the front of his hose. I squeezed and rubbed his cock until it was hard. Sir Ben clamped his lips together, moaning softly as his warm fluids spilled over my hand. “Robin, sweet boy,” he whispered.

Chapter Seven Benedict House near Chester We arrived at Sir Ben‟s manor after dark and, exhausted, went directly to sleep. So it was not until the next morning that I saw the house and the land. “I paid for this house with my own money,” Sir Ben said more than once as he led me through the bedchambers, all furnished and with tapestries on the walls. I had noticed as soon as I lay down beside him last night that it was a good bed, with a wool-stuffed mattress and a feather bed on top. The sheets were made of the best linen, and the blankets were soft wool. It was as fine as any my father owned. “That chamber”—he pointed at a door at the end of the landing but did not open it—“is for the female servants. They get their own chamber so there is no question of the men misbehaving. I won‟t have women ill-used in my house. The grooms sleep in the great hall with the squires and pages.” At Holt House, all the grooms and maids slept in the great hall at night, except the personal servants of my father and mother, who slept upstairs in a small chamber nearby. “Are there others here like us?” I asked. Sir Ben knew what I meant and said, “Some of the grooms, yes, but not all. Anyone who works for me knows what to expect, and they will mind their manners.” “I thought I was the only one like me,” I said, seeing now how naive I was. Sir Ben slapped me on the back as he would to any man who amused him. I was unused to being treated like a man, unaccustomed to the camaraderie of men, and I did not know what to make of it. “When I moved in here, it was a destitute old place which had had no care in half a century. If you could have seen it then, you would know how much I have done to build it up.” At the other end of the landing, he said, “Look, this is Nick and Cob‟s chamber.” He opened the door and entered. I followed him in to see the blacksmith snoring beside Sir Nicholas. Sir Ben walked over to the shutters, throwing them open. “Nick fell in love with a blacksmith and brought him home. Now I have my own blacksmith on my manor, and he is also a fine farrier, which is good to have with us on the tournament circuit.” Grunts and cries from the bed caused Sir Ben to laugh. He walked over and threw back the wool blankets to slap Sir Nicholas‟s hairy rump. Both men were naked, their arms around each other. “Sir Ben, you devil, I‟ll throw you down the stairs,” Sir Nicholas moaned. “Try it.” Sir Ben laughed. I could not help but laugh with him, but I wondered why Sir Nick‟s arse was red and welted as if he had had a good thrashing before going to sleep. It looked as though someone had taken a birch bundle to him. The blacksmith rubbed his face. “Morning, Sir Ben.” “Good morning, Cob. Is it not good to be home? I am showing Robin the house.”

Sir Nicholas sat up and leaned against the headboard, his face red from sleep, while Cob rolled onto his side, his muscled arm thrown across Sir Nick‟s thighs. “It is good to be home,” Sir Nick agreed. “But how shall we defend it when our young lord‟s father comes looking for him with a small army behind him?” For a moment, I thought Sir Nicholas was angry about my being there, but his gentle gaze rested kindly on me. “I‟ll think of something. By the time his useless men find their horses and return to Liverpool, then come searching for us, it will be Lammastide. But I wish I had had the time and the coin to build fortifications around the house before now. All we have to alert us in case of attack is the geese and dogs.” Sir Ben laughed. Then growing serious again, he asked, “How many men can Lord Mossley call to arms if he needs to, Robin?” In my head, I calculated my father‟s men-at-arms and the men of the houses he had made alliances with. “About five hundred.” “Five hundred! How?” Sir Ben‟s eyes grew wide at the sheer multitude. “A long time ago, my father formed alliances with neighboring lords. They all agreed not to attack each other and to help each other if they were attacked.” “God‟s teeth!” Sir Ben put his hands on his hips and looked at the ceiling for a moment. “I cannot protect you from so many if they come looking for you.” “I‟m sorry, Sir Ben. I would not put your household in danger. If my father comes with men-at-arms, I will leave with him that day.” “We will think of something,” he said. “And how do we address you?” Sir Nick said to me. “Now we know you are not a simple monk but the son of a wealthy lord?” “He is Lord Robin, or my lord,” Sir Ben said. “I would prefer to be Robin. Just Robin.” Since my father had treated me with such disregard, no other man had ever given me my true place, and I had never thought to demand it. Sir Ben put his arm around my shoulders and drew me to his side. “To me you are Robin. Everyone else will give you the respect your rank demands.” Sir Ben looked at Sir Nicholas. “Call him Lord Robin and make sure everyone else does.” “We will,” Sir Nicholas spoke for them both. “Now, if you will leave us alone, Sir Ben, it would be enjoyable to spend a few moments with my man before I get up.” Cob pressed his cheek against Sir Nick‟s hip and reached for his cock. I blushed and turned away, and they all laughed, Sir Ben the loudest. He took me out into the passage and closed the door on them. It was a fine house indeed with fancy wainscot on all the walls and newly done coffered ceilings. We went down the wide staircase into the great hall below. Freshly woven rush mats lay on the floor by the front door. “Look.” Sir Ben pointed at them. “No common rushes on my floors. They spread disease; did you know that?” “No, sir, I did not.” Sir Ben was certainly a forward-thinking man.

“Well they do. I have been into taverns in London where the rushes have not been changed in twenty years. They just throw new ones on top. Men piss and vomit into those rushes. I tell the villagers not to scatter rushes on their floors but to weave mats which can be taken outside and beaten. Earthen floors are better than rushes if you cannot afford to put down wooden boards.” “But earthen floors are colder.” “Aye, they are, but it is safer for babies crawling upon them. I have spoken to the villagers in Childe about new ideas for health and good humors.” I liked his excitement and interest in ordinary people. It was a beautiful house, and Sir Ben‟s pride was well placed. “How long have you been away, Sir Ben?” I asked. “Since the year turned,” he said. A woman cleaning the hall with a bucket of soapy water and a mop called out, “Sir Ben, it is good to have you back.” “I am happy to be home, Jhone,” he called. “This is Lord Robin Holt.” He drew me to his side while the woman curtsied. “Jhone weaves the rush mats. She is very good at it. She came to the door selling them two Christmases ago, and I took her in and gave her a home.” “Welcome, my lord,” she said. “Your servants like you, Sir Ben.” My father‟s servants would never call out greetings to him. The women would stop in their tracks to bob a silent curtsy. The men would give a quick bow and stand quietly until Lord Francis passed by. But Sir Ben‟s house was a place where everyone seemed like family with their own work to do. “The men like me because I am fair. The women like me because I do not molest them or allow anyone else to.” I had never thought about the way female servants were treated, but now Sir Ben spoke of it, I acknowledged what I had seen in my father‟s household. I knew what he got up to in dark corners with maids. I had come upon him more than once. Perhaps in a few years, Thomas and Charles would do the same if no one taught them better. The great hall was large with two big hearths and formal furniture placed about. Sir Ben led me through to another, smaller hall with a big hearth, but no fire was set because it was after May Eve. A large wooden chair stood beside the hearth with benches and stools set about. Sir Ben sat in the chair, and I looked at him, thinking how perfect it was for him, a man people admired. “I like this hall. It is warmer in cold weather, and even when the weather is fine, it is more private. Sit down, Robin.” I ignored the benches and stools and plumped myself down on his lap, wanting to be petted. I was so grateful to him for rescuing me from my marriage. “Get off,” Sir Ben said. “What are you doing?” I slid my arm around his neck and covered his mouth with mine. Sir Ben‟s lips were warm and firm, and I pushed my tongue between them. With a hearty shove he pushed me from him. Tumbling to the floor I looked up, shocked and hurt. “Sir Ben?”

“Do not act like that in my house. You are a man. Now be a man,” he said. I scrambled to get up at the sight of a matronly woman servant carrying a tray into the hall. “It‟s good to have you home, Sir Ben. I‟ve brought you fresh milk and bread and ham,” she said. She carried it to the table set against the wall. Attempting to cover my discomfiture, I hurried over to pour the milk. “Your bread smells good, mistress,” I said. With a nod of acknowledgment, she said, “Thank you, lad.” “Mistress Anne, this lad is Lord Robin Holt,” Sir Ben said. “Sorry, my lord.” She offered a curtsy to me. “I will introduce Lord Robin to the household at supper,” Sir Ben said. When she had left us, closing the door, I handed a cup of milk to Sir Ben. Then I took a trencher and cut bread and ham for him. I picked up the butter pot and sniffed it to ensure it was fresh. I had seen my mother do that many a time at table and then throw a pot of old butter on the floor. But the butter smelled like new cream, and I took up a knife and spread his bread with it. I placed the ham beside the bread and offered Sir Ben his trencher. “Why do you serve me like a groom at the table?” Sir Ben asked, taking his trencher. “I am no longer in the infirmary, and you are neither a monk nor a servant.” I tore a piece from the loaf and smeared butter on it. The food at the monastery was not very good, and I had forgotten how good well-cooked food was. “I like serving you, Sir Ben.” “You outrank me, and you are not my squire.” “I do not outrank you as a man. And I could be your squire to replace Perkin.” “You have not time enough to squire for me. I must train a new boy. Your father will come to take you home to marry soon.” “Lord Francis thinks a wife will make a man of me. But she won‟t.” “How could she? Only I can do that.” His eyes were very serious. “I want to be your wife,” I said without knowing where the words came from. Sir Ben looked hard at me. I had said the wrong thing and made him angry. “Why do you make less of yourself all the time? I have spent my whole life trying to make myself more.” “Why would I be less if I were your wife? Or played the part.” Sir Ben grew impatient, frowning when he said, “You must learn to be a man before you can be anything else.” “Sir Ben, who is the master between Sir Nicholas and Corbin?” I perceived a knowing in his countenance at my question, and he put his trencher on the hearth. “Nick outranks the blacksmith, but the blacksmith masters him in private. I have observed Nick looking at Cob for guidance when he does not look to me.” “Sir Nicholas‟s arse was red this morning. Somebody thrashed him.”

With a negligent shrug showing he did not understand them, Sir Ben said, “Cob thrashed him because that is what Nick likes. But they are good men. I love them both.” “May I butter more bread for you, Sir Ben?” I asked. “May I serve you more milk?” “No, I am done. I do not usually eat until dinnertime. Then supper we eat after dark. Come with me. I will show you my land.”

**** Thank God he did not ask me to ride but pulled me up behind him on his horse. I barely saw the fifty acres of meadows and forest he showed me as he rode his land at a gallop. At last he halted his horse in a field red with poppies. “I love this meadow,” he said. “Look at the beauty. I come here alone sometimes when I need to think.” I hugged his waist, thinking the only beauty before me was Sir Ben himself. “Yes, it is lovely,” I said as we rode on. An ill-kept village bordered his land, and Sir Ben halted the horse on the green beside the pond. Even the swans looked scruffy and hungry as they paddled across the reedy surface. The occupants of the old thatched cottages came rushing out, calling greetings while Sir Ben smiled and waved. “This is the village of Childe.” “Is it your village?” I asked. My heart sank at the thought that he would keep his tenants so hungry while he feasted. “Do you think I would keep my people this way?” His anger burst forth, and I whispered an apology. “Did you win at tournament, Sir Ben?” a young woman asked. She held a baby in her arms and still she pushed her breasts out, hoping to catch his eye. For a moment, I thought her cheap and then remembered my own conduct. She was thin, and her skirt and blouse were worn. I looked more closely, seeing that she was merely desperate, not slatternly. “Did you win gold, Sir Ben?” a man asked. “I did. I won large,” he called out without dismounting. “I will go this afternoon to see about buying the land you live on.” The relief on their sad faces was heartbreaking; still they managed a cheer. “But tonight you will all feast at my pleasure. Come after your day‟s work is done. I will see you all then.” “Thank you, Sir Ben!” they called out. “This is Lord Robin Holt. You will see him later also.” “Good day, Lord Robin,” the people said. We rode off while the villagers stood waving. “Whose land is the village on, Sir Ben?” I asked. “The village sits at the very edge of my father‟s three-thousand-acre estate,” Sir Ben said, and while I could not see his face, I sensed his anger. “As you can see, he starves his people by making them pay rent they cannot afford on land that is so overused they can

barely raise crops anymore. They have not enough land between them to leave a field fallow, so none of them eat well.” “Why not ask your father to give you the land to get rid of the nuisance?” I suggested. “You think I have not? He says he gave me my fifty acres, with not a deer in my forest, and if I want more, I must pay him for it. I promised the villagers I would buy another hundred acres from him, including the land where the village stands. I will prosper that village and its people and rename it Benedict. I have promised them.” He spoke with such determination that I feared if Lord Berard Childerley rode up at that moment, Sir Ben would draw his sword and run him through. We rode on, my arms wrapped tightly about his chest, my head on his shoulder, my eyes closed to shut out the dizzying speed of the land whipping by. My groin was pressed tight to his buttocks, my thighs alongside his. I was in heaven. It was not until I felt the air grow cooler around me that I opened my eyes to find we had entered the sun-dappled forest once more. Sir Ben halted the horse near a wide brook. He raised his leg, swinging it over the horse‟s head, and slid to the ground. “Get down,” he said. But the animal had begun to walk, and I hesitated. “For God‟s sake, Robin.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the ground; I stumbled and fell, feeling a fool. “How could the son of a lord never learn to ride?” “I did not leave the estate much, and I went in a coach when I needed to.” “You have much to learn, boy. Thank God I found you when I did. Strip,” he ordered impatiently. Sir Ben was already stepping out of his boots and hose. He threw his long tunic on the grass and waded into the stream. “Come on, Robin.” I took off my clothes quickly, examining my scraped knee as I did so. When I looked up, Sir Ben was watching me, and I felt nesh when I thought of his broken ribs. The water was surprisingly cool, making me gasp. Sir Ben, who stood up to his waist in the stream, dipped both hands in the water and swept it up into my face. It was as though someone had thrown a bucketful at me. For a moment, I was so shocked I stood shaking my head like a dog, trying to catch my breath. Then he knocked me over. One moment I was looking at him, and the next I was looking through weeds at his legs. I swallowed water and began to panic, struggling to find my feet, which kept slipping from underneath me on the mossy rocks. Just when I thought he was going to let me drown, Sir Ben pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the bank. I burst into tears. For several minutes, I wept, and when at length I looked to my left, he sat watching me. “You could have drowned me,” I accused him. “I would not have let you drown. Now wipe your face.” I wanted him to feel sorry for me and take me in his arms. “Do you want me to pet you like a child?” “Yes,” I said petulantly. He began to laugh. “That would help you become a man, would it not? Before I knew it, you would resent me.”

“But you nearly drowned me.” Sir Ben‟s laughter was suddenly gone, his jaw hardened. “You were no deeper than your waist. You could have stood up at any time. Stop acting a milksop.” Between the scrape on my knee, which I had paid far too much attention to, and what I perceived as my near drowning, Sir Ben looked very impatient, and I knew I had disappointed him. “I‟m sorry,” I whispered. “Do not make your conduct worse by apologizing.” I clamped my lips shut. “Now get in the water.” When I failed to move at once, he shoved me in, and this time I found my feet. Sir Ben swam across the stream and back while I scrubbed myself with a twisted wad of dry grass. When he was done swimming, I took another bundle of grass, twisted it tight and bent it. Sir Ben stood still for me while I scrubbed him all over with it. “Shall I cut your hair later, Sir Ben?” I asked as I scrubbed his buttocks. His hair trailed over his shoulders, while mine was close-cropped as my father made all the men in his household wear it. He turned to face me. “There is a story about a man whose hair was cut and he lost his strength. I heard it in church.” “Samson and Delilah,” I said. “Yes, that‟s it.” He grinned. “I think I‟ll keep my hair. On the bank,” he ordered. I dropped the grass wad and scrambled for the bank. Sir Ben got there first and stood, listening closely. “This is your land, Sir Ben,” I pointed out. “But the villagers come into the forest to hunt rabbits. I would not like anyone to come upon us.” Even distracted by my hard member, I marked the difference between Sir Ben, who allowed serfs who were not his to hunt on his meager fifty acres, and many great landowners who would not allow their own people to take a rabbit from their land. When he was satisfied we were alone, he pointed at the ground. “Get down.” I dropped to the ground. The grass beneath my hands and knees was cool and rough. Sir Ben got on his knees behind me. He spat on his fingers and rubbed his spit into my arsehole. Positioning his cock, he pushed. I took a deep breath and released it as he slowly filled my arse. I closed my eyes, and even the songs of the birds ceased. The scurrying of rabbits in the undergrowth and squirrels in the trees disappeared until the only sounds that filled my head were Sir Ben‟s grunts and moans and his rasping, labored breath. Every sound he made excited me further. Sir Ben rode me like he rode his horse, the strength in his thighs directing me. The reins had left his hands thick with calluses, the skin rough. His palms abraded the soft skin on my hips, while his fingers and thumbs dug painfully into my hip bones. Together we rocked as his groin thumped my arse. My member screamed with burning pleasure, my balls swung as Sir Ben fucked me. Pleasure shot up my belly. My nipples gathered tightly.

Without ceasing his rhythm, Sir Ben reached underneath me and grabbed my cock. He squeezed hard and pulled several times. I screamed with pain, and he released my organ and cried out his pleasure. My knees gave out, and I fell flat on the grass. On top of me, Sir Ben moaned in my ear. “Robin, my sweet boy. I have never fucked an arse so tight and willing. You are my boy now, and I will find a way to keep you.” His words, said with such feeling, made my eyes brim. The cool ground eased my aching cock, lessening the pain, but I was still hard. Sir Ben lay on my back, impaling me, and I wanted him to stay there forever. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I did not dare. He called me sweet boy, but he wanted me to be a man. With a great moan, Sir Ben rolled off and lay sprawled on the bank. I rolled to my side and rose on one elbow to look at him. His smiles always crinkled his eyes. With one finger, he stroked my cheek “Did you spend?” he asked. He looked at my cock, which, thank God, had softened somewhat. I did not answer, making his brow furrow. “You did not. Do I not excite you?” “Yes, Sir Ben.” “I do not understand you. I like to give pleasure as well as receive it, but I can give none to you.” Still upset about his pulling me down from his horse and shoving me in the water, I mumbled, “Sir Ben, you were gentler to me at St. Asaph.” “I was not responsible for you at St. Asaph. You were just a boy who was kind and willing, and I was grateful, but before the sennight was done, I knew I could not leave without you. I came to fetch you. Are you not glad?” “Yes, sir, but do you find me wanting?” I asked, knowing he did. “Aye, I do,” he said plainly. “I do not find you wanting in sweetness or kindness. I do not find you wanting in your desire to please me. But in acting like a man, I find you wanting, and I am a man who likes other men. I do not care for all this petting and kissing.” “Sir Nicholas and Cob kiss each other. I have seen them.” “They have already proven themselves men,” he said. “So they can act like girls with each other.” Impatient, I sat up. “Why is it acting like a girl to want to kiss? Men kiss women.” “Yes, but they do not like it. They just do it because the woman wants it.” “Then why do Sir Nick and Cob kiss if they do not have to and they don‟t like it?” I asked. Consternation creased Sir Ben‟s face. “Do not play games with words. I do not like it.” Grabbing his hose, he pulled them on, followed by his boots. Rising, he put on his tunic and belt. I followed suit quickly. By the time I had my tunic on, Sir Ben was reaching down from his horse to pull me up behind him. “I must order the feast for the villagers and hope Mistress Anne is not too angry that I did not give her better warning. And I must see my father to talk about buying his land.”

Chapter Eight The kitchen was at the back of the house with two doors leading to the vegetable garden. Both had half doors to keep the chickens and goats outside, while allowing the fresh air to enter. Mistress Anne stood at the big table that dominated the kitchen. Several newly killed headless chickens lay waiting to be plucked. “I‟ll make your favorite chicken stew for your dinner, sir.” She picked up a cleaver to lop the feet off the chickens and then threw them on the floor for the dog. “You‟ll have to make a lot, Mistress Anne.” Sir Ben shrugged and grinned. The woman plumped her hands on her wide hips. The look on her face said he had done this before—and on short notice too. “You‟ve not invited the village to feast.” With an arm draped about the woman‟s shoulders, he said, “They looked halfstarved. I can buy the land now, and they will fall under my jurisdiction. But this night, they will feast here.” “That only gives me the afternoon. Oh, you‟re a devil, you are.” The woman spoke with a familiarity I doubted Sir Ben would accept from anyone else. She looked at the two servants who watched Sir Ben quietly with obvious respect. “I‟ve only got them two to help, and Jem needs instruction on the smallest task as you know.” “How fare you, Jem?” Sir Ben asked. The young man grinned, and I saw a certain vacancy in his eyes that told me he had been touched by the fairies. “I‟s well, Sir Ben.” “Good boy. Will you help Mistress Anne prepare a feast?” Sir Ben prodded a couple of the plump chickens. “Start by plucking these.” “I will, Sir Ben.” Jem grabbed at a chicken, but Mistress Anne took it from his hands and began tossing the carcasses into a basket. “You‟ll take them outside, Jem, or I‟ll have feathers all over the kitchen. And don‟t you lose one feather, not one. You‟ll put them in a sack for new bolsters.” Sir Ben looked amusingly guilty at springing this on the woman. “I could not leave without offering them a feast. I‟ll tell all the maids to help you, and I‟ll order the men to get the trestles outside in front of the house and bring out a cask of ale from the cold room. Do we have enough food?” She smiled at him as she would to a naughty child, then turned and beckoned with her heavy arm. We followed her out of the kitchen into the vegetable garden where she pointed at a distant oak. A freshly killed deer hung by its hind feet from a branch. “Is that from my woods?” Sir Ben asked excitedly. Mistress Anne shook her head, laughing. “The steward poached it from Lord Childe‟s forest. He should not hunt in the spring, but it‟s an old animal, so it should not matter.”

Sir Ben threw back his head, and his laughter rang loud. “There‟s an irony. My father starves his cottars, and I feed them with deer stolen from his land.” Mistress Anne laughed with him, and I saw some special bond between them and wondered at it. “We‟d better start it roasting soon, Sir Ben. You‟ll have to cut it into quarters. Roasting it whole will take too long.” “Cob will have to do it. I must go to see my father.” “Cob knows what he‟s doing,” Mistress Anne agreed. “And we‟ve got lots of pheasant from last winter still hanging in the pantry. They‟ll be nice and aged by now. They froze over the winter, so they should be perfect. We‟ll have venison and birds. I made five casts of loaves this morning. I must have known what you would be up to. And I‟ll roast parsnips and turnips.” We walked over to the tree. “This is a nice deer skin.” Sir Ben ran his hand over the big animal. “But what about cake, Mistress Anne? It‟s never a party without something fancy.” “Cake as well? For that rabble?” She shook her head in disapproval. “I can make gingerbread,” I said, wanting very much to be useful at something I could do well. “The cake and the biscuit. And I can bake almond tarts.” “Almond tarts? I love almond tarts.” Sir Ben smiled. “Then I shall make them for you!” Mistress Anne smiled at my eagerness and patted my shoulder. “He‟s a nice boy, this one, Sir Ben.” “You might hinder rather than help, Robin,” he said, “and then Mistress Anne will be angry with me for indulging you.” I squinted a question at him. I could not imagine Sir Ben allowing a servant to take advantage of him. “Mistress Anne was my wet nurse,” he said by way of explanation. “She came with me to my father‟s house after my mother died. She all but raised me until I was sent out to be a page.” “No one knows this lad better than me,” she said affectionately, though I could not imagine anyone viewing Sir Ben as a lad. “Might I bake sweets, then?” I asked him. “I used to sneak into the kitchen at home to watch, and the cooks would allow me to help, but then my father found out and forbade me.” “If you can bake sweets, it is one less task for me,” Mistress Anne agreed. “There you have it, Robin. But remember, in the kitchen, Mistress Anne is the lady of the manor. You have to obey her orders.” “I will,” I agreed, happy to be allowed to help. Just then Simon the page ran out through the kitchen door. “Ben, I was looking for you. May I go home to visit my mother?”

“He called you Ben,” I said. I looked at the bright blond child and saw for the first time their similarity. They had the same brown eyes, and I would wager from Sir Ben‟s thick golden hair that as a child he was as white haired as Simon. “Is he your brother?” “My half brother. We have the same father. I have five half brothers and three half sisters and God knows how many more who were left unacknowledged like me.” “Is Robin your new man?” Simon asked. “You call me Sir Ben, remember, brother or not.” He looked sternly at Simon, who hung his head under the glare. “Sorry, Sir Ben.” “Firstly, he is Lord Robin to you and everyone else. And secondly, you are to say nothing to our father about him.” “I won‟t, Sir Ben.” “All right, then.” Sir Ben snatched the boy up from the ground and tossed him high, catching him with a laugh. Simon put his arms around Sir Ben‟s neck, and Sir Ben hugged him tightly, I suppose to make up for the reprimand. “Have you had many men?” I asked quietly. “A few.” He shrugged before focusing his attention on Simon again. Sir Ben swung the boy up onto his shoulders. “I am going over to see Lord Berard now to talk about buying more land, and you can ride in front of me. We‟ll take Sir Nicholas with us.” Sir Ben walked ahead of us back into the kitchen with the child smiling happily on his shoulders. Sir Ben would make a good father, though it seemed he would never be one. At the door, he turned and winked at me. “Be good, Robin. Make that almond tart for me.” “And the gingerbread. Shall I make enough for the whole village or just the household?” “Make enough for everyone. The villagers deserve a treat as much as I do.” Just the grin on his handsome face made my heart soar. Sir Ben was everything I had ever wanted in a teacher and a man. Perhaps what we did was not a sin after all, and I did not deserve to be whipped for it. Mistress Anne went off to fetch Cob to joint the deer. Grateful that no one expected me to do it, I gathered the ingredients for the gingerbread and almond tarts, going over the recipes in my head as I collected the flour and butter from the pantry. Sir Ben had a fine stocked kitchen with expensive spices. On a shelf, wrapped in canvas, I found a loaf of Madeira sugar and wondered if I should use any, since the gingerbread would be for the cottars and sugar was so expensive. I decided to use honey for the gingerbread and save the sugar for the almond tarts that I would make just for Sir Ben and perhaps Sir Nicholas and Cob. I checked the pantry for almonds and found half a sack, plenty for making the tarts, and I would make marzipan shapes as well. He would be impressed. With a mortar and pestle like the one we used in the herbarium, I began to grind the almonds. The sugar I would grate later.

**** It was still light when the people began to gather on the grass in front of the house. They were quiet and respectful as they waited, and obviously hungry. The food was ready, but Sir Ben was not arrived yet, and we could not begin without him. The cottars who had seen me with him earlier in the day offered me little respectful bows and curtsies as I walked among them. After being the lowest of the low at St. Asaph‟s for three months, and never being treated with respect on my father‟s estate, I did not know quite what to make of it. But it dawned on me that these people did not know me. I was dressed in well-tailored clothes of costly cloth, and Sir Ben had told them I was a lord, so they treated me as a lord. It was truly like a new beginning with nothing from my past to hamper me. “Is your estate close by, my lord?” a young woman asked. “A few days‟ ride,” I said vaguely, my eyes on the horizon for Sir Ben. A thunder of hooves made everyone turn, and a cheer rose up when Sir Ben and Sir Nicholas rode into their midst. Sir Nick continued on to the stables around the side of the house, but Sir Ben remained mounted and raised his hand. A breathless silence fell. I felt as anxious as the cottars after seeing how they lived. “I have been to converse with Lord Berard Childerley, my father. I have asked that he sell me the land on which the village of Childe stands.” Sir Ben paused, looking around at the expectant faces, until his gaze rested at last on me. A saucy wink was bestowed upon me. My cheeks grew warm, and I wondered if the villagers noticed. But I think they were too concerned with the living of everyday life and the filling of their bellies to care at that moment who their benefactor was poking after dark. “He has agreed! You are my people now. Your allegiance is mine.” “It always was,” a voice called out. Sir Ben shouted, “Bring out the feast.” When the cheer went up, the air felt as it does when a lightning storm is in progress. Their excitement and relief was infectious, and I laughed along with them. Sir Ben swung his leg over the horse‟s head to leap down. The horse wandered off in the direction of the stable while Sir Ben accepted the respect of the villagers. The servants carried out large platters of meat and bread, and the huge roasting dishes filled with fragrant roast parsnips and turnips. The trays of gingerbread I had made smelled delicious. I proudly helped to carry them out for the people to enjoy. But I had told the servants to hold back the almond tarts and marzipan fancies for Sir Ben alone. In an orderly fashion, the people brought out their trenchers and knives and their cups for the beer, and helped themselves. They sat about on the grass eating with Sir Ben sitting among them, talking as if they were old friends. I fetched a trencher and filled it with meat, vegetables, and a big square of gingerbread and carried it to Sir Ben. “Make way for Lord Robin,” Sir Ben called out when nobody noticed me trying to gain entry as they crowded about their master. I set his

food in his lap and sat beside him. Sir Ben took a large piece of the tender venison and ate like a hungry boy. “Eat, Robin,” he said, indicating the trencher. I took a smaller piece of succulent venison. “Mistress Anne used rosemary and sweet thyme. She stuffed it into slits in the meat before roasting it over an open fire,” I told him. Sir Ben looked curiously at me. “Did she now? I confess that every time I have enjoyed a meal she has cooked, I have never wondered what went into the making of it.” “I always think about it.” His evident enjoyment of his food made me want to cook all of his meals. “Do you like the gingerbread?” I asked eagerly. Sir Ben sniffed it and then bit into it. “It is good,” he agreed. “I kept back the almond tarts just for you,” I said quietly. As the people chatted around us, a silence fell between Sir Ben and me. I could not think what I had done, but his laughing eyes hardened. “Shut up, Robin,” he said gruffly. “You sound like a kitchen maid worrying about your cakes and tarts.” He turned from me and began to talk to the villagers about his plans to improve their cottages. My interest in the meat in my hand was gone, and I laid it back on the trencher and quietly slipped away. At the front door to the house, I looked back to see Sir Ben laughing, engrossed in conversation. He did not seem to notice that I was no longer beside him. In the quiet kitchen, I sat on a stool and looked at the almond tarts I had worked on with so much love. The marzipan sweets had taken the most time. After grinding the almonds and adding the grated sugar and fresh water, I had molded the paste in my hands into miniature fruits and flowers. Then I had painted them with coloring to make them look real, all the time anticipating his admiration. But all I ended up with was scorn. My disappointment was so profound, I fought back tears, afraid one of the servants would come upon me. “Who are you, boy?” A thin man with pox-marked skin entered through the back door. He stood with his hands on his hips as though he had every right to be there and I did not. I suppose he thought me a servant until I stood up. No servant wore such well-made clothes. “Who are you?” I asked. “You do not belong here.” “Lord Giles Childerley. My bastard brother owns this scrap of land and this meager house.” He glanced about as if he were surveying a midden. “Your name?” Sir Ben wished me to keep my name secret from his family, at least as long as we could. My father would come eventually, but it would be better later rather than sooner. “Robin,” I said. Lord Giles walked around the table to where I stood. A sneer distorted his thinlipped mouth as he raked me with his gaze. “Don‟t tell me. He found you in some little village as he followed the jousting tournaments. He picked you out for your pretty eyes and dressed you finely. And now you serve him in his bed.” “What are you doing here, Giles? You were not invited.”

Sir Ben‟s voice from the other door sent a wave of relief sweeping through me. I was not afraid of Lord Giles, but I knew a bully when I met one, and I had no desire to converse further with him. I crossed the room to stand beside Sir Ben. “What a handsome pair,” Lord Giles said, walking up and down in front of us. “Where did you get this one, Ben? One of your many boys.” “None of your business, Giles.” “You owe me my title,” Lord Giles said through his teeth. “And you owe me mine!” Sir Ben was growing angry. “Yours is nothing.” “Mine was hard won! An honor earned on the field of battle in Portugal.” “The king would never have knighted you had he known of your propensity for boys.” With one arm, Sir Ben swept me aside and lunged at Lord Giles, catching him by the throat. In an instant, Lord Giles was on his back. Sir Ben had him pinned with his knee on his brother‟s chest. With one large hand, he squeezed his throat. “You trespass! I did not invite you onto my land, and you are not welcome in my house. Now will you get on your horse and ride off, or will I escort you away in front of the villagers?” “You‟re nothing but a whore‟s leavings,” Lord Giles managed to say. The looks the two exchanged were so intense, I feared for Lord Giles‟s life. I did not believe Sir Ben in danger from a man he had thrown on his back so easily. Both men‟s teeth were bared, and each looked at the other with hatred. Bearing a stack of empty pans, Mistress Anne entered the kitchen and stopped short. I looked at her, praying she would end the deadlock before Sir Ben killed his brother. As if she did this every day, she hefted the pans onto the table and said calmly, “Sir Ben, let Lord Giles go on his way. The villagers will be walking home soon. They‟ll want to thank you for the feast.” The air was utterly still as we waited. Sir Ben continued to squeeze and stare for a long moment after Mistress Anne spoke. At length he released his brother and got up. Lord Giles clambered clumsily to his feet and crossed the kitchen to the door through which he had entered, putting several horse lengths between them before he dared speak again. “Feasting the villagers and it is not even a saint‟s day? You will impoverish yourself, you fool.” “Get out, Giles, and do not trespass upon my property again.” Again attempting to bring things back to normal, Mistress Anne said, “Lord Robin, give one of those lovely tarts you made to Sir Ben.” At the acknowledgement of my rank, Lord Giles looked hard at me before leaving. As a parting shot he called, “Do not corrupt my youngest brother with your unholy perversion.” Relieved the man had gone, I passed Sir Ben the plate of tarts. He grabbed one and bit into it. In two bites, he ate it and grabbed another. Though I was still hurt by his

words, his enjoyment of my baking made me smile. “These are good,” he said with his mouth full. “Mistress Anne, you must taste this.” She helped herself to a tart, bit into it with a frown as if concerned it might not meet her expectation, then smiled and nodded. “Aye, that is tasty, and it is not too heavy. Almonds get heavy sometimes.” Sir Ben slid his arm around my waist. “I‟m sorry I was short with you.” “Why were you?” I asked. “I only wanted to please you. I am not good at many things, and I wanted you to praise me for something I can do well.” We walked through the house and outside into the darkening twilight. “You will be good at all the manly pursuits by the time I am done with you. We will begin tomorrow.” I dreaded the thought but said nothing. “Cooking and sewing is all well and good when we are traveling, but at home there is Mistress Anne and Jhone to do those things. You will do what is fitting for a man while you live with me.” I watched while the villagers gave Sir Ben their thanks and pledged their allegiance once more before walking home.

Chapter Nine The morning sun streamed in the through the open windows. I lay facedown on the bed while Sir Ben entered me and fucked my arse. “Good boy, Robin,” he said into my ear. “Good boy, sweet Robin.” I loved it when he said tender words to me, because aside from fucking me, rubbing my head, or throwing his arm around me, he did nothing else to indicate that he cared. Sir Ben grunted out his pleasure and rolled off onto his back. I remained where I was and looked at him, his face utterly serene and satisfied, his eyes closed while he recovered. His handsome face drew from me a desire to kiss it, beginning with his eyelids and working my way over his straight nose to his full, pink mouth. A mouth that smiled so readily. But I did not dare. I had wondered often why some men had hairy chests and bodies like Sir Nick and Cob while others remained hairless like Sir Ben and me. Sir Ben had an abundance of hair at his groin; his legs and buttocks had fine curly blond hairs all over them; his chest, though, was smooth. I wondered what he would do if I ran my tongue around his tight pink nipples or tugged on them with my teeth. For Sir Ben, being intimate meant he stuffed my arse or I sucked his cock, both of which I was happy to do and took great pleasure in. But I wanted him to kiss me and make much of me. He complimented my eyes, but then lots of people commented on their blueness and the long dark lashes that looked more girlish than manly. I wanted more than that. Why could he not say he loved me, or that he felt happy with me? He had been gentler when he was sick and vulnerable in the infirmary. At home now, where he was master of his manor, he made me feel unimportant. The door burst open, and Sir Nick strode in, laughing when he saw my arse bare and pink. I did not cover myself as I might have just a week ago, but only leaned on my elbow and kissed Sir Ben‟s cheek, causing him to open one eye and look at me suspiciously. He grinned and shoved me off roughly before spotting Sir Nicholas. “Nick, what do you want? You are interrupting my pleasure.” “You‟ve had your pleasure already this morning by the looks of it, Sir Ben. That should set you up for the day.” “I am well content,” Sir Ben said. Sir Nicholas wandered over to sit on the side of the bed. “Are we going to train the men today?” “We are,” Sir Ben said. “And I want every one of them, except Jem, outside on the field. Have you seen Simon about?” “I think he‟s still with his mother,” Sir Nick said. “He‟ll turn up when he gets bored or when he has had enough torment from his older brothers.” Sir Ben jumped up and came around to my side of the bed. “Up you get, Robin. Today I am going to work your muscles.” He laughed and landed several great,

hard slaps on my buttocks. I suppose it was that I was already aroused from being fucked—because what followed gave me the most intense relief and embarrassment. A flood of sharp feeling rippled through my cock, and I pumped out my fluids onto the bed. My body tensed and arched. Unable to hold back, I moaned out loud, and when the deluge of my pleasure was passed, I lay panting like a dog in the sun. “Well then,” Sir Ben said with a chuckle. “This boy is like you, Nick. He likes to have his arse beaten.” Tears burned my eyes, and I buried my face in the feather bed, completely humiliated. “Aye, someone has done some damage there,” Sir Nicholas said. I felt him beside me, running his big rough hand over my backside. “Who left such marks on you, Lord Robin? There‟s no need to leave scars like that.” Without speaking, I got myself under control and got up. If either man saw my redrimmed eyes, they said nothing. “His old schoolmaster did it,” Sir Ben said. “I should like to take a stick to his arse for doing that to Robin.” Sir Ben poured water from the silver jug into the bowl and washed his face before splashing the water over the rest of his body, leaving a puddle on the floor. He pulled on leather breeches and tightened the laces that ran up the legs. “It looks warm out. But you must wear leather clothes, Robin, to protect you from bumps and bruises.” Sir Ben pulled on a fine linen shirt and a leather doublet. “I‟ll see you on the field in front of the house. Be quick about it.” And he was gone with Sir Nicholas, jesting and laughing as they went downstairs. I pulled the sheet from the bed and rinsed my fluids off it in the washbowl before hanging it out of the window to dry. I dressed as ordered, but I could not go straight out to the field without something to eat. In the kitchen, I took some milk and bread and ate it standing at the back door looking out into the kitchen garden. The things I was good at, cooking and sewing, no one ever praised a man for. But what was I doing mourning my failings instead of going outside to let Sir Ben teach me to be a man? I would endeavor to be anything he wished. I drank my milk and wandered back through the house to the front door. “Good morning, Lord Robin,” Jhone called out as she swept the great hall. “A fine day,” I called back, glancing around. The floors were spotless. The rush mats at the door had been beaten clean and sprinkled with marjoram to keep them fresh. There was not a cobweb hanging in a corner. The house was a quarter the size of my father‟s, but I would far rather live here than there. With renewed spirits, I walked out into the sunshine. The lawn outside the house was kept cropped by sheep wandering across it grazing, and down a short hill was the practice field. Sir Nicholas was training Rory, his squire, at using the lance while riding hard at a target. A number of men practiced at the sword. Across the field, a target made from a barrel bottom was set up for archery practice, and this was where Sir Ben stood instructing a young boy whom I had seen only briefly on our journey.

Instead of a longbow and arrows, Sir Ben held a light, slender, evil-looking knife. He had drawn it from his boot and now threw it at the target, getting it dead center. “Well done, Sir Ben!” the young boy shouted, running to fetch the knife. Over and over, Sir Ben threw it, always hitting his target. After watching for a while I walked over to them. “Robin, this is Huw, Sir Nicholas‟s page.” He slapped the boy on the back. “Huw, Lord Robin is going to practice with you.” I felt a brief surge of resentment at being paired with a lad, for he looked no more than fourteen, but I let it pass. I would show Sir Ben my worth, and perhaps if my competitor was less strong than me, it would make me look good. “We‟ll show Sir Ben what we can do, Huw,” I said with enthusiasm. The boy grinned. “We‟ll do our best, Lord Robin.” “How old are you?” I asked. “Twelve, Lord Robin,” he said. Twelve? He was younger than I thought, just big for his age, which was even more insulting. “Follow me!” Sir Ben strode off, and we followed on his heels. At the edge of the field was a stack of big logs, each as thick as a ceiling beam and as long as a boy of ten. With ease, Sir Ben picked one up to demonstrate. “Hold it like this, across your arms like a bundle of firewood.” Huw hefted a log into his arms, and I did the same. It was heavy, but I held it surely, attempting to look as though it was of no great matter to me. Sir Ben pointed across the field at a tree twenty horse lengths away. “Carry your log to the oak.” “And then fetch the others?” I asked. “No.” He looked at Huw and then into my eyes. “Carry your log to the oak and then carry it back to the pile. When you have done it once, do it again and again and again without putting it down. One score times should do it.” He was jesting; he must be. I waited for him to laugh, but he did not, and then I saw that Huw had already begun. And he was running. “Robin, what holds you up?” Sir Ben asked. “Nothing, sir.” I looked across the field at the distant oak and began to walk. “Run!” Sir Ben said. “I‟ll be counting.” I ran, carrying the heavy log. Being taller than Huw and with longer legs, I caught up with him and passed him. I reached the oak with my heart pounding and my chest burning. There I stopped and turned around. Twenty times I must do this. I was halfway back when Huw caught me and passed me. By the time I reached Sir Ben still standing at the logs, Huw was on his way back to the oak. “One,” Sir Ben said with a wide smile.

I turned about and began to run toward the oak again. Somehow the tree looked much farther this time than twenty horse lengths. I feared my initial enthusiasm had caused me to misjudge it. It was two-score horse lengths without a doubt. Like an eel jelly quivering on a plate, my legs shook. The log in my arms was surely the weight of two dead men. I was going to collapse, but I could not. I reached the tree and only my own momentum held me up. If I stopped, I would fall. “Four for me!” Huw shouted victoriously beside me. He turned and began to run back. The boy was red-faced and looked ready to fall down. I reached Sir Ben for the second time and fell at his feet. He jumped backward as the log rolled toward him. On my hands and knees on the grass, I looked up at him and vomited my bread and milk. Panting, I rolled onto my back awash with shame. I had run twice with the log, not twenty times. Huw was still running. My limbs shook, and I could not rise. My chest screamed with pain. I wanted to run from the field and hide my humiliation, but I could not move. At last the boy joined me, falling on the grass, panting and moaning. “Six. I did six, Sir Ben.” From the ground where I lay, Sir Ben looked like a giant, arms crossed over his chest, his hair gleaming gold and brass as he squinted in the bright sun, looking down at us. At length Huw struggled to his feet, and I felt steady enough to join him. Side by side, like boys who had let their father down we stood, heads hanging. Sir Ben landed a gentle punch in my shoulder and did the same to Huw. “Good lads. I knew you could not manage twenty, but it was something to aim for.” I wanted to cry with relief, I was so certain he would chastise me for my poor showing. “I ran six times. Lord Robin did only two,” Huw said. “Aye, that‟s true,” Sir Ben said. “But Huw, we do not crow over our fellows.” His tone was kind but firm. Huw turned to me, his eyes downcast. “Forgive me, Lord Robin,” The moment called for me to be as magnanimous as Sir Ben, though I did not feel magnanimous. I wanted to win, even if it was only over a boy of twelve. “You beat me fair, Huw. I find no fault with you.” Sir Ben gave the boy a little shove. “Go to your knight now. I believe he wants you on horseback with a lance in your hand.” Relieved to be let go, Huw ran off. I looked up into Sir Ben‟s face, sure that now the boy was gone he would call me to task for my failure. “Tomorrow you will run three and the next day four,” he said. I met his eyes. “I am so clumsy and weak.” “You are untrained and untried. I intend to both train you and try you. You will be a fine man, Robin. I will accept no less.” He threw his arm around my aching shoulders. “Look at the field.”

I obeyed him and looked out at the men training with far more success than I. Was he pointing out my faults? Everyone else did. “Your men work hard,” I said. “You must be proud of them.” “I have a loyal household, but look. There is Sir Nick and Cob. Sir Nick‟s squire and his page.” He held up his fingers. “Then we have my steward, my stableman, and four household grooms. There are two cottages on my land with one man apiece. Thirteen men and I to defend this house should your father come searching you out with five hundred trained men.” “You have the villagers now as well, Sir Ben.” “There are eleven grown men in the village, and three of them are old. The rest are ill-fed and will need to build up their strength.” Now I saw what he meant. “Sir Ben, if my father threatens your household, I will go with him willingly.” “Not so hasty,” he said. “I am merely telling you what we are up against. Sometimes we use force and sometimes diplomacy. I will decide on the best course when the time comes. But for now you will show me how well you ride a horse, though I prefer it when I ride you.” We walked to the stable, Sir Ben laughing at his own joke. “I confess I prefer it too, Sir Ben.” With all the men on the field, we were obliged to tack the horses ourselves. When they were ready and waiting, Sir Ben glanced at the door. “Drop your breeches,” he ordered. I obeyed at once and stood before him waiting. He tilted his head to one side. “Handsome boy,” he said and grabbed my cock. I let my forehead fall onto his shoulder. Sir Ben rubbed my cock roughly with his big hand and grabbed my balls with his other. I was aroused at once and tried to turn round for him to take me, but he held me fast. “Stay as you are.” Hard and fast he rubbed my member while I panted against his shoulder. But my pleasure, once risen, would not release. After a while, he let me go and stood back looking at me. “What is it, Robin? This morning you spurted on the bed. Are you truly like Sir Nick and like a flogging?” I could not answer. It was true that I spent only when flogged, but being flogged reminded me of Master Eadward, and I despised any reminder of that man. “I do not know, sir,” I whispered. With one finger, Sir Ben indicated that I should strip. I removed my clothes completely while he threw off his own. Entwining his fingers through mine, he led me into an empty stall and drew me down on the fresh, clean straw. The feel of his skin next to mine was so enticing my organ felt fit to burst. Sir Ben rolled me onto my belly, and with my face in the straw, he entered me with the aid of nothing but the clear fluid oozing from his thick cock. I loved the feel of his weight on my back pressing me down, possessing me. His cock filled my arse, and he moved fast, in and out. The hot friction tore through me,

burning my arsehole and rippling up my body. The heat was so intense I could have melted into the ground. Sharp straws pricked the side of my face, and the smell of it filled my head. Above me, Sir Ben‟s panting was the only sound in the stable, and it grew large as though there were no other sound in the world. With a lusty cry and a frenzied pumping, he shouted his release to the rafters. Squashed beneath him, I craved release, knowing it would not come. For a long time, Sir Ben lay on top of me. His breath came slower until it was soft and even in my ear, and he slid to one side. “Roll onto your back, Robin.” I obeyed, crying out in pain when he ran his hand over my member. “Your cock is blue. Do I not excite you?” “Yes, you do, sir,” I whispered. “Then what is it? I want you to have pleasure when I have pleasure. I want you to be happy too. What is wrong?” “I do not know.” “Shall I slap your arse?” he asked. I met his eyes, unsure if I was being teased. I would not have him think me depraved. “What is your answer, boy? It worked well enough this morning.” My face flooded with heat, and my cheeks burned scarlet. “Yes, please, Sir Ben.” “Right, then.” Sir Ben rose, beautifully naked, and lifted a hay bale as easily as if it weighed no more than a new loaf of bread. He placed it square in the stall, then placed another on top and sat down. He slapped his hairy thighs. “Over my legs.” I obeyed, hating myself. But I needed relief and knew of no other way. Sir Ben positioned me so that my feet rose up off the ground. I was helpless. I was his. And I was so aroused my whole body trembled and hurt. The first slap was so loud I heard it more than felt it. But the second I felt. The shock and pain spread out over my buttocks and down my legs like a fire in a summer field. My body burned, and I allowed my stiff muscles to grow soft and loosen until I melted like warm wax over his legs. The pounding on my backside made all my cares fly away for a moment, and I felt at peace. The fire within me rose and rose to the most unbearable height. When I reached the pinnacle, I floated there for an eternity, and then the world exploded. My body was in flames. My spend rushed forth, pumping out of my cock. I heard my own scream but did not recognize it as mine, and for a brief moment, I was frightened by it. I became aware of my labored breath. My head hung almost touching the straw on the earthen floor. My surroundings came into view again. I lay limp across Sir Ben‟s thighs. Holding me close to his body, he slid to the ground, turning me to face him, cradling me like a babe in arms. “So that is all it takes,” he said quietly. “Why did you not tell me that is what you need?” “I am ashamed,” I said, looking at his chest. I could not meet his eyes.

“There is no shame in taking your pleasure. But I wonder at all this shame you carry. And I wonder about the marks on your arse. How bad a boy could you have been to make a tutor do that to you? You seem well behaved to me.” “I never seemed able to do anything right.” With a long sigh, Sir Ben said, “He is not here now, this old teacher of yours. The only man you must please is me, and I love a challenge.” He leaned down to kiss me, and I tilted my face, but he only kissed my forehead. “Get up and put your clothes on. We are going to ride.”

Chapter Ten July at Benedict House The weeks raced past, and every day Sir Ben trained his men. The young men from the village were ordered up to the house for half a day of sword fighting and lance training twice a week and arrived with a great eagerness to please their master. They were given a good meal which fortified them for their work, and they left happy and grateful. Sir Ben had given each family a sum of money to improve their cottage, and he set aside more land for new fields. Poor crops would be a thing of the past with enough land to leave fallow each year. It would not help with this year‟s harvest, which was already planted, but next year the whole village, newly named Benedict, would benefit—and so would Sir Ben, since part of the rent on the land was paid in crops. Each day Sir Ben set the order for training the men and then set his sight on me. I stood at the log pile with Huw, waiting for him. Across the field, Sir Nicholas practiced at the sword with Rory. “Sir Nick is agile for such a big fellow,” I said to Huw while we waited for Sir Ben. “He is,” Huw agreed. “I am proud to serve him. He may not be the ladies‟ favorite at the tourneys like Sir Ben, but he wins many a sword fight. The sword is his specialty. He wins big prizes. I would wager he is better than Sir Ben at the sword.” I smiled at the boy, who was nearly as tall as me, and fought off the urge to say, No. Sir Ben is better at everything. Huw continued proudly, “He has been training me well. I have never had such a good teacher at the sword, or anything.” For the most part, Sir Ben had given over my sword training to Sir Nicholas, and I had practiced for hours on end with Rory while Sir Nick stood by giving instructions in his kind and patient manner. He never called us stupid, and he never made jest of us if we failed. “So, Sir Ben is the ladies‟ favorite is he, Huw?” “Well, he is very handsome. I hope I grow up as handsome as him.” I looked at the boy‟s snub nose and freckles, doubting that would happen. “If you are kind to the ladies and make them laugh, they will always like you,” I said to encourage him. “Also, Sir Ben is young. Sir Nicholas is forty years old and likes his food. He says I‟ll be his last page because he is done training boys. But yes, Sir Benedict is beloved of all the ladies. A lady from a very rich house wanted to marry him last summer, even though he will inherit nothing.” Huw glanced at me before continuing cautiously. “But we all know he prefers men.” “And you prefer girls?” I asked. “Yes, Lord Robin. I‟m a ladies‟ man.” He puffed out his chest, making me smile.

“What have I got here?” Sir Ben strode up to us, his long hair blowing in the warm afternoon breeze. He clapped his hands and then placed them square on his hips. “Two lazy, good-for-nothing young knaves.” Huw grinned and stood to attention. “At your service, Sir Ben.” I smiled, knowing how Sir Ben loved to tease the younger boys but always with kindness. I had never been so happy in my life. Not that every moment in Sir Ben‟s household was good. I wanted to cook, but he would not allow it, even though he admitted he loved my almond tarts and the marzipan fancies I had made. I wanted to repair his clothes, but Jhone did that, teaching young Simon so that he could repair Sir Ben‟s clothing when they were out on the tournament circuit. “Pick up those logs,” Sir Ben ordered. Huw and I hoisted a log each into our arms and stood side by side waiting for orders. “Yesterday you managed to carry your logs eighteen times each to the oak and back. Today I expect you to run a full score.” I looked at Huw. “Can we do it, Huw?” “We can, Lord Robin. The last one to finish cleans the other‟s boots,” Huw said, his cheeks rosy with excitement. Though he was only a boy of twelve and I was eighteen, he was a good match for me and heartier of build. He would look like Sir Nick one day. He certainly ate like him. “As you wish,” I agreed. “On a count of three,” Sir Ben said. “One, two, three. Get running, you flea-ridden curs!” The sun was bright and high in the sky, and I quickly began to sweat. I was hurting badly by the twelfth run, but I kept going, and by the time Huw and I were heading back from the oak on the twentieth run, I was about a horse length ahead of the boy. Sir Nicholas and Rory had joined Sir Ben when they found out about the race, and all three watched, their faces split with grins, waiting for us. Still some distance away, I decided to slow down. Huw was but a boy, and he had worked as hard as I these last weeks, getting his muscles strong and limber. I had given up on wanting to win, knowing it would mean more to him than to me. He caught up with me quickly. Not wanting to garner his suspicions, when he came alongside me, I gasped, “I don‟t think I can run the last length, Huw. My legs are giving out.” It was hard to speak. I was truly breathless, so that was genuine enough. “Come on, Lord Robin, you can do it,” he said, his tone encouraging. Showing what a good and fair man he would make, he refused to overtake me, though I had left room for him to do so. We finished at the exact same moment and fell to the ground before our knights. My lungs burned as they had that first day, but that time, it was after two runs across the field and back. This time it was a full score. I rolled onto my back, looking up at Sir Ben. He reached out to me, and I grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet. He slammed me into his chest and hugged the remaining breath from me. Sir Nick pulled Huw up and had him in a hug with his feet off the ground, laughing.

“They are fine men, Sir Ben. Fine men,” Sir Nicholas said. “They are indeed, Nick.” Sir Ben took my jaw in one hand and tilted my chin. I looked into his lovely eyes and knew I had never known love before. My heart leaped and my belly fluttered when I looked at him. As a boy, when I thought myself in love with Master Eadward, those feelings were always tinged with fear and shame. I felt none of that with Sir Ben. I wanted him to kiss me long and softly on the lips, but I knew he would not. After a tight hug, he released me, ready for business again. “Now we are going to practice the sword. You can work at the quintain.” Huw and his knight went off with Rory to practice the lance, while Sir Ben led me across the field to a stack of old and rusty swords thrown on the ground. “Take a weapon,” Sir Ben said. There was a quintain for the lance and one that was lower to the ground for the knights to use their swords on. It worked in the same way with a wooden shield to strike, and a sandbag that whirled around after it to knock a man flat if he did not get swiftly out of the way. I reached into the rusty mound and grabbed the first hilt my hand felt. Without pause, I ran at the quintain, centered my thrust at the wooden shield, hit my target, and ran on where I watched for a moment as the quintain spun round and round, the sandbag flying in a circle. Then I ran at it again. Gone were the days when I would miss my target and get my weapon stuck in the ground without muscle enough to pull it free. Happy, I turned to Sir Ben. But he too had a sword in his hand, and he lunged at me. I raised my weapon and swept it wide to fend him off. For the next while, my thoughts were of nothing but defending myself. His face a mask of indifference, Sir Ben went after me without mercy, thrusting, charging, an expert at evasions. He drove me farther and farther back across the field. I was no longer the only one sweating. Water ran down his face, soaking his shirt. For a good while, I enjoyed the play, bringing every skill he had taught me to bear. But Sir Ben was taller, his reach outdid mine, and he was much stronger. If that was not enough, I had just run twenty lengths of the field carrying a heavy log. My muscles screamed. “Sir Ben, I am tiring,” I managed to pant between thrusts. He did not let up as I expected but went after me harder still. “For God‟s sake, are you trying to kill me?” I screamed. Tears pricked my eyes and began to run, mingling with the sweat. I was fatigued beyond measure, and my knight looked as if he would kill me. I loved him. I wanted him to love me, and now he betrayed me so close on the heels of my victory with the log. “Sir Ben, please!” Indifference was the only sentiment I could see in his handsome face. He thrust again at my very heart, and I blocked him, still moving back. From the woods behind the

house, a stream ran downhill and beside the field. In a moment, I would be sitting in it, on my arse, with a sword at my throat. Not a pause or a hesitation in the movement of his weapon, Sir Ben advanced on me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Sir Nicholas start toward us, a look on his face that told of his confusion and fear. It must have matched mine because, had I a mirror, my face would have told of my fear and suffering. And then anger took over. He was no better than Master Eadward. My tutor too was a handsome man, though older than Sir Ben. He too had used and betrayed me. He had used his superior strength and the power of his position as my elder to force me into a union I soon knew to be destructive, and when he was discovered, he threw the blame at my feet. I decided to take a great risk, one Sir Nicholas had taught me. At my first opportunity, I moved in very close, laying myself vulnerable, and raised my leg, landing a kick with all my strength in his midsection. Taken by surprise, he stumbled and fell onto his back. I jumped with both feet onto his sword arm and thrust the tip of my rusty, blunted weapon against his bare throat. Sir Ben stared up into my eyes. He spoke not, and I could not speak. I panted, my heart filled with rage. My teeth were gritted so hard my jaw pained me. It was difficult to see with sweat pouring from my forehead into my eyes. “Lord Robin, give me that sword. Come on now, boy.” Sir Nick came around beside me and laid his hand on mine, slowly removing the sword from my iron grip. “Good lad.” He spoke quietly as one would to a horse that is easily startled. My gaze remained locked upon Sir Ben‟s as he got to his feet, and fear gripped my heart. I had no notion what I might have done next had Sir Nick not intervened. While Sir Nick‟s kind and steadying hand remained on my shoulder, I did not move, and no one spoke. At length he removed it, and what he did next shocked me. Though he was more than ten years older than Sir Ben, Sir Nicholas always deferred to him, spoke to him with great respect, and never neglected to call him Sir even though it was Sir Ben‟s habit to call Sir Nicholas, Nick, without adherence to his knightly designation. Sir Nicholas drew back his foot and kicked Sir Ben in the arse. “Be ashamed, you damned fool!” he bellowed. A look of outrage, followed quickly by acceptance, swept over Sir Ben‟s face like a storm cloud on a breezy summer‟s day. “I decided it was time to put Lord Robin to the test, nothing more,” he said with a shrug. The handsome grin that always drew a responding smile from every man around him was wasted on Sir Nick at that moment, and nothing but hatred filled my heart. I walked away from them, across the field toward the house. Inside the cool of the great hall, I stood, numb with anger, my heart aching. Not knowing what else to do, I entered the kitchen where Mistress Anne worked with Jem and Jhone.

Mistress Anne always treated me with great respect and kindness. My interest in cooking amused her. Though a man cooking in a great house was not unusual, this was not a great house but merely a well-to-do house, and I was a lord who should never set foot in a kitchen. “Have you come to peel turnips, Lord Robin? And while you‟re at it, shell the peas?” When I did not respond with a laugh at her jesting as I always did before gratefully joining her at the worktable, she came to me where I sat on a stool by the door. Jem and Jhone glanced over at me but said nothing. “Has something happened, Lord Robin?” Her voice was gentle. “Yes, I must leave.” “Has your father found you? Is he here? Sir Ben will do something, don‟t worry.” “Lord Francis is not here. It is Sir Ben who drives me away with his cruelty.” I probably sounded like a theatrical player. “Come now, Lord Robin. Your cheeks are as pink as apple blossoms, and you look ready to cry. Whatever my master did, he was only teasing you. He‟s always teasing.” “He was not teasing,” I said. “Let me fetch you some fresh milk. I know you like that.” She brought me a cup of milk from the churn in the cold pantry, and I drank it thirstily. “There now, doesn‟t that make you feel better?” “Yes, thank you, Mistress.” “Go and rinse yourself at the well. You‟re too hot,” she said. Outside I removed my leather doublet and dipped up a bucket of water. I washed my hands and tossed the rest over my head, soaking my shirt. To hell with Sir Ben. I was going to cook something, and I wandered back to the kitchen. “I am going to make apple pie and a walnut cake, and when I am gone, he will see I was good for something,” I said mutinously and set about gathering the ingredients from the pantry. I made far better cakes and puddings than Mistress Anne, who looked at me but said nothing. I was hard at work when Sir Ben entered the kitchen later. “Robin, what are you doing? I‟ve told you to stay out of the kitchen.” “I am doing what I do best.” I did not look at him but carried on mixing butter and sugar. “I said get out of the kitchen, boy.” Now I looked at him. “No.” A deathly silence fell, but it was Sir Ben who left the kitchen, not me.

**** In the great hall, the high table stood ready at all times, elevated on a dais. A grand table it was, of dark, polished oak with carven legs. The chairs had high backs and cushions on the seats. Sir Ben sat in the middle with Sir Nicholas to his right and then

Cob and Rory. To his left was my place. The pages sat at the trestle table below the high table. In my father‟s house there were two long trestles for meals. Here there was only one short one. Mistress Anne and Jem brought the food to the high table while I carried in the cakes and pies I had made and placed them before Sir Ben. It was a squire‟s task to carve the meat for his knight and serve him. Since arriving at Benedict House, I had acted as Sir Ben‟s squire, though I had never been named as such. I cut and served his roast pork while Rory served Sir Nicholas. And because this was a house where conventions were flexible, Sir Nick then served Cob. I put Sir Ben‟s greens on his trencher with his bread before sitting beside him. “Have you begged Lord Robin‟s pardon yet?” Sir Nicholas said between mouthfuls of his roast pork and loudly enough for me to hear. “I will do so at my leisure and only if I see fit.” Sir Ben‟s tone held a warning. He had taken Sir Nick‟s discipline out on the field, but he would not be chastised again. Sir Nicholas snorted at him but carried on eating and said no more. I took the pitcher and filled Sir Ben‟s wine cup, and since I was in a rebellious mood, I walked behind Sir Ben‟s chair to Sir Nicholas and filled his too. With a look that would have frightened me on another occasion, Sir Ben said, “Sit down, boy. You usurp Rory‟s position.” I refused to meet Sir Ben‟s eyes, looking only at the cup I filled. “Forgive me, Rory. I wish only to show honor to your knight.” “As you wish, Lord Robin. I am not offended,” he said. The tension at the table was rising, and the boy looked nervous. Standing between Sir Nicholas and Cob, I took Cob‟s wine cup and filled it also. The blacksmith glanced uneasily at his man but said nothing. His craft of blacksmithing would put him at the lower trestle were he not connected to Sir Nicholas, but to be served his wine by a lord had everyone in the room staring at me. A falling pin could have been heard. Sir Ben got to his feet. “You go too far,” he said, staring me down.” If you wish to be a servant, then take your food to the kitchen!” I put the wine jug on the table and did as he bade me, walking past him and across the great hall to the kitchen carrying my meal. My heart pounded, but I felt oddly triumphant also. My rage at Sir Ben‟s betrayal on the field had not left me. In the morning, I would leave and return to the monastery. No one would hurt me again. I would gird my heart with iron. From the kitchen, I heard the hum of conversation rise up once more in the great hall. I no longer had an appetite for my food and put my trencher on the floor, where the dog ate it quickly. I was still in the kitchen when the servants brought the pots out for cleaning. Mistress Anne gave instructions but never washed pots. The lower house servants and the pages cleaned the pots. “Lord Robin, do not stay here while the washing up is done. You have already angered Sir Ben. Do not affront him further.”

I respected her advice and left the kitchen. It was near dark out, so the male servants were already setting their pallets down to get ready for sleep. I walked through the great hall, but no one spoke to me. Sir Ben, Sir Nick, and Cob must have retired to the small hall and closed the door, for they were not about. I decided I would sleep in the great hall with the men when Mistress Anne came walking through and went directly to the small hall. Standing at the open door, she said, “A man came to the kitchen door, Sir Ben. He seeks a meal and asks if there is any work.” “What are his skills? Do we need more help?” “We don‟t, Sir Ben, no. But he looks awful thin. I think he has been wandering the lanes for a while.” “Then give him a meal and a pallet. In the morning, I will see if we can help him,” Sir Ben said as readily as I knew he would. I may have been angry with him, and he with me, but he was a good man and would never turn a beggar from his door. Mistress Anne left, closing the door behind her. I lit a candle to light my way upstairs to fetch myself a blanket from the big chest in Sir Ben‟s chamber. Mistress Anne might tell me where I could find a pallet, and if there was no spare, the floor would do just as well. I placed the candle on the chair by the window and was going through the chest when I heard Sir Ben at the doorway. “What are you doing?” “Getting a blanket to sleep on the floor in the great hall.” I crossed the chamber and made to pass him, but he stepped inside and closed the door. “You will sleep in my bed as always. Now strip!” “No, I will go downstairs.” I tried again to pass him, but he barred my way. Sir Ben removed his clothes and threw them on the floor. It was a squire‟s job to pick them up and fold them neatly. I did so, all the while avoiding his gaze. He would not move from the door, and when I was done, he said again, “Strip.” “I will need my clothes downstairs in the great hall.” “You are not sleeping in the great hall. You will sleep here with me. You will behave yourself properly and allow Sir Nicholas‟s squire to serve him as he should. You will not demean yourself by acting beneath your rank!” I said something then that I knew was a mistake, but I was right, nonetheless, and angry enough not to care too much. “In that case, I outrank you, and you will call me Lord Robin and give me the best room in your house to sleep in.” My words hung in the air between us. He was going to kill me, either with his sword, which rested against the wall, or with his bare hands, which clenched into fists even as I looked at him. Sir Ben crossed the floor so fast I had no time to move. He landed a stinging slap to my cheek, and then, with both hands on my shoulders, turned me about and threw me down on the bed on my belly. I felt the evening air on my backside as he dragged my hose down. My strength was no match for his, and he entered me by force, though I confess I did not fight him. I wanted him to take charge of me. I wanted him to command me. My behavior at supper was wrong, and as my knight he was right to discipline me. Roughly he rode me, and, unable to sustain my anger, I let him. His weight on my back

made me feel safe and encompassed. With my face turned to the side, his long hair falling forward stroked my cheek with every thrust. I was utterly overwhelmed with the feel and smell of the man I loved. Everything he did to me excited me. Crying out, Sir Ben fell heavily on my back. I slid out from under him and onto the floor where I sat, breathing heavily. Sir Ben sat up and looked down at me, confused. “What is wrong with you?” he asked. “You make cakes, you cry, you cannot reach a lusty spend unless you have your arse slapped.” Quietly I said, “Sir Ben, I do not know why I cannot spend without a thrashing. I have always been this way. As for cakes, I love to cook. Why is that wrong just because I am a lord and a boy? I want to sew, but you will not let me.” “I like men!” he said. “I am a man. Could a girl have fought you as I did this afternoon?” Sir Ben shrugged. “Jeanne d‟Arc, mayhap. No, you are not a maiden, but you are not a man either, not of the breed I am used to fucking. Get your clothes off.” He went to the silver jug and poured water into the clay bowl to wash his face. Mistress Anne left rags for us to clean our teeth, and Sir Ben damped one to scrub his mouth. I watched him, marveling at his beauty. When he was done, he slapped water on his cock. “On the bed.” He frowned at me. “I want you again.” I wanted him also. More than that, I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to accept me as I was, tears and cakes and all. I stripped and then tossed his wash water out of the window before performing my own ablution. “Get a move on,” he said, throwing himself onto the bed. He sat with his back against the board and his hands clasped behind his head. I climbed in beside him to sit with my legs crossed, looking at him. “I will return to St. Asaph in the morning if you will loan me a horse.” “I will not loan you a horse. You are going nowhere after the trouble I went through to steal you.” “I have no wish to stay here any longer.” I looked down at my hands. “You betrayed me. I did everything you asked of me, and then you went after me as if I were a stranger. As if I meant nothing special to you.” “What‟s wrong with you, boy? I was testing your valor, nothing more.” His tone was impatient. I met his gaze, and my chin began to quiver. “I was already worn out from running. You had the advantage over me from the outset.” “Yes, perhaps I was too forceful. Sir Nicholas let me know what he thought. If you think I would let him kick me in the arse and walk away with his head unbroken at any other time, you are wrong.” “I thought you were going to maim me or kill me.”

He took his hands from behind his head and crossed them over his chest. “Foolish boy! I was too spirited in my desire to see what you are made of. I admit my guilt of that. But kill you?” “The look on your face told me you cared naught if you killed me.” “If a knight fights at the tourney and shows his thoughts on his face, he will not last long. That is all you saw. You saw my tournament face.” “I do not want to be a knight,” I said quietly. “And I do not want to see your tournament face when you look at me.” Leaning toward me, Sir Ben lifted my chin with his fingertips to look into my eyes. “Then you need not be a knight. But a man you must be. A man can defend himself, and that you can do. You proved it today. A man must defend those who depend upon him, and that you must do also.” He was right. I must. But soon my father would come, and then Sir Ben would do what Master Eadward had done. He would deny whatever he felt for me. He had not declared his love, if he had any, but he would deny our union. This time I would not be so callow as to claim any love or expect any loyalty. “Come here, Robin.” He opened his arms, and I fell into them, my head against his shoulder. I wanted to cry, but I had done enough of that. “You are my own sweet boy, and if I expect much from you, it is only because I know you are able,” he said tenderly. “I want to sew a tunic for you,” I said at once. “In the chest is a beautiful length of royal blue cloth. May I have it?” I kept my cheek against his shoulder, but I heard him laugh a little. “If you wish, my loveheart. I bought it at a market at London on our way through last year. There is much more cloth.” Loveheart. My heart soared. Was I wrong to want to hear endearments from him? I would make him the handsomest tunic of any knight or lord in England. My hand strayed to his groin, and I grasped his balls. They were hot and heavy in my hand. “Suck me hard,” he said, his voice deep with desire. I trailed kisses from his chest and down his belly to his cock, which was already red and thick. I took it into my mouth and sucked hard, drawing it in deep until the tip touched the very back of my throat. Sir Ben moaned and lifted his hips as if trying to thrust deeper, but I could not take in more than I had. His big hand rested on my head. “Oh, sweet Robin,” he said over and over again. The clean taste of his cock excited me, and my own member grew stiff and painful. I ignored it, giving all my attention to Sir Ben. He pumped his hips, slamming them into my face until his juice flooded hot into my mouth. I drank it as eagerly as I drank the new milk in the mornings. While Sir Ben lay limp and panting, I rested my head on his belly, caressing his thighs. “Sir Ben, does not Sir Nicolas like his arse flogged?”

“Nick likes to be flogged, and he likes Cob to mount him, but he can take his pleasure in other ways. I have known him for years, long before he had Cob. He never had any trouble at all enjoying himself. Have you been with other boys or had a man?” “No,” I said at once. “No, Sir Ben, never.” I would die of shame if he knew about Master Eadward and what he had done to me. Sir Ben was all for making himself more in the world. I had let myself be subservient to a vile and scheming servant. As if that was not bad enough, I had been caught in the act by my father and brother, naked, with my arse red and my fluids still wet on the floor. The memory made me wither. “Never mind. You‟ll come along. Look at all you have done while you have been here at Benedict House. Snuff the candle, boy.” I obeyed him. Obeying a fine man like Sir Ben was an honor, and I fell asleep in his arms.

Chapter Eleven The fields had been dry these last few weeks, so when we awoke and heard the rain pounding upon the roof, Sir Ben said, “This is good. I was beginning to worry about the cottars. They need every grain of corn and every turnip they have planted to see them through the winter. Benedict House needs grain also. I do not want to buy any. Rain means there is no need to rise early.” With that he turned over and went back to sleep. Glad to be spared a day of sword practice, riding exercises, and running my lance at the quintain, I rose and dressed and broke my fast in the kitchen. “Lord Robin.” In the kitchen doorway Sir Nicholas stood smiling at me. “What are you up to? Baking more cakes?” His jolly smile was as infectious as the plague but far more welcome. “No, merely passing the time. Sir Ben went back to sleep.” “Were you keeping him up last night?” He winked, and I blushed. “Come, lad.” He approached me and rubbed my close-cropped head. “Nothing to blush like a maiden about. You make a fine squire for him, and a fine bedmate. Have you made friends again?” “Yes. May I ask you something?” “Is it something you can ask me here in the kitchen?” His countenance told me he already knew the answer. I shook my head. “Then come out to the stable with me. I want to check my horse‟s shoes.” I followed him out through the heavy, cool rain and along the path through the kitchen garden that led out to the stables. Geese and ducks paddled about on the pond, the only ones content on such a gray, wet day. Entering the cool, dim stable we found ourselves alone. Sir Nicholas‟s stallion was a beautiful dapple gray with a long fair tail and mane. A knight‟s horse was not only valuable to him but also a loyal and highly regarded companion. He whispered sweet words the moment we entered the animal‟s stall and it nuzzled his face at once. My disquiet around horses was fading rapidly since being forced not only to ride but to ride and run a lance at the same time, and my confidence around them was growing. Sir Nicholas gently ran his hand down the horse‟s legs one after the other, lifting the hoof to examine the condition of the shoe. “He needs a new set. I‟ll get Cob started on them today.” He looked at me and smiled. “What is it, Lord Robin? Come and sit down.” On the bench by the wall, he settled his weight and patted the spot beside him. “Is it what Sir Ben did yesterday? Because he was testing you, no more. He has trained you well, just in these last weeks. You‟ve come along splendidly.” “Yes, I know, and I am grateful to him. I could not have a better knight to train me, except perhaps you.” The compliment made him smile and pat my knee. “No, it isn‟t that,

though I was very confused yesterday. I wanted to ask you…” I looked about to ensure we were alone and when I tried to speak again my face grew hot. Sir Nicholas waited patiently before saying quietly, “Is it about you and Sir Ben?” I nodded. “In the bedchamber?” Again I nodded. “Tell me, boy.” He said boy in such a fatherly way that I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder, but I did not. Some propriety must be maintained even when inquiring on a subject so singular. My words came out in a whisper. “Sir Nick, why do you like to have your backside flogged?” He turned to look at me directly, seeming for a moment offended. Afraid, I watched him as understanding took the place of his surprise. “For a moment, I thought you were being mischievous, but you are not, are you? Do you like it also?” “In truth I do, but I cannot have a spend without it, and that is what troubles me most.” “No?” He looked surprised. “Can you?” “Aye, I can, but I enjoy it so much. When I met Cob and he was happy to flog my arse for me, it was a match made in heaven. There is no harm in it, Lord Robin.” “I feel trapped by this need.” “It should not be a trap but a pleasure. If it feels like a trap to you, then there is something wrong.” “But what? Can you help me?” I was not even sure what I wanted him to help me with. “Will you stay with Sir Ben?” he asked. “I wish I could, though yesterday I swore I was going to run away back to the monastery.” I laughed. “You don‟t belong in a monastery, Lord Robin. You belong with a man who will guide and train you. You will be a fine man yourself one day, but I think you have never had the right man to help you before.” He was right. I had not. “Sir Ben will take care of you. Have you talked to him about this?” “It makes him angry, and I do not understand what has made me this way. Why can I not spend when I am aroused? Why do we love men and not women, Sir Nick?” “When something is good, we should not question it. And this is good. Sir Ben is the best knight in Christendom. My Cob is a man I am proud to know. He is my husband. That is how I see him.” Husband. The word struck me as strange in reference to two men. When Master Eadward used me, I thought I was the only boy in the world who did such things. Now I was living in a house of men like me, and still I felt as if my father was going to appear at any moment to punish me. The very idea of a man having a husband came as a shock to

me, I confess, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I did not want a wife. I wanted a husband. “Whatever is ailing you will work itself out, Lord Robin. Trust Sir Ben. He will not lead you astray.” A rustle of straw underfoot alerted us that we were not alone. Cob strode toward us in his leather blacksmith apron, ready for work. “I‟ve the forge blazing in the shed. Does this animal need new shoes?” Sir Nick‟s smile was brighter for his man than any other. “It does.” “I‟ll get to work, then. You check Sir Ben‟s horse as well, and let me know what‟s needed.” Sir Nick rose at once to do Cob‟s bidding while the blacksmith wandered back to his shed. “Why do you obey him?” I asked. “He is below you.” “Only by an accident of birth.” Sir Nicholas smiled. “He is a man I respect. Sir Ben is below you, but you know he is a man you wish to follow.” “Yes, I do, but I thought I was odd.” Sir Nicholas crushed me to his side with his great, heavy arm. “All you need is guidance, Lord Robin. Sir Ben is the man for you, but you must confide in him.” I wandered back through the rain to the house, more content than when I had set out but still confused about my place and my inclinations. As for trusting Sir Ben, I wanted to, but I did not trust anyone. In the kitchen, Mistress Anne prepared porridge in a big pot hanging from a hook over the open fire. “Sir Ben slept late today,” she said when I entered. “It did him good to rest. He works that hard, always taking care of everyone else first.” “Has he arisen?” “He‟s in the small hall, Lord Robin, talking to the beggar who came to the door last night. You should go to him. Sir Ben is that fond of you.” Her words warmed me. “Mistress Anne, do you mind working in a house where men are of such singular inclination?” The woman ceased stirring the pot and took a heavy cloth to lift it from the fire onto the stone floor. “When you have been in this world as long as I have and worked in many different houses, you realize it is not as singular as you think, Lord Robin. You have been too sheltered. Will you have some porridge?” I picked up two wooden bowls from the table and brought them to her. “Yes please.” She took the bowls in her work-roughened hand with a quiet smile. “I‟ll bring it along in a minute. Go on and see your man.” I was at the door when she called, “And tell the grooms in the great hall that the porridge is cooked if they want it.” With a springy step and a bright heart, I went smiling through the great hall. “Hello, Jhone,” I called as I went.

With a smile, she looked up from her mending. “Good morning, Lord Robin.” “There is porridge in the kitchen for all who want it,” I called loudly. By the hearth, Simon and Huw sat up, rubbing their eyes, their pallets side by side. I had barely opened the door to the small hall when Sir Ben called out, “Robin, I am going to learn to read.” My smile fell from my face when I saw the man who rose to his feet at my entrance. Master Eadward, his clothing ragged, his beard too long, was plainly suffering greatly since leaving Holt House. He stared at me for a moment before looking obsequiously at the floor. Was that shame I saw in his countenance? Shame at his use of me or shame at being caught so thin and unkempt? “This man is Eadward Chancey. He is a tutor, and he needs work.” Master Eadward bowed. “At your service, sir?” He allowed his words to trail away as if he did not know me. “This is Lord Robin Holt,” Sir Ben said. “My Lord Robin.” Master Eadward bowed low. When he served at Holt House, he had never once bowed to me. Fear and anger gripped my belly, sickening me at seeing this man invading the safety of my new home. I wanted to flee from him but stood rooted to the spot. A distraction was provided when the door opened and Mistress Anne entered. She placed the tray on the hearth and passed a large wooden bowl of steaming oats to Sir Ben. “There‟s porridge in the kitchen if you‟ll take some,” she said to Master Eadward. “Thank you, mistress.” His tone was more obsequious to Mistress Anne, a servant, than it had ever been to me. He looked at Sir Ben for permission to leave. “Off you go, Chancey.” Sir Ben waved him away. “Mistress Anne, make sure this man is fed and given courtesy. He is going to teach me to read.” My hands shook as I watched the door close behind them. What was I to do? Master Eadward had pretended not to know me, and I was grateful. If I told Sir Ben who he was, then I would have to tell him why my old tutor had been dismissed from Holt House at the same time that I was banished to St. Asaph. I could not bear for the man I respected above all others to know that I had given myself to a man long after I had begun to hate him. I was naught but a whore at the monastery, paying Brother Abelard for his silence. But this…? Like a hungry boy, Sir Ben took up his spoon and began to eat his porridge. “You would think I would be sick of porridge. As a boy, there were days when it was my only food.” He looked up at me with a grin. “Bastards are not usually fed well. Sit down, Robin, and eat.” My desire for food had fled. “I had bread and milk,” I said. I sat on the hearthstone near Sir Ben‟s big chair. “Sir Ben, I can teach you to read. I told you that when first I came here.”

Sir Ben licked his spoon and scraped his bowl. “Are you going to eat that?” he pointed at my bowl. “No one cooks porridge better than Mistress Anne.” I passed the bowl to him and watched as he stuffed down a second portion. “Sir Ben, allow me the pleasure of teaching you to read.” “You have enough to do. Aside from that, Chancey needs work and the dignity of earning his bread. Would you take it from him?” “No, but give him some other work. Or give him some coin to go on his way to a house where he is needed.” “I am master of my house. I decide who works for me. Now be quiet.” When he was finished eating, Sir Ben put the second bowl on the hearth and pointed at the folding stool near his chair which Simon was allowed to sit on sometimes beside his older and much admired brother. “Come here, boy.” His tone was tender. I rose at once and seated myself on the low stool at his knee. “What‟s the matter with you? We sorted our differences last night. You are my boy, my sweet boy who is fast becoming a man.” He took my face between his hands. “It is a rainy day. You go and get that length of cloth and begin to make my new tunic.” He was trying to cheer me up, and I was cheered—somewhat. If Master Eadward had not broken in on my happiness, I would be running up the stairs two at a time to fetch the cloth. But I felt as I had felt at Holt House, walking warily about my home, afraid of meeting Master Eadward on the stairs in case he demanded of me that which I had no desire to give. The warmth and safety of Benedict House was destroyed. “I will need paper to make a pattern, and you must allow me to measure you.” “Whatever you wish. Now go and fetch what you need and come back here. You can work by the window while Chancey sits here with me. You can listen in, and if he is teaching me wrongly, you have my permission to set him right.” He smiled, his eyes twinkling, and patted my shoulder. “Go and begin on my new tunic.” “Sir Ben, give me a kiss,” I said quietly. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Kiss me properly, on my lips.” “Robin!” He sounded impatient; nonetheless, he took my face again and planted a hard kiss on my mouth. The remainder of the day I spent making a pattern and cutting the cloth while Master Eadward worked with Sir Ben, teaching him his letters. Sir Ben had not the first idea of how to read. At least I, when he put a sword in my hand, had used a sword before, though very ill. Sir Ben looked at the letters upon the page with such confusion he might as well have been attempting to read Greek or Latin, as English. His frustration showed itself in long sighs at the beginning, and as the day wore on, he leaped to his feet several times to pace the breadth of the hall. At length he gave up entirely and looked more worn than he would have if he had marched all day or fought off an army on his land.

“I am finished. Tomorrow we will do more. Chancey, you must clean yourself and shave. I like the men and women of my household to be in good appearance. Ask Jem to show you the well, and Mistress Anne will give you soap.” “Yes, Sir Benedict.” “Do you own any clothing?” Though his beard covered his face, Master Eadward‟s cheeks grew noticeably pink. “I was forced to sell them, Sir Benedict. I have fallen on very hard times these last few months,” he said with a furtive look at me. “Mistress Anne said she would see what she can find for me.” Master Eadward had always dressed well and shaved his face clean, leaving only a very small, neat beard upon his chin. His dishevelment must be a source of embarrassment to him, and being told to clean himself would only add to it. It was a resentment he would harbor against Sir Ben. I should tell him Master Eadward‟s nature, but I could not and keep my own secret. “Well, be that as it may, you have work and a home here now. And make yourself useful about the house. Should Mistress Anne ask anything of you, you will take her instruction.” “Yes, Sir Benedict.” With Master Eadward gone, Sir Ben strode over to the window seat where my sewing was laid out. “Do no more today. The light is bad. Your sight is important, more so than a tunic.” I rolled up my work and laid it aside. “Now I have a pattern, I can make more tunics for you.” “This business of reading is tiring. I felt less exhausted when I arrived at St. Asaph‟s after being thrown from my horse. What do you think of Chancey?” Sir Ben sat beside me, looking out into the woods. “You complained of no deer in your woods, Sir Ben,” I said to avoid answering. “If you put down salt you will attract them, and they will make a home there and breed.” “I didn‟t know that.” “Don‟t you have a ranger?” “No. The land is hardly big enough. I act as my own ranger when I am home. When I am traveling the circuit, my household steward takes care of everything. But what do you think of Chancey. Is he a good teacher?” There was no question of Master Eadward being a learned man. But my brothers and I would have learned more easily if he had not carried a birch rod and used it so freely. “Yes, sir. He is a good teacher, from what I observed.” My heart sank at his next thought. “Good. While he is here, he can teach Simon and Huw also.” “I could teach the boys,” I said, afraid of what Master Eadward might do to them.

“You are my squire. You still have much to learn. Chancey can teach the boys.” Squire. It was the first time he had pronounced me as such. “So I am your squire now, Sir Ben?” “Yes.” He smiled. “You will serve me on the field and in my bed.” With one finger, he tapped my chin. I was his! I did not know my position in his household until that moment. I was merely the boy who shared Sir Ben‟s bed and whom he trained hard on the field every day but the Sabbath. In my father‟s house, I was merely an annoyance who disappointed him. The servants followed his lead and did not give me the respect of my position. I wanted a place in the world, and now I had one. I was Sir Benedict Childerley‟s squire. “Do you wish me to announce it to my household?” he asked. “Yes, sir, I do,” I said. “It does me good to see you smile, boy,” Sir Ben said. That evening as we ate our meal in the great hall, Sir Ben stood up and raised his cup. The household followed his lead as they would in any house, great or small. “I raise my cup to Lord Robin Holt, my squire,” he said. A cheer went around the hall, and that was that. Sitting with the servants, Master Eadward met my eyes. He had shaved his face and trimmed his hair. A clean and decent white shirt and a long black tunic with black hose made him look a different man than the vagrant of earlier that day. His boots were the same and very worn, but at least they had been polished. He looked almost his old self again, though poorer. In my father‟s house, he had worn fine clothes since he was paid well for his work. But he was a man who, even in well-used clothing, looked dignified and handsome. Now that he looked better, his old arrogance was returning. I could see it in his face. “There,” Sir Ben said to me when the servants were seated once more to finish their meat. “Are you happy now, Squire Robin?” “Yes sir,” I said. “Chancey is a handsome man. Now he is shaved and has had a bath, you can see it. Do you think he likes men or women?” “Do you want him?” I asked cautiously “Of course I do not. Why would I want a man older than myself when I have a handsome youth? It‟s just that even in my own house I must act with care. People carry tales if they are dissatisfied with their lot.” “Then send him away, and I will teach you and the pages to read.” Sir Ben looked hard at me, and I knew he would begin to suspect my motives if I said it again. “I am jealous, that is all,” I said quietly against his ear. “I want to be everything to you.” “Everyone has their place, and they must be allowed to have it.”

My gaze briefly met Master Eadward‟s, and his look was like the ones he used to give me when he intended to punish me. His cat-and-mouse look. I laid my hand over top of Sir Ben‟s on the table. I could feel Master Eadward‟s eyes upon me like a blazing hot fire, but when I looked at him again, he was talking to Jhone, and she was smiling at him. “I love you, Sir Ben. I want you to be my husband.” “Don‟t be stupid, or I will lose patience with you,” he said, and he removed his hand.

Chapter Twelve I had arrived at Benedict House at the end of the month of May. June and July had passed in a fury of happiness and despair. Despair at my conflicting desires to be a worthy man who could use a sword and ride a horse well, and happiness when Sir Ben allowed me to cook and mend his clothes. On the field, I knew both triumph and humiliation. I had become an excellent rider, and I had learned precision at lancing even the smallest ring hanging from the quintain. Sir Ben marveled at how well I had done in such a short time. One day he insisted all the men stop to watch me. I immediately grew apprehensive, fearing that under their scrutiny I would fail miserably and disappoint him. My heart pounding, I mounted my horse. Sir Ben handed me my lance. “Make me proud, Robin.” I wanted desperately to make him proud, but I never seemed to do well when I felt the weight of someone else‟s desire. The sun was high and hot; my breastplate and backplate and my helmet weighed me down. I was boiling inside them like a crab hissing in a pot over the fire. The armor, being Sir Ben‟s, was too big and heavy for me. Even before Sir Ben had ordered me to show off for the men, I was ready to get down from my horse to cool off. All I could think of was going to the stream to dip myself in the water. I put down my visor to keep the sun from my eyes and squinted through the slit. With the lance sitting heavily on my arm, I kicked my horse‟s sides with my eyes on the target. Together the horse and I charged. The lance tip slid through the ring on the quintain, and I slowed my horse, relief flooding me. A cheer went up as I rode back to Sir Ben. “Well done, Robin,” he called. “Now do it again.” Again? My heart sank. But I could not disobey Sir Ben. I was his squire, and I wanted him to think well of me. A second time, I ran at the quintain and hooked the ring. A third and fourth and fifth. By now the men were cheering and making small wagers on me. The fear of failing grew greater each time I ran at the ring and so did my anger. I was hot, and I wanted to stop. Sir Ben was enjoying himself so much that when I rode over to where he stood to ask his leave to stop, he slapped my horse‟s flank and ordered me at it again. When finally they grew tired of sport and he told the men from the village that they should go home to tend their fields, I slid down from my horse in a rage. I unfastened my armor with difficulty—having no one to assist me—dropped it onto the grass and left it there. Halfway across the field to the house, Sir Ben caught up with me. “You left my armor on the field. Go and fetch it.” “I will get it later. I am tired, and I need some water.” I threw him a petulant look. “You will get it now, squire!” “I will not!”

Perkin would have got a cuff around the ear for that retort, though I doubt he would have dared in the first place. But Perkin had the discipline of a squire, and I was still learning. Sir Ben did not lay a hand on me. He did not need to. The hard look in his narrowed eyes and the set of his strong jaw was all the discipline I needed. The men from the house who were within earshot of the exchange stopped what they were doing to watch and listen. “Forgive me, Sir Ben,” I said loud enough for them to hear. At a run, I went back to fetch the heavy armor. The relief in his face made me ashamed. By the time I had brought his armor into the house and set it in the great hall, Sir Ben was not to be seen. In the kitchen, I inquired of Mistress Anne if she had seen him. “You‟ll find Sir Ben at the pond having a bath. Follow the stream through the woods. Give him this. He stinks.” She laughed and handed me a heavy piece of soap. I raised it to my nose and sniffed. “Rosemary?” “Aye. I make it from tallow and ashes and scent it with rosemary.” “Thank you, Mistress Anne.” I was at the back door when a voice said, “You did well at the quintain, Lord Robin. You are a fine lancer. I was watching you from the lawn.” Master Edward sat in a dark corner of the kitchen where I did not see him until he spoke. He had always been in the habit of lying in wait for me at Holt House. “Thank you, Chancey,” I said. At my casual address, his mouth twisted into a sneer. I had always called him master, though he had never before called me lord. “How did you come to be Sir Benedict‟s squire, if I may ask, my lord? Surely you outrank him.” “A collusion of fortuitous circumstances, nothing more,” I told him as I walked out through the back door. I wandered over to the stream and followed it to a pond surrounded mostly by tall reeds that lent it privacy, but there was a shallow bank on one side that gave the pond easy access for bathing. Sir Ben swam back and forth, and I watched with pleasure as his strong arms broke the water. He rolled onto his back to float and saw me watching him. I stripped and waded in to bring him the soap. “Wash me,” he ordered, standing upright. Dipping the soap in the water, I softened it and began to rub it over his body and hair, scrubbing it in with my other hand. He raised his arms for me to scrub underneath them and turned this way and that for me. “If you wade into the shallow water I can wash you lower down, Sir Ben,” I said. He waded closer to the bank, and I rubbed the soap into his backside and then his cock and balls. His member grew long and thick under my slippery hands. While I worked he said nothing. It was as if a truce had settled between us. But it was not enough for me. When he was washed all over, he swam about again to rinse off the soap while I

scrubbed myself. When I was done, I left the soap on the bank and met Sir Ben in the middle of the pool. “Sir Ben, I am sorry for my willfulness.” He placed his hand on my shoulders, and I thought he was going to say I forgive you. Instead he said, “You were never treated with the respect owed to your rank. I say that because you do not know how to act like a lord any more than my brother Giles. He was spoiled like a lord but never expected to be a man. You are the same, except that you do not have his arrogant and cruel nature. His rank has allowed him to be a bully without consequences. Yours has allowed you to be a milksop without consequences.” Angered at his comparison of me to his despised brother, I said, “There were consequences. Everyone treated me meanly!” “More should have been expected of you,” he said. “I blame your father for allowing this to begin and not teaching you to be manly. But all that happens from this point on is on your shoulders, Lord Robin.” He had never addressed me lord before and did so now only to make his point. As he spoke, my resentment faded. I saw how he was right, even his comparison of me to Lord Giles. “You are improving with each day that passes, and your improvement is swift,” he said. “You were waiting for the right knight to train you.” A smile crept over his face. “I forgive your behavior on the field. Don‟t do it again,” he said. “Come here.” Taking my hand, he led me to the bank where it was shallow. Sir Ben sat on the grass with his feet still in the water and his cock standing straight out and ready for my attention. “Straddle me,” he ordered. I obeyed, straddling his thighs, my feet in the cool water. “Now sit.” Sir Ben took my hips and slowly lowered me onto his cock. My arse was still wet, and Sir Ben‟s cock flowed with the juices of his arousal. I reached behind to pull my buttocks apart, the better to accommodate him. He positioned his cock so that I could feel its tip at my arsehole, ready to breech it. “Now,” he said, closing his eyes as he pushed my hips downward, slowly impaling me upon his thick rod. When I was fully speared upon him, I wrapped my legs about his hips and my arms about his chest. I rested my head on his shoulder, and I felt complete, joined to the man I respected and loved above all others. “Sir Ben, I love you,” I whispered, wanting to hear the same words said back to me. “I love you.” With his firm, sweet mouth, he licked and bit my neck and shoulders. Arousal shot through me. I was excited so suddenly and so completely that surely I would have no trouble spending my pleasure today. “Put your feet firmly on the ground and ride me, Robin.” His words fell upon me, breathy and thick. I did as he bade me, putting my feet into the water again until I felt the soft, sandy bottom of the pond against my soles. Holding tightly to my knight, I raised my hips and sank down against his thighs. And again, over and over I lifted my hips and sank down

hard. As I worked, my rigid cock rubbed against Sir Ben‟s lower belly, creating an unbearable and wonderful friction. “God‟s teeth! My sweet boy,” Sir Ben moaned. “Harder!” I opened my eyes and turned my face up to the blue sky as I pumped Sir Ben‟s cock. His moans grew louder still, competing with the birds and the scurrying of badgers and rabbits in the undergrowth. I was intent upon my pleasure but not as much as I was intent upon Sir Ben‟s. The louder he cried out, the more satisfaction I felt at making him happy. For a long time, he held back his spend until my thigh muscles ached as hard as if I had been riding a horse all day, yet I loved the ache and the tension in my body. I loved the sound of his cries. For a very short time, I held the power between us. I alone was in charge of his fulfillment. At last he gave himself up. I tightened the muscles of my arse still more to increase his release. He sank his teeth into my shoulder, and the pain drew me to the very edge of my own spend but not over it. Panting hard, Sir Ben released his hold on me and fell back on the bank. Still impaled by his spear, I rested, watching him recover until he opened his eyes and smiled. His gaze traveled from my face to my cock, transforming his smile into a frown. My heart sank. I had disappointed him. “Off,” he said. I climbed off onto the bank while Sir Ben waded into the water to wash his cock. From where he stood, he spotted something on the bank, and my gaze followed his to the low-hanging branches of a big old willow tree. Sir Ben got out of the pond and broke off a long flexible willow withe. He approached me, and I turned onto my hands and knees. Without pause he thrashed my arse, the pain of the first stroke making me cry out. After that I was silent, my teeth gritted, breathing hard. My rigid cock grew fuller. I glanced sideways at Sir Ben, whose eyes were on my backside as he threw the strength of his shoulders behind the instrument of pain. The burning pleasure in my cock shot through my thighs and belly. For many blows, I hung my head in an effort to hold still against the pain. When the moment of my climax burst upon me, I looked up and saw through the trees Master Eadward, watching me. Falling onto the grass, I gasped out my pleasure. Sir Ben threw down the willow withe and lay beside me, his cool hand on my fevered buttocks. We neither of us spoke, but lay side by side as our bodies recovered.

**** Though the afternoon grew late, Benedict House was still in full light through the tall windows. I had cleaned Sir Ben‟s chain mail earlier. Outside the kitchen door stood a huge hogshead of sand, and whenever Mistress Anne used eggs in her cooking, the shells were added to the barrel and ground up. The chain mail tunic, head covering, and breeches were cleaned by rolling them in the sand, which caught on the grease and sweat, wearing it off. The mail was shining clean when it was done, and I hung it on a wooden man to keep its shape.

Now I sat in a quiet corner amid the business of the great hall with a basin of sand and vinegar and Sir Ben‟s armor piled in front of me. I dipped my cloth into the strongsmelling mixture and rubbed it hard into the breastplate. The vinegar would make the steel shine brightly, blinding another knight at the joust. The sand ground away at the caked-on dirt. The very act of cleaning the armor of a man like Sir Ben gave me a great sense of pride. A squire took care of his knight, and if he loved and respected him, it showed in his shining, clean armor. While I worked, Simon and Huw played at dice, shouting and laughing. I took great pleasure in watching them enjoy their time at play. I had never been the sort of boy who shouted with laughter and played freely. I was always too serious. Jhone sat on a deeply recessed window ledge making good use of the bright golden light to mend clothes. Every now and then I looked over at Master Eadward across the great hall at the far window, teaching Sir Ben his letters. I had no notion if Master Eadward had ever liked ladies in a romantic way, but he responded to Jhone‟s smiles as if he did. I liked Jhone, who was always kind to me and very respectful, and I feared Master Eadward would find some way to break her heart. The other grooms, all except Jem, who helped Mistress Anne, sat about talking and playing at chess and cards. When the day‟s work was done, Sir Ben liked to see his people enjoy themselves. But he was not enjoying himself at all. His body grew tense when he worked at his reading. His fists clenched and unclenched over and over again. His brow furrowed, and he shook his head often. From watching his body, I knew he was growing more and more frustrated, and I was not surprised when he rose suddenly, leaving Master Eadward alone on the bench. He walked across the great hall, talking here and there to his men, the tension leaving his body as he jested with them. When he reached me, he squatted and ran his hand over my head as he would to the boys. “You‟re doing a fine job, Squire Robin.” I smiled at his praise and his touch. “I am starving. Are you?” he asked. The trestle table was already set up in anticipation of the evening meal. “Yes, sir, I am hungry.” “Mistress Anne‟s veal pies are wonderful good.” He grinned. “I shall go to the kitchen and see if she will give me a snippet now.” “It is your house. You may eat what you want,” I said. “That may be true.” He rubbed my head again and stood up. “But you must never annoy your cook.” He wandered off, and I watched him go before going back to my work. “What are you doing here in this house, Robin?” So intent was I upon Sir Ben‟s armor that I did not see Master Eadward approach and sit down cross-legged beside me. In the couple of weeks he had been at Benedict House, I had been successful in avoiding him, and he had bided his time and kept his distance from me as he insinuated himself into everyone‟s good graces. But I knew that sooner or later he would approach me in private.

“I am Sir Ben‟s squire. My father sent me here,” I lied. I did not meet his eyes. “You were sent to a monastery the day he threw me out into the hedgerows to starve.” He looked about him quickly, as if in fear that someone had seen his angry countenance or heard the bitterness in his voice. “I went to the monastery, and now I am here.” “And you let Sir Ben fuck your arse,” he said. “Just as you allowed me. Do you give yourself to any man who wants you, Lord Robin?” My title he pronounced with great venom. I did not answer but kept may gaze on the armor, rubbing so hard I feared I might make a hole. I put down the breastplate and took up the helmet. “What would Sir Ben think of you, boy, if he knew you were my leavings?” I looked up at him now, into his handsome but increasingly dissolute face. “You said you loved me and then you betrayed me.” “What was I supposed to do? You are a lord. You have your name and your fortune. I had nothing. I had to protect myself.” “If you had been honorable, I would have protected you even though I had long ceased to desire you.” My words stung him, and his ready sneer made itself known. “You did not desire me? You spilled your load every time I flogged you. Is that not desire? But perhaps not, since you do it for Sir Ben also. You are a whore, Robin.” In return, his words stung me. I already knew myself for a whore. Sir Ben was truly a man of honor. He was born with nothing, not even a name recognized by law, so he took what he deserved, and now he housed and fed everyone sitting about the great hall, including Master Eadward. His next words were whispered in an intimate tone. “I loved you, Robin. I do still.” “You denied me and betrayed me. Just as Thomas did. He wants my title and my inheritance. You just wanted to keep your position, so you lied about me.” Master Eadward leaned in closer to whisper, “I have heard that the girl you are to wed is at your father‟s estate and has been there for some time. You must return there and marry her. Then you will have rank again. Your father will give you your own manor upon your marriage, and I can come there to live with you. You can give me some occupation until you have children for me to teach. You will never be satisfied married to a woman. I will take care of your needs, and you will give me your protection.” I had no intention of taking care of the man who had used me while I was still too young to know better. He must be made to leave Benedict House. But how? At that moment, I hated him so much I would happily see him dead in a ditch by the side of the road. My problem was that, at some near date, I would indeed have to return home to marry. I would be installed in my own house before Christmastide, and then he would come knocking upon my door again. When Master Eadward first bound me to him, I had loved him with a fierce intensity. Now that same intensity described my hatred of him.

“Please do not cause any upset to Sir Ben. He is a good man. He teaches me well. I am becoming a good squire. And look how he took you in, Chancey, a beggar at his door.” My reminding him of how low he had sunk did not sit well. He slid his hand around my thigh and pinched it hard as he often had when I was a boy and slow at my lessons. I gasped before I could stop myself, making Simon and Huw look over at me. “Do not call me Chancey again!” he said into my face and rose to walk over to Jhone. After a minute, the pages joined me in my corner. Looking cautiously over his shoulder at Master Eadward, Simon leaned in close to whisper, “Did Master Chancey pinch you, Lord Robin?” “No, of course not.” I kept my glance stayed on the armor, polishing away at the visor. “He pinches us when he is teaching us to read,” Huw said. Suddenly I was afraid. Huw was only three years younger than I when Master Eadward first got his talons into me. But perhaps Huw was not rich enough. I saw now that Master Eadward was thinking of his future when he came after me. But he did like boys; there was no doubt of that. “Does he do anything else, Huw?” “He has a thick willow withe, and he beats us if we do not pay attention or if we talk to each other,” Simon said. “He makes us bare our arses.” “But what about you, Huw?” I asked. “He thrashes me as well,” Huw said quietly. “Have you told Sir Ben?” If he knew, then perhaps that would be sufficient to dismiss Master Eadward from the house, and all our troubles would be over. At least until my father found me. “We cannot tell tales,” Huw said. “It would not be knightly.” “No, it would not,” I agreed. “But Sir Ben would not let him beat you. You must tell him.” Jhone‟s laughter briefly drew our attention. Master Eadward must have said something to charm her. “I don‟t think Master Eadward is a good man,” Huw said. “I think we should tell my brother,” Simon said. But his thoughts quickly turned to his more immediate needs, showing what a little boy he still was. “I hope Mistress Anne sends the pies out soon. I‟m so hungry. She is baking chicken pies as well as venison. Chicken is my favorite, but Sir Ben likes venison best.” The boys jumped up and ran toward the kitchen, easily distracted from their few moments of unhappiness. When we sat at our supper a short while later, Sir Ben turned to me with a tender piece of venison speared on his knife. I opened my mouth, and he fed it to me with a grin. “What words did you exchange with Chancey? I saw him speaking with you.” There was no concern on his face, merely curiosity. “I asked him if your reading was improving,” I said.

“And he replied what?” With anxious eyes, Sir Ben looked at me. I loved his brown eyes. They were so expressive. I loved the way the corners crinkled when he smiled or laughed. Everyone in my family had blue eyes, and brown were uncommon to me. “That you are doing well.” I hated lying to him, but I could not relate the true nature of the exchange. Sir Ben took my hand where it rested on top of the table. “I find it a terrible strain, Robin. It hurts my head, and I forget what I have learned as soon as the lesson is over.” “You do not need to read,” I said quickly. “You have me. I will read what needs to be read to you. How did you manage before?” “Nick can read. He‟s good at things like that. Anyway, I want to learn.” With his free hand, he put a currant tart into his mouth, quickly followed by a piece of cheese. “Since Chancey arrived at the house, you have seemed anxious to get rid of him. You told me you were jealous. Are you still?” I looked down at my lap as if I was ashamed. “I am as bad as Simon when you praise Huw more than him. You have seen how he pouts.” “Yes. But surely you do not still feel that way?” If only I could purge the contents of my heart and tell Sir Ben how Master Eadward had used me. “I will pray to be free from it, Sir Ben.”

Chapter Thirteen The first crop was always gathered on Lammastide, and it was bountiful. The summer had been kind thus far with both rain and sunshine in abundance. In keeping with custom and as part of their rent, the villagers brought a cartload of wheat up to Benedict House as the sun was setting, and Sir Ben had a feast ready for them. Deer had already wandered into Sir Ben‟s woods, attracted by the salt his steward had laid down. A large older doe had been hunted that morning by Sir Ben himself and was roasted to perfection by the time the villagers arrived. I had made big pans of plum cake with red plums I had helped gather. The early apples for the pies were tart, taking plenty of honey to mellow them. A great feast was spread on trestle tables out on the lawn, with ale and wine to wash it down. The villagers had much to rejoice at now that they owed their fealty to Sir Ben, who was a generous master. Sir Ben‟s carven chair had been carried out from the great hall. Instead of sitting on the grass as he had done last time, he sat like a true lord of the manor, receiving his people as they came forward to thank him for his generosity. Everyone was grateful that he now owned the land they lived on. I saw in their faces the love and trust they bore him, and I felt immense pride in his authority. “When will you be taking a wife, Sir Ben?” a young woman asked. “There will be no wife in this house,” Sir Ben told her loudly. “I do not wish to be asked ever again about such things.” Frightened, the girl dropped a curtsy, and Sir Ben touched her hand kindly. “Do not be concerned. Go and enjoy the food now,” he reassured her quickly. The sun, red and glowing, sat just on the horizon, and the feasting was nearly done when first we heard the pounding of horses‟ hooves and the clang of armored men riding across the fields toward us. There were fifty or more, and at the head, carrying the pennant of Holt House, rode my father. The villagers reared up, looking to Sir Ben for guidance. “It is Lord Mossley, my father,” I told him. “And beside him is my brother, Thomas.” The men, though they were unarmed, formed a line in front of Sir Ben while Mistress Anne shepherded the women and children into the house. I placed myself at Sir Ben‟s right with Simon to his left. Letting my gaze wander over the assemblage, I saw another rider leave the group and wander off into the woods. “Sir Ben, that‟s your brother.” Following the direction I pointed, he said, “Giles. He went tattling and brought your father here. No doubt he told him you are sharing my bed.” Fear and dread knotting my belly, I asked, “What will we do?” Lord Francis got down from his horse, calling out in his loud, belligerent voice, “Let Sir Benedict show himself.”

“Stand aside,” Sir Ben said to the men who stood to defend him. “There will be no bloodshed. We are outnumbered. Diplomacy is the order of the day.” To Sir Nicholas who came up beside him, he said, “Nick, let no man unsheathe a sword. I must make them leave happy and with Robin still here.” Sir Nick stroked his beard. I had observed him do that before when he was concerned. “Sir Ben, if this man demands his son, we must let him go. There are too many innocent lives to defend.” “I know that, Nick. Send everyone home. The feast is done. Do as I bid you.” Sir Nicholas went at once to obey. Sir Ben strode forward, tall and handsome, his arms spread magnanimously. The declining sun threw gold at him, making his hair appear as a halo about his fine head. “Who comes to my land when the feast is done? I have nothing left to feed you, only plum cake. But I swear it is the best plum cake you will ever eat. Come and enjoy some. I have enough ale to keep your men content after a long ride. How far have you come?” While Sir Ben had not men enough to disarm the intruders, his smile did the job just as well. My father drew off his helmet, not expecting the welcome. “I am Francis Holt, Lord Mossley of Holt House. I know your father, Lord Berard Childerley.” “And my brother. I see him creeping off into the woods.” “I have intelligence that you are keeping my son here. Lord Robin Holt.” “Your son is here. I do not keep him against his will. But it grows dark out, my Lord Mossley. Your men may camp on my land. I will feed them and give them ale. But you must come inside so we can talk.” Seeing no threat, Lord Francis gave orders to his men and walked beside Sir Ben into the house. I stayed out of the way, watching until Sir Ben should call for me. At the door, Thomas and Lord Francis removed their armor with the help of Rory and Huw. Sir Ben‟s big chair was brought indoors again, and another fine chair for Lord Francis was brought into the great hall. Suddenly, and without Lord Francis being aware of it, he had gone from being surrounded by his armed men, to being unarmed and surrounded by Sir Ben‟s men. Wine was brought forth and every courtesy was extended to my father and Thomas, who stood behind my father‟s chair acting as his squire, a consideration that was never given to me as his eldest son. Nearby sat Sir Nicholas, but Cob had made himself scarce. Rules at Benedict House were different than any I had ever known, but in the face of a possible enemy, Sir Ben was cautious. From across the great hall, hidden in the shadows, I watched with Jhone. “I did not know you came from such a great family, Lord Robin.” “I was indeed born into a rich and noble family, but I would rather be here with Sir Ben. I fear I will be leaving in the morning with my father.” “I will be sad to see you go. You are polite to everyone, and you make wonderful pies and cakes.”

I smiled at her compliments. “I have not yet finished sewing Sir Ben‟s new tunic. I wanted so to see him in it.” Simon crossed the great hall at a run and came to a skidding halt before us. “Jhone, Sir Ben says will you come and sit in his lap?” “He said no such thing, Simon.” I frowned at the boy. “Yes, he did, Lord Robin. He whispered it to me. And he says you are to stay away until he calls for you.” “What can he mean?” I looked at Jhone. She smiled. “What do you think he means? He wants to make your father believe he has no interest in having you in his bed. That he prefers women.” “You know about Sir Ben and me?” I asked quietly. “Aye, and Sir Nicholas and Corbin, and a few others on this manor.” She laughed lightly. Of course she knew. Everyone knew. Was I stupid? “What you share with him is plain to anyone who looks at you, Lord Robin. No one has shared his bed in a long time.” That gratified me. I had feared that Sir Ben had an endless stream of willing young men for his bed. Jhone stood up. “But for now we must continue the pretense.” “But why must we lie?” The question was laughable, and I knew the answer already. Jhone grasped my hand and squeezed it kindly. “Lord Robin, it is simply the way things are.” Across the great hall, she walked with a sway to her hips I had never before observed. Her hand waved through the air when she picked up the wine jug to fill the men‟s cups. She lingered by Sir Ben‟s chair, and he caught her about the waist to pull her down on his knee, and she laughed as though well used to such familiarity. Soon enough Simon came to fetch me. It was with dread that I crossed the great hall. I had no wish to confront my father and have Sir Ben witness his negligent address and scathing looks at me. I had told him my father was disappointed in me, but I had not come close to telling him the extent of it. It hardly mattered anyway, because Sir Ben would betray me and deny me as Master Eadward had done if he was called out for his inclinations. I trusted no one. Still, I could not bear for him to see how my father hated me. The first face I looked upon when I took my place beside Sir Ben‟s chair was Thomas‟s. I had always been a good brother to him, and I had thought he loved me. Now he could not meet my eyes. “Hello, Thomas,” I said. He shifted about where he stood and nodded briefly at me. He looked ashamed—and so he should. To my father, I said, “Good evening, sire.” “It is never a good evening when I lay eyes upon you,” he said. “You will come home. Esme has been waiting since May for your return, useless knave that you are! The girl will be disappointed, but I cannot help that. Perhaps her humors will improve yours.” My cheeks flamed at his words. Sir Ben would believe my father‟s contempt had good cause to run so deep.

“Lord Mossley.” Sir Ben had a definite edge to his voice. “Your son is my squire. In my house, he will be accorded the respect of his position.” Lord Francis drank half his wine before saying, “I am ashamed to call him my son, and I‟ll tell you something else. Your brother tells me my son shares your bed. Tell me it is not true.” From the corner of my eye, I observed Sir Ben. His expression did not change. Sir Nicholas shifted his feet about but kept silent. “My brother Giles is jealous of me and looks for chances to demean me. He may be my father‟s firstborn in his marriage, but he will never be the man I am. He sneaks about telling tales. He abuses women, which is against the code of chivalry. He drinks far too much wine to put in a decent day‟s labor at anything. In short, he is not a man, and you listened to tales from him.” Lord Francis‟s hard expression softened as he took Sir Ben‟s measure. Sir Ben did not admit that I was his—he could not—but neither had he denied it. Jhone threw her arm about Sir Ben‟s neck and kissed his cheek. “Lord Robin is learning to be a good squire,” Sir Ben said. “Tomorrow he will demonstrate his ability at the lance and sword.” I moaned inwardly. My fear of failing when I was put to the test rose up again, but I had succeeded last time and made Sir Ben proud. “When last I laid eyes on Robin, he could not hold onto a sword and he was afraid of horses.” “Lord Mossley, Lord Robin was indeed untrained and nervous when first I brought him here. But no longer. If a boy does not know how to ride and fight, I would not blame the boy but the man who had charge of him.” My father‟s face grew red at Sir Ben‟s words, but knowing him as I did, I watched as understanding washed over him. “Perhaps. Aye, perhaps you are right,” he said grudgingly. “But other boys learn even if their master is not kind. Why should Robin be any different? I would like to see what he can do.” “And I am not finished with him,” Sir Ben said. “He is not nearly done his training. He began too late. But tomorrow you will see how he has come along.” Sir Ben punched me in the arm but gently. “Make me proud tomorrow. Do you hear me, Squire Robin?” “Yes, Sir Ben.” I avoided my father‟s eyes but managed to catch his expression and saw that he looked at me with renewed interest. If a man like Sir Ben thought me worthy, then mayhap I was. Sir Ben slapped Jhone on her thigh in a jovial manner. “Off you go, and tell Mistress Anne we have honored guests sleeping in the house tonight. The chamber next to mine will be theirs.” I stepped forward to take up the wine jug, but Thomas got to it before me. “I will do it, Robin. You are the elder. May I serve you some wine, brother?” Yes, he was ashamed of himself.

My father watched the exchange. He had never before seen anyone treat me with respect, and I hoped he was questioning his own undervaluing of me. “But I want to know this,” he said, “Why did you kidnap him from my men? He was coming home to marry.” Sitting back as if ready to tell a good story, Sir Ben said, “It began as a jest. I was injured in the joust in North Wales, and Lord Robin tended my wounds at St. Asaph Monastery. I wondered why he was serving there when it seemed he was not a monk. Nonetheless, he tended me with great care and made me well again. I did not know he was leaving to marry. We left the monastery the same day. My men were merry at the prospect of returning home. For the fun of it, I said, „That boy nursed me well. We must take him on the circuit with us when next we go to tournament.‟” He began to laugh. “And the next thing we knew, we had stolen him from your men. It was naught but a prank. I brought him home and found him so wanting in the manly arts that I knew I must teach him.” “Did he tell you what I caught him at? Why I sent him from my home?” Lord Francis asked, looking hard at me. I prayed my father would not tell him now where everybody in the hall could hear. Sir Ben shook his head, and my father leaned forward and spoke mercifully quietly. “I found him acting the maiden for the man I had trusted to teach my children their lessons.” Unable to look at Sir Ben, I looked about the great hall. Master Eadward was nowhere to be seen. “Since he has been here, his conduct has been every inch the lord,” Sir Ben said. “Well…” Lord Francis was at a loss in the face of a man who praised me. “If you have made a man of my son, I will reward you richly, Sir Benedict.” They talked on of other things until the grooms began to bring out their pallets to sleep, and Thomas yawned openly. “Let me take you upstairs to your chamber, my Lord Mossley. Lord Robin may share it with you tonight, though he usually sleeps down here in the great hall with the men.” He met my eyes not once as he lied. My father did not address me after we went upstairs, and it was not until he was fast asleep and snoring that Thomas whispered, “Robin, forgive me.” Though I was surprised at his apology I was also angry. “Why should I? You betrayed me. Do you want my inheritance?” “Yes,” he admitted. “But only because I would do better with it than you. I would give you your due. You would want for nothing.” “Who says you would do better than me?” I asked. “Father says so,” he said. “I do not know why I acted as cruelly I did, and I truly regret what befell you afterward, Robin. Mostly I wanted Master Eadward out of the house. I did not think Father would send you away as well.” “I am glad he did, or I would never have met Sir Ben.” I turned to him, though the chamber was dark, and I could not see his face. “What did Master Eadward do to you?”

“He beat me and Charles. He beat us all the time. I was sick of it. I wanted to get him thrown out. Father knew he beat us. He said if Master Eadward did it, then we had done something to deserve it, but we did nothing to deserve being thrashed until we bled. When I spied him with you in the summerhouse, I knew it was the only way to get him sent away from Holt House.” “Do you have any idea how many times I pleaded with Master Eadward not to beat you and Charles? It would have been a lot worse for you had I not.” “Yes, I do know. I heard you many times,” he whispered. I should have thanked Thomas. He had brought shame upon me, it was true, but he had freed me from Master Eadward‟s hold while freeing himself. Master Eadward would be sent in disgrace from Benedict House if Sir Ben knew what he had done, and I would be free of him again but at the expense of Sir Ben‟s respect for me. And that was a price I was not willing to pay. Master Eadward would hide himself while my father was here, and I would not give him away. “Please forgive me, Robin. I know you took more beatings from Master Eadward than Charles and I. But why did you let him do those other things to you?” “I do not know,” I whispered. And I did not, except that he had bound me to him with threats and promises of love.

**** The sun was just beginning to rise when we went out onto the field below the house. I had not broken my fast and was already beginning to feel sick to my stomach from it. Sir Ben often went long hours without eating. All the men did. But I was like Simon and Huw, always looking for something to eat. I was glad to be excused heavy armor and wore nothing but a breastplate and backplate. The quintain was set up, and I was ordered to hook rings on my lance. I missed the first, and the look of disappointment on Sir Ben‟s face spurred me on. I lanced every ring thereafter, twenty or thirty; I lost count. I was taken to the archery target and ordered to shoot arrows. I did well, landing two in the dead center. As if that was not enough, Sir Ben told my father to bring up any one of his men to take me on with the sword. Lord Francis looked carefully at his men before deciding. “Thomas, his brother, will challenge him.” Thomas was called forward, and he donned a breastplate and backplate like me. I faced my brother as the men stood in a wide circle around us. Thomas was as big as me and had years more training behind him, but I faced him squarely. “Do not go easy on me. Fight me as you would fight any man.” “But you are hopeless with a sword,” he said quietly. “Then I will be humiliated by my younger brother,” I said. “If you hold back, everyone will know, and that will be even worse.” We began to parry and thrust, and quickly my brother realized I had learned a great deal since last I saw him. But this day, filled with anxiety and the desire to make my

knight proud, I did not have the anger in me that I had had against Sir Ben the day he took me on. This was merely a demonstration of my skill, and I wielded my sword with care to show off my moves to their best advantage. “You have grown clever,” Thomas panted as I drove him back. After only a short time, and to my great relief, Sir Ben moved in and called a halt. “What say you, my Lord Mossley? Is your son learning his craft?” Scratching his head as if utterly confounded, my father said, “I am impressed with what you have been able to teach him. How have you managed this in so short a time when none of the men of my household or family could make a man of him?” “Some lads need more time and a kinder approach,” Sir Ben said. “Robin is a fine man, but I‟m not done with him yet. Do you intend to take him today?” I searched Sir Ben‟s face for his concern but saw nothing. Did he care if my father took me away with him? He did not appear to. Lord Francis looked me up and down as he so often had, as if assessing my manliness by my appearance. I squared my shoulders and stood taller. The contempt so often marring his face when he looked at me was not apparent in that moment. It seemed I had done something to please him at long last. “He is to marry my cousin‟s daughter. The deed should have been done by now. You have taught him to stay on his mount and thrust well. Can you teach him to mount his wife and thrust sure?” The men laughed, my father loudest among them. Sir Ben smiled and clapped Lord Francis on the shoulder while I blushed. “I will do my best, my Lord.” “Then I will leave him until the week of Michaelmas.” To me, he said, “You will return to Holt House in the days before Michaelmas, and we will set the wedding day for the feast of St. Michael the Archangel. You must bring this fine knight with you. I will be glad to host him and any knight living here.” “Yes, my lord,” I said, relieved that he was going and I staying. We went into the house, where Mistress Anne had prepared a substantial dinner. Food was carried outside by the grooms to the men-at-arms. My father was given my place beside Sir Ben at the high table, and I was lower down but higher than Thomas. I spent much of the meal on my feet, carving the meat and serving wine, but still managed to consume a good deal. Thomas exchanged words with me here and there. When the meal was done and the men ready to leave, he said, quietly, “Robin, do you prefer men instead of ladies?” To allay any suspicions cast upon me or Sir Ben, I said, “Of course I don‟t.” Even to my ear I was unconvincing. “Master Eadward made you unnatural, but now you will be normal again.” He spoke as if he had the wisdom of an old man, but he knew nothing. “Esme is very pretty. She is the same age as me exactly.” From his expression, I wondered if he had formed an attachment to her.

Before the sun reached its zenith, they were gone, and I breathed a great sigh of relief. Sir Ben was nowhere to be found, and after searching the house and stable, I wondered if he had gone to the poppy meadow he had shown me my first day at Benedict House. Outside in the bright afternoon sun, I set off at a run to the far side of the woods a mile from the village. From a distance, I saw him, sitting in the shade of an old spreading oak. His legs were drawn up and wrapped about with his arms. His chin rested on his knees. It was as childlike a pose as I had ever observed him in. I came up quietly, but knowing it was dangerous to approach a man like Sir Ben without warning, I called out to him when I was near. He did not move nor look up, not even when I sat beside him and rested my head on his shoulder. For a long while we sat in silence. When he spoke, it was not with his usual unwavering surety. He was quiet, as if ashamed. “Robin, you did well this morning. You showed your father all I have taught you.” “That I did well is a credit to you, Sir Ben.” “And I am to take you home at Michaelmas.” “If you do not, my father will return with all the armed men at his service. There is nothing to be done. I must marry Esme.” “I could not protect you.” I looked at his face to see his jaw set in anger. “I did not want to host your father and his men. I wanted to set my men and dogs upon them. But there were neither enough men nor enough dogs. I could never muster a big enough army against a man so rich.” “Then I must go. There is nothing else to be done. If I were a blacksmith like Cob, no one would care,” I said. “Well, you are not a blacksmith, stupid boy!” Stunned at the insult, I watched him rise and begin to pace. “And who was this tutor you allowed to fuck you?” He turned on me. “Sir Ben, it was nothing.” Nothing? It had consumed my life for three years. Even now I spent my days avoiding Master Eadward. “Was he the man who flogged your arse? He flogged you and fucked you?” My cheeks blazing hot, I looked at him, unable to speak. “He was!” he said. “Was he young and handsome?” “No,” I said. “He must have been to get you so aroused that you enjoyed your floggings. He spoiled you for me. Now I must flog you too. Do you think of him when I flog you?” “No, Sir Ben,” I said. “I think only of you.”

Sir Ben pulled his sword and began to slash at the tall grass, anger blazing on his face. “I was never satisfied anyway with that way,” he shouted. “I find no pleasure in it, and you find no pleasure without it. It is better that you return to your father‟s house.” I ran home to Benedict House in tears. Sir Nicholas was in the open-fronted blacksmith shed with Cob, who stood at the forge hammering a red-hot horseshoe while Sir Nicholas watched. The hammering stopped, and Cob pointed at the small table nearby. “Give me the awl, Nick.” Sir Nicholas put the awl in his hand. Cob rested the horseshoe on the edge of the forge and began to hammer holes for the nails. I watched, fascinated by the exchange. The very idea that a knight would so naturally obey a blacksmith was as strange to the sensibilities as it would have been had my father said, I understand that you love men and it is good. At Benedict House, the order of living was very different than any manor I had ever visited. Open affection between men was ignored as though it was of no great moment, but to so decidedly give up one‟s rank was stranger still. It was what I desired to do—and did. “Lord Robin.” Sir Nicholas smiled when at last he saw me. Cob ceased hammering and thrust the shoe into a bucket of cold water, where it hissed as it cooled. “Is everything well, Lord Robin? That was quite a to-do with your father, was it not? But you conducted yourself with great valor this morning.” I joined them in the shade of the shed, and even though the forge blazed, it was cooler inside than out. We sat on the dirt floor, I opposite the two big men who sat close together as if they could not bear to be parted even for a moment. Whether at table or at a game, they always sat with their bodies touching at the shoulder or thigh, or their fingers entwined. “When did you meet?” I asked. Cob spoke first, and I was not surprised. “Four years ago. I was living down in Kent and took my forge to the joust to earn some coin by mending broken armor and shoeing horses.” “I did the lance back then, but no more. Now it is only the sword for me,” Sir Nicholas said. “My visor had taken the point of the lance, and it was jammed into the eye slit. Nearly blinded me. And my helmet was dented. I could not get the damn thing off.” I smiled as the picture filled my head. “But my man here got it off my head. The moment I set my eyes on him, I knew he was for me. He took some persuading, but he ended up leaving Kent with us when the tournament was done.” “Why do you see him as your master?” I whispered. They looked at each other; then Cob spoke for them. “The station you are born into is God‟s choosing. What you make of it and the days he has given you is your own choosing.” “The penalty by law for what we do is death by hanging or burning.”

Cob winked at me. “We won‟t tell on you if you don‟t tell on us.” I laughed. “Lord Robin, laws are made by men, but men were made by God, and God trumps man.” He was right, but that did not explain why life was so difficult. “Sir Ben is angry with me, though he says I made him proud this morning.” “Your father‟s coming here with fifty armed men has shaken him up,” Sir Nicholas said. “Sir Ben takes pride in being able to defend his home and his dependents with his sword. He is not afraid to use diplomacy when it is right, but he hated not being able to send your father away at the tip of his weapon.” “But he could not. I know that.” “That does not mean he does not feel it as a defeat. Sir Ben is a proud man. He has always taken it very ill the way his father neglects him in favor of Lord Giles. If Giles had been born to a poor family, he would be the laziest wastrel in the village. But he was born into wealth, so he drinks, abuses women, and would hide in the clothes chest if the enemy knocked on his door. Yet still his father prefers him over Sir Ben. Sir Ben is a better man than either of them.” “He is the finest man I have ever known, and both of you are the next finest.” I leaned forward to hug them, a thing I had never done before. Cob rubbed my head the way Sir Ben sometimes did. “You are a good boy, Lord Robin,” he said.

Chapter Fourteen For days Sir Ben had been in a bad mood, and I was at a loss to please him. Yes, he had been angry about my father invading his household, but he must be past that now. It was what Lord Francis had told him about my old tutor fucking me as well as whipping me that had made him bitter against me. The blue tunic was finished, and it was a fine one, every stitch perfectly set and evenly spaced. In the same chest, I had found a length of beautiful silver braid to sew around the neck. It was as handsome as he was, and I was on my way to give it to him to wear at supper in the hope of cheering him up when Master Eadward stepped out of a dark corner as I passed. “You will be forced to go home soon, Robin, so you had better enjoy your handsome young man as long as you can.” “I wish you in hell, Chancey,” I said, continuing past him. Sir Ben‟s words—“He spoiled you for me”—still rang in my ears. Following me to the foot of the stairs, Master Eadward grabbed my arm, squeezing hard. “Do not walk away from me, Robin. I wish to speak with you.” Perhaps it was a good moment to warn him to leave the boys alone. “All right, but be quick.” I followed him through the kitchen, where Jhone smiled and nodded at him, and out through the kitchen garden to the stable. No stableman was about. The rich smell of hay and warm horses filled the air, reminding me of the times he had ordered me to meet him in the hayloft of my father‟s stables when the summerhouse was too cold to use. I had no wish to be reminded of anything about my years as the creature of Master Eadward. Pulling me into a stall out of sight of the door, he said, “Robin, I love you. I am sorry I lied to your father when he found us in the summerhouse, but I had no choice. You are his son, and he will never turn you away, but I am a dependent with no family to go back to. I was an orphan raised in my uncle‟s home.” He put his hand on my shoulder, moving closer to me. His voice grew soft and enticing. “I only have you. You must look after me. When you marry your cousin, you can give me a home to thank me for all I did for you.” “You did nothing for me but to turn me into your dog. You treated me no better than a dog.” “A dog? No. I love you, Robin. Sir Ben is already done with you. You bore him. He is a man of action, but you are a boy who needs petting. You are not a knight. You do not have it in you.” He slid his arm around my neck and whispered into my ear, “Only I know what you want. What you need.” I hung my head, unable to look at him or move away. “Shall I flog you, Robin? Would you like that? No one will know.”

I wanted to be flogged, but not the way he did it with such poison in his heart and no other desire than to make me less of a man. “No, I do not, and if you do not leave the pages alone, I will tell Sir Ben you are beating them.” “Lord Robin?” The voice came from the door. I pushed Master Eadward‟s arm from me and stepped quickly away, which served only to make me look guilty, though I had done nothing wrong. “Hello, Cob,” I said weakly. “Sir Ben asked me if I had seen you. I told him I would look for you. I saw you come this way with the teacher, but I did not tell him that.” “Chancey wished to ask me something about Sir Ben and his progress with his reading,” I said quickly. “Nothing more.” “You need explain nothing to me, Lord Robin,” Cob said. “Precisely. He need not.” Master Eadward looked Cob up and down as though he were a menial. “You are the blacksmith who sits at the high table, are you not?” “Aye,” Cob said, one hand rubbing the knuckles of his other hand. “I am the blacksmith who will break your head if you hurt those I love.” To me, he said, “Lord Robin, I will walk with you to the house.” My cheeks burning, I walked in silence with Cob. He was not stupid. He knew something was amiss, and sometimes guessing was worse than the truth. “Cob, there was nothing improper at hand. I love Sir Ben.” “Your man is waiting for you, Lord Robin,” he said. “You had better hurry.” Sir Ben was already seated at the high table and waiting for supper to begin when I sat down beside him. At his word, the food was served. He piled roasted chicken onto his plate and ate half of it before saying, “You kept me waiting, Robin.” “I‟m sorry, sir. I was finishing this.” I held up the tunic which I had kept in my lap. Cob, seated as always beside Sir Nicholas, met my gaze. Only a slight furrowing of his brow told me he had heard my lie and wondered at it. Sir Ben nodded his acknowledgment of my gift, but his anger was still upon him. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Put it away from the table so it does not get marked. I have grease all over my fingers. I will look at it later.” I carried it to the hearth and laid it in a clean place on the mantel, then returned to eat my meal, though I had little inclination for it. After supper we sat near the empty hearth in the great hall. The light was fading, and a few candles had been lit. Even with the intense heat of the day still lingering in the house, the air was lively with banter as the men played at games and the women sewed and chatted merrily. Sir Nick and Cob sat on a bench nearby with a deck of playing cards, laughing uproariously as they tried to outdo each other. Sir Ben watched them, smiling now and then, but he was sullen and would not address me. He did not comment again on the tunic, which I so wanted him to admire. As I sewed it, I had imagined his smile and his pleasure when I presented it to him, but the moment was a sore disappointment.

Over by the stairs, Huw and Simon were arguing with each other and watching Sir Ben in turns. “The boys seem to want to tell you something.” I pointed at them. “They probably want some treat or other,” he muttered. Negligently he gestured at his wine cup. I refilled it at once. Finally, as if resolved, Simon and Huw walked slowly toward us and stopped in front of Sir Ben. “What is it lads? You look serious,” he said. “Show him,” Huw said to Simon. “You show him,” Simon said. “You said you would. You are the younger,” Huw protested. “One of you show me something before I fall asleep,” Sir Ben said, his impatience betrayed in his voice. Simon dropped his chin onto his chest, then turned his back to Sir Ben and pushed his hose down to reveal his backside. I looked at the little round bottom, green and yellow with old bruises and red with the fresh stripes of the rod. Simon pulled his hose up again and turned around to look at Sir Ben. Silent tears tripped down his cheeks, but he did not sob. “What in God‟s name! Huw?” Sir Nick‟s and Cob‟s attention was drawn by Sir Ben‟s raised voice, and they stopped playing cards to watch. Reluctantly the older boy did the same and quickly showed his stripes and bruises. Terrified, I watch the play of shock and anger on Sir Ben‟s face. “Who did this to you?” The boys glanced at each other, neither wanting to be the telltale. “Master Chancey,” Simon whispered. “He said we were stupid and lazy and we deserved it,” Huw said. “He said you would agree with him, Sir Ben.” His hands gripping the arms of his chair, Sir Ben asked, “How long has this been going on?” His voice was low, like a growl, and I knew he was raging inside but keeping himself in check for the boys‟ sake. “From the first lesson,” Simon said. “He has willow rods, and he keeps them in different places so he always has one at hand, and he beats us every lesson, even if we do nothing bad.” He looked up at Huw for validation. “Doesn‟t he, Huw?” “Aye, he does. He‟s mean.” “Why did you not tell me sooner?” Sir Ben demanded. “You taught us to be knightly and not complain,” Simon said. A long sigh escaped Sir Ben, and he lifted Simon onto his lap. The gesture of tenderness was all Simon needed to let loose his hurt, and he began to sob. “That is true, and you are both brave boys,” Sir Ben said, hugging his brother tight.

“Does he put his hands on you?” I looked at Huw, knowing that Simon was too young to be of interest to Master Eadward. Huw, though only twelve, looked a few years older. “What?” Sir Ben looked at me. “Put his hands on him? What do you mean?” Huw spoke up bravely, drawing Sir Ben‟s attention back to him. “He tried to when Simon was not there. He beat me and then put his hands on my arse, but I said no and ran off.” Sir Ben stood Simon on his feet and got up. “Look after him, Huw.” “Sir Benedict, calm down,” Sir Nicholas said, rising also. “If you are going to speak with Chancey, Cob and I will come with you.” “I‟m going to kill him,” Sir Ben said through his teeth. “No, you are not,” Sir Nicholas said. “Give him a good walloping. I‟ll help you if you wish, but you will not bring the sheriff and the crowner down on this house. We will all suffer if you do.” Sir Ben stormed through the great hall and into the kitchen with Sir Nicholas and Cob beside him. I followed on their heels, as afraid of what Master Eadward would say about me as what Sir Ben would do to him. In the kitchen, Master Eadward sat with Jhone on a bench by the open back door. He was holding her hand and saying something that made her smile shyly. They both looked up when we walked in. “You thrashed my brother and young Huw,” Sir Ben accused. Master Eadward got to his feet. Jhone looked back and forth between the two, seeming perplexed and nervous. Master Eadward smiled and shrugged as if it were of no consequence. “I disciplined the boys, no more, Sir Benedict. What would you have me do? Allow them to run wild? You told me to teach them their lessons, and I am doing just that.” “Jhone, you will go into the great hall,” Sir Ben said. Without a word, she obeyed, though she looked back at the men as she left. For a brief moment, she met my eyes with a question, but I shook my head. “Get outside, Chancey. Where are the sticks you have been beating the boys with?” Sir Ben said. Eyes wide with fear, Master Eadward looked at me, but I avoided his gaze as Sir Ben shoved him roughly outside into the deepening twilight. “There is one in the stable. It is only a light one. Boys need discipline,” he said, continuing to explain as he went. “Get a lantern, Nick,” Sir Ben said. Sir Nicholas obeyed, and we followed Master Eadward into the stable. I stayed back by the door where I could still see but not be in the midst of them. The willow rod was hidden behind a bale of hay. I had never seen Master Eadward look as frightened as he looked confronted by Sir Ben. Not even when he stood before my father accused of misdeeds with me did he look so afraid.

Sir Ben snatched the rod and slapped his palm with it. It was not light but thick, flexible, and evil-looking. I was used to being flogged, and I looked at it with fear. Sir Nick hung the lantern from a hook and reached out to touch it. “That would hurt,” he said quietly. The three men stood in a circle around Master Eadward. The terror in his handsome face almost drew my pity until I reminded myself that it would do Master Eadward no harm to be on the receiving end of a thrashing. “Huw said you put your hands on his backside,” Sir Ben said. “I slapped him with my hand one day, that is all,” Master Eadward said at once, but I knew from his reddening cheeks that he was lying. “Drop you hose and get on your knees,” Sir Ben said. With utter disbelief on his face, Master Eadward did not move. “I am a schoolmaster. You cannot abuse me.” “Do it! Or I will have my men strip you by force,” Sir Ben said. Master Eadward‟s wide, frightened eyes darted back and forth between the men who confronted him. Coming to a decision, he pushed down his hose and obeyed. I turned my back, unable to watch, listening to his screams fill the stable. He made more noise at the hands of Sir Ben than I had ever made at his. The cowardice of the man I had thought I loved when I was a boy made me ashamed for him. When the screams had gone on for longer than I could bear, I heard Sir Nick‟s voice say, “He‟s had enough, Sir Ben. You have made your point. Stop now.” Master Eadward‟s screams died to moans as Sir Ben said, “Do not enter my house again, Chancey.” “It is dark,” Master Eadward said. “Have mercy, Sir Ben. All I did was discipline the boys.” “They can hardly sit down!” Sir Ben shouted. “Get out and never let me set eyes on you again.” “Sir Ben, please, I have nowhere to go.” He began to beg just as he had begged my father. Sir Ben would take a sword in his side before he would beg any man for succor. “You came to my house a beggar, and you will leave a beggar,” Sir Ben said. “Lord Robin, speak for me, please,” Master Eadward pleaded. I did not realize he knew I was there until he spoke to me. Sir Ben, Sir Nicholas, and Cob all turned to look at me. Only Cob‟s face bore no confusion as to why Master Eadward called upon me in his moment of need. Without a word, I walked back to the house and went directly upstairs. The hum of talk in the great hall as I walked up the stairs told me everyone knew something bad had happened. I waited on the dark landing, watching, wondering what Master Eadward was saying in my absence. Perhaps he said nothing more, but Sir Ben would work it out sooner or later. At last he entered the house, coming from the kitchen into the great hall with Sir Nick and Cob behind him. Jhone ran up to Sir Ben, and they exchanged a few words,

after which she came upstairs and went to the maids‟ chamber. The look of sadness and disappointment on her face made me feel immensely guilty. I could have prevented the boys being thrashed and Jhone‟s broken heart if only I had spoken up. In despair, I went into the bedchamber and readied myself for bed. By the time Sir Ben entered, I lay on the bed naked. I had not lit the candle, since the moon cast a bright glow through the open curtains. “That was a fine to-do,” he said. “To think I let that man into my house, and he betrayed my trust by beating the boys and putting his hands on Huw in a way no man should touch a child.” Throwing his clothes onto the floor, Sir Ben performed his ablution quickly. I rose to put away his clothes and then lay down beside him. The heat was thicker and heavier upstairs. “We should sleep outside. The grooms have all gone out to sleep on the lawn.” I was afraid to speak, expecting any moment that he would ask me about Master Eadward, but he seemed tired and uninterested. “Suck me,” Sir Ben ordered. I got up on my hands and knees to bend over his cock. “And I want you to straddle me while you do it.” I wasn‟t sure how he wanted me, but he quickly positioned me with my head between his thighs so that I could put my mouth on his cock. My legs straddled his body and our bellies were pressed together, so that my cock was within reach of his mouth. Sir Ben had never taken my cock in his mouth, and I did not expect him to now. His organ was thick and rigid, and I drew it deep into my mouth, sucking hard on it, my body rocking above him as I worked. He lay quietly, not moving and making no move to touch me. I did not wish him to. I merely wanted the pleasure of pleasuring him. I loved the taste of Sir Ben‟s cock. It was clean and smooth against my tongue. Its thick length was too great for me to encompass it all, and when I forced my lips all the way down, the tip pressed against my throat. As I rocked and sucked, the rhythm took over my body. My cock grew hard as it always did when I was close to Sir Ben. Without warning, his big hand gripped my organ, and he squeezed it hard and pulled, not sliding his hand up and down the shaft as my mouth was doing to his cock. He had me in a tight grip, and he yanked. I almost stopped sucking him as pain and pressure took over my cock. “Suck!” he ordered, and I resumed my rhythm immediately. I released his cock again and let out a piercing scream when his other hand reached behind my thighs and squeezed my balls hard. “Suck,” Sir Ben ordered again. In the moments that followed, I managed to keep my mouth on his cock, sucking, drawing on him with all my might while he pulled hard on my cock and pinched the sensitive skin between my balls. The pain in my organs screamed. Over and over again he made me cry out, even though I never released his cock from my mouth, and then he would reduce the pain to bearable limits, and I could rest from it for a moment. When I least expected it, he would pull in a sharp downward motion on my cock and pinch the skin of my balls until I screamed again. Long moments passed, and my arousal was so intense I was certain I would spend without a flogging and directly onto Sir Ben‟s face, which I feared would make him

angry. I was trapped in a quandary of pleasure, pain, and fear. I panted so hard I could hardly keep my rhythm of sucking his cock. A sharp pull on my organ and a pinch of fierce intensity on the skin of my balls made me scream and clamp my teeth onto Sir Ben‟s cock. My limbs became rigid, and my body quaked as if a fit had overtaken me. I spurted my stuff without control as Sir Ben‟s spend filled my mouth. I was on fire and at the same moment filled with fear of his anger. When I could move again, I crawled off Sir Ben‟s body and turned to look at his face. My spend ran in milky lines across his face, but he seemed neither offended nor angry. Though my limbs still quaked with pleasure, I retrieved a linen from the table and wiped his face. When I crawled back onto the bed, he took me in his arms, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He was not angry with me. “I‟m sorry I spent on your face, sir,” I whispered. “I am surprised you spent at all without me birching your arse.” He chuckled. “Did I hurt you?” “Yes, Sir Ben.” “Was it good?” “Yes, Sir Ben.” “Is it the pain that makes you spend?” “Yes, sir, it is.” “I‟m glad the boys told me of Chancey beating them. A good slap on the arse is one thing, and it does a boy no harm when he gets out of hand, but to beat them until they are bruised… That was wrong. It did you no good. Why do tutors beat their charges like that? Is that usual?” “I do not know,” I said, relieved beyond measure that Master Eadward was gone and wanting only to forget him. Michaelmas was more than a month away. I wanted to pass the time with Sir Ben and not dwell on our inevitable parting. “I love you, Sir Ben,” I said and waited, but he did not reply, and soon enough he was asleep.

Chapter Fifteen It rained for much of the following week, and we were all grateful because the heat had become oppressive and there was always the fear of plague in humid summer weather. The harvests were in, and since Sir Ben had allowed the villagers to take wood from his land at no cost to improve their barns, the grain would be protected and would last the winter. “Do you want me to help you with your reading, Sir Ben?” We had gone into the small hall for privacy from the business of the great hall. “Come here, boy.” Sir Ben patted his lap and invited me to sit. The last time I had tried to sit in his lap, he had shoved me to the floor. With pleasure I took my place and wrapped my arm about his neck. There were not many moments of tenderness, and I gobbled them up when they were offered. “No more reading. It only confuses me,” he said. “My mind goes into a whirl when I see the letters on the parchment. But you can teach Simon and Huw from now on. If they misbehave, send them to me and I‟ll teach them to mind their manners, but there‟ll be no more whippings in this house.” He paused before saying quietly, “Unless it is Sir Nick or you, I suppose.” I blushed, unable to control it. “I love you, Sir Ben,” I whispered, always hoping he would say the same back. But he never did. “More than once, I saw you talking to Chancey.” He looked directly into my eyes, and I feared he had worked it out. “What did he say to you?” “He only asked about you, sir. I believe he wanted your favor.” “And he would have had it but that he took advantage of his place.” A small knock preceded the door‟s opening. When I saw Jhone, I did not bother to rise, though I could not help but notice her pale cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. This last week, she had hardly spoken to anyone. She carried a tray with wine and fruits and nuts though it was only midafternoon. “Mistress Anne has sugared some fruits and nuts, and she wants you to be the first to try them, Sir Ben.” She placed the tray on the long table by the wall and brought us a trencher of the delicacies. She returned to the tray and poured wine. “Mistress Anne is clever,” I said, admiring the strawberries, cherries, and apricots. “My father‟s cook can sugar fruit and nuts, but it is not easily done. I have observed him.” I picked up a cherry, cut in half and stoned before preserving in sugar. “This one is done with sugar, Sir Ben, but the apricots are honeyed.” I put the cherry into his mouth. “I love Mistress Anne.” He grinned as he chewed. “Give me an almond.” I fed him a sugared almond and a piece of ginger, forgetting for a moment that I was happy and relieved while Jhone was disappointed. I glanced at her as she waited with her eyes downcast. “The ginger is hot,” Sir Ben said.

“There is only a small amount of it, it being so expensive,” Jhone said. “Mistress Anne said she will save the rest for Christmastide, Sir Ben.” “Good. I hope there is enough to give everyone in the house a small piece,” Sir Ben said. Jhone curtsied, but before she could reach the door, Sir Ben spoke, and I was glad he did. “Jhone, I am sorry I sent Chancey away. I know you liked him, but he thrashed Simon and Huw until their arses were black. I won‟t have that in my house.” With her hand on the door handle, she looked at him. “I know, Sir Ben. I was shocked when I found out what he had done. He deceived us. I thought he was a good man.” Quietly she left the room. “Jhone is almost thirty, and she‟s never shown much interest in men before, but she liked him. I believe she had hopes,” Sir Ben said. “I wish I had not had to send him away, but after what Huw said, I doubt he was interested in her anyway, but only making himself agreeable as he did to everyone.” I knew all too well how Master Eadward made people think well of him. Handsome in appearance and always gracious to his betters, he had fooled my father and all of Holt House for three years. Sir Ben drank his wine, and I rose and poured him more. He could drink far more than I without becoming drunken. He stretched out his long legs, crossed at the ankles, and I took the leather folding stool and sat at his knee. He looked happier and more at ease than he had this last week. “Sir Ben, is there nothing we can do about my having to return home?” “No.” He shook his head. “There is not.” Though I knew there was nothing either of us could do, I resented his giving me up so easily. He looked as if he had resolved the dilemma in his mind and was at peace with it. “But you are here now, so let us have some pleasure.” Sir Ben reached down to place his wine cup on the hearth. He raised his hips from his seat and shoved his hose down to his thighs. Yes, I was upset at his letting me go, but the sight of his cock, thick and red, made my mouth open, and I licked my lips without knowing it. Sir Ben laughed out loud. “A tasty morsel, is it not, boy?” I realized then what I had done and smiled, my cheeks flooding hot as always. I got down on my knees, and Sir Ben spread his thighs. For a long time, I sucked hard on his organ. The taste and smell of Sir Ben‟s cock was something I would miss terribly. Like a thirsty man, I drew on him, wanting his fluids to flood my mouth. After a time, Sir Ben pushed my face away. “Sir Ben?” I asked, confused and wanting to finish him and hear his moans. “Sit on me,” he said. “Now that I am wet and hard.” I rose, looking down on his scarlet rod. It jutted straight up, clear fluid dripping from the tip, as he slouched in his chair. “Take off your hose and sit on me.”

Hastily I threw off my boots and hose. My tunic fell past my knees. I pulled it off also and straddled him, my knees on the seat on either side of his narrow hips. Sir Ben grabbed me by the waist while I reached between my thighs to guide the tip of his cock to my arsehole. I waited, my breath coming hard and fast, my cock stiff, my balls tight. With both his strong hands, Sir Ben shoved my hips down, and at the exact moment, thrust his hips upward. The pressure was so sudden and intense as my arse with filled with him that I cried out. It took only two or three hard thrusts for Sir Ben to shoot his fluids up my arse. Releasing my hips, he lay back, panting hard, his face pink with pleasure. I sat on his hips with his limp cock still inside me. I did not want to move. I did not want to let him go, or to be parted from him. I rested my hands on his shoulders and boldly covered his mouth with mine. Quickly turning his face away, he said, “Stop it, I‟m not used to such things.” He seemed more like an embarrassed boy than a man at that moment. “You are too much for me, Robin. You are a fine lad, and yet you want to be petted like a girl.” “And you are afraid of being sweet with me,” I challenged him. “I am afraid of nothing,” he said, and for a moment, I feared I had angered him, but I used the moment to push him further. “Then do not be afraid of a kiss,” I said quietly. A moan rumbled low in his throat, and he shook his head as if beaten. “As you would have it. Kiss me, then.” He formed his lips into a hard pucker. With my forefinger, I rubbed them gently. “Make them soft and open your mouth for me.” Sir Ben opened his mouth, allowing me to probe with my tongue. He tasted of wine and sugar. For a long time, he lay limp and quiet while I played in his mouth with my tongue. His hand found my cock, pulling and squeezing. At last he pushed me away. “How shall I pleasure you, cock Robin?” I sat back to look into his beautiful brown eyes. I wanted him to slap my arse with his hand as hard as he could, but I would not say it. “You spilled your pleasure for me with no flogging when I caused you pain here.” Gathering my cock and balls into his big hand, he squeezed hard, making me cry out. “Can you do it again?” “Yes. Yes, sir.” I lowered my eyes, feeling naked and vulnerable now he was looking me full in the face. “Look at me,” he ordered. I met his gaze at once, though I was overcome with feelings I could not name. ”Do you like pain?” he asked. “Sometimes, Sir Ben.” My voice was breathy. I could hardly speak. “What shall I do to you?” I eased myself up from him and stood before him. Sir Ben looked down at his cock with a smile and pulled up his hose.

I quickly fell across his lap and waited. My arse was to the door, and the idea that anyone could walk in and find me so undignified only added to my arousal. Sir Ben rested his big warm hand on my buttocks and massaged them. With his open hand, he slapped me hard. “I hurt my hand on you last time. I‟ll take it slower this time.” And he did. For what seemed an interminable time, Sir Ben landed measured, hard slaps to my bottom. I became aroused very slowly, my cock rising and falling when he rested his hand for too long. “Is this good?” he asked. “Yes, sir, but could you hit harder, please? The pain is not enough.” Sir Ben increased the strength, pounding my buttocks, but I felt his heart was not in it and could not get further aroused. My frustration increased with every slap. Then, across the room, I spotted one of Master Eadward‟s willow rods standing in the corner by the window. This was the room he taught the boys in on wet days. The mere sight of it aroused me. “Sir Ben?” I whispered. He stopped at once. “You are not aroused. You lie limp across my lap, hardly moving.” Abruptly he pushed me off, and I tumbled to the floor. On my hands and knees, I crawled over to the corner. When I looked back at him, he was at the door, ready to leave, but he was watching me. “Is that what you want?” he asked. He crossed the room in long strides, snatching the rod from where it stood propped against the wall. “Stand up, boy.” I got quickly to my feet and bent at the waist with my hands pressed onto the window seat. Without pause Sir Ben let fly, thrashing my backside until pleasure pulsed through my groin. My cock rose thick and red, and I panted loudly and without shame. Pain shot through my body, making me tense my muscles, and the more I tensed, the more the pleasure was forced from my buttocks and into my cock. In a shower of white fluid, my pleasure shot forth. I cried out loudly, unable to hold back. Behind me, Sir Ben dropped the rod to the floor, and when I stood upright and turned to look at him, his eyes were narrow and hard with a question. I made to step around him to get my clothes, but he stopped me with a word. “Remain!” Looking down, I saw speckles of white on my belly but dared not flinch to wipe them off. I glanced up at him. A play of emotions ran across Sir Ben‟s handsome face so openly that I could read them as if they were numbered on vellum. The question in his eyes turned to confusion, and then recognition, and finally anger and disgust. “It was him, wasn‟t it? Chancey was your tutor in your father‟s house?” I dropped my chin against my chest, looking at the floor, avoiding Sir Ben‟s eyes. “Answer me!” “Yes, Sir Ben,” I whispered. “Did he come here on your orders?”

“No!” I looked up now. “Sir Ben, I was shocked when he showed up at your door. My father turned him out. He might have been anywhere.” “No wonder he expected you to speak for him when I punished him for thrashing the lads. And the times I saw you talking to him, what was that? Were you making secret arrangements to meet as you did in your father‟s house so he could flog you?” “No, no, Sir Ben.” I grew panicked, knowing he did not believe me. “Then why did you not tell me that he was the man who marked your backside? You let him tutor the boys, knowing his nature and that he would beat them too!” “I could not tell you,” I said quietly. “I was ashamed.” “And so you should be. I am ashamed of you!” He strode to the door and turned before he opened it. “Ashamed I let myself love you.” Naked and stunned, I watched him leave. He loved me? He had never told me he loved me. Quickly I dressed. I had to leave Benedict House. Michaelmas, which had seemed so close when I hoped I might make Sir Ben love me, now seemed too far away to wait. How could I remain in a house where I was despised by the one man whose love and respect I craved. When I opened the door into the great hall, the grooms and maids fell silent, watching me for a moment before they turned away to return to their pursuits. How much had they heard? They had seen Sir Ben leave the chamber minutes before, obviously angry. Had they heard him shout that he was ashamed of me? From the looks on their faces, they had. Feeling cowardly, I closed the door on them. Unable to walk through the great hall, I climbed out through the window into the drizzling, humid afternoon. Thoughts raced through my addled brain. I would run away and live in the hedgerows like a vagrant, begging for food from strangers until I starved to death. I would return to St. Asaph and tell the abbot that the church was the only life for me and that I loved God above all men or any one man in particular. I would return home to Holt House and marry Esme and try to be a good husband. I had no horse, but I went to the stable and began to saddle the mare I had ridden to practice the quintain. “Are you going somewhere, Lord Robin?” I looked up into Cob‟s kind face and wanted to fall on his chest and let him hold me. But it was time I acted like a man. “I‟m going home to do my duty, Cob.” “To marry a woman you cannot love?” “Yes, as all first sons of lords must do. What makes me any different? Sir Ben does not love me.” “Yes, he does,” he said. “He loves you.” We both looked at the door when Sir Nicholas walked in. “What‟s this?” he asked, looking at the horse. I continued to ready the animal, using an old saddle that did not belong to any of the men.

Cob spoke for me. “Lord Robin is leaving us. He wishes to return home to marry and inherit his father‟s lands.” “I do not wish to.” I sounded like a petulant, angry boy, but I could not help it. “Sir Ben hates me.” In a few tumbling sentences, I told them everything. “And all the time, Chancey was the man who mistreated you. He was here at Benedict House, and you did not tell Sir Ben. Why not?” Sir Nicholas asked. “Why, Robin?” Hearing him say my name so kindly and without my title made my eyes brim and my throat tighten. I wanted to bawl like a baby, but I must not. I did not. “I was ashamed that I let any man use me so badly. He was a servant, and I let him master me.” I clamped my lips shut, my words hanging in the air when I realized what I had said. “Cob, I…” But I could think of no apology. Sir Nicholas spoke for them both. “Robin, there is no shame in letting a man master you if he is a good man, a worthy man.” He slid his arm around Cob‟s waist. “Like my man here. I am not less of a man because I recognize that this blacksmith is more than just the station he was born to. Rank is made by men and observed by law, but we have the sense that God gave us to know better.” “But Master Eadward is not a good man like Cob,” I said quietly. “And yet I let him use me very ill.” “No, he wasn‟t good. He took advantage of a boy who wanted love, and he trained you all wrong.” “How do you mean?” I looked into the faces of these two older men who loved each other so much that they would willingly die for each other, and I loved them too and wanted to be just like them, though neither ranked as high as me. “I‟ll wager the first time he flogged you, you did not expect to be aroused, only hurt. But you were, and when you spent, you were surprised and ashamed.” “How did you know?” I whispered. “Because I am forty years old, and I have seen more of life than you have. He offered you love and comfort, but he kept on thrashing you, and after that you became accustomed to it until you could find release no other way.” “Then it is perverse,” I said. “It is only perverse if it is used to control a boy. It is not perverse when it is done with agreement between men who love each other. What Chancey did to you was wrong, but it is done, and he has been banished from two houses for it. You must stay and talk to Sir Ben. I will speak to him with you if you wish.” That was exactly what I wanted, yet I shook my head. “No, Sir Nicholas. He does not respect me now he knows about Chancey, and I would rather live on the memory of what I shared with him this half year and build on the skills he has taught me than live with his disdain.”

“Give him time to settle down. Sir Ben has always been a good-natured man, but he is also quick to anger and very proud.” “But his anger is like a summer storm and soon passes,” Cob said. “You did not see his face when he knew that Chancey was the man who had used me. No, I must go and face my duty to my father.” I finished saddling the horse, and when they saw my resolve, Sir Nick and Cob helped me, hugging me tightly when they saw me off.

Chapter Sixteen A full day I rode north from Benedict House until I reached the village of Birkenhead on the banks of the River Mersey. The Benedictine monks ferried passengers across into the port of Liverpool. Because the ferry took only people and baggage, the monks took my mare in exchange for my fare. The small amount of money I had carried with me was barely enough to feed me on my journey, and having no money left to buy another mount, at Liverpool I walked south to Mossley Hill and to my father‟s estate. Holt land encompassed the villages of Allerton, Speke, Woolton, and Mossley Hill and all the surrounding forests, so I was home long before I reached Holt House. I entered the great hall late in the night, disheveled and hungry. No one questioned me, since I looked like a tired groom, one of many working for Lord Francis who had been laboring until nightfall on the estate. I lay down exhausted to sleep in my clothes like a servant, without even a pallet to soften the stone floor. But I could not sleep at once, the only thought in my mind being of Sir Benedict Childerley, the man I loved. The first day I had ridden hard, afraid of meeting Master Eadward on the road. I wished him dead, but I knew also that had I seen him, hungry and destitute, I would have given him what coin I had. Sir Ben would never turn away a beggar and neither would I. By the grace of God, I did not see him, but I did see Lord Giles Childerley, drunk and rowdy outside a tavern in the Rows, as I rode through the town of Chester. “Lord Robin Holt!” he shouted. He was a man who liked the admiration of a crowd even if they were only rough and drunken men-at-arms from his father‟s house. “Where are you going?” “Home,” I had said, unsure why I spoke at all. “My brother is no longer a good enough bedmate for you, then?” His comment drew raucous laughter from his followers. “He is a back-door merchant who has no right to use my father‟s name.” “Sir Benedict Childerley is more a man than you will ever be,” I shouted. One of the men ran out into the street, his sword drawn. I kicked my horse into a gallop, wanting no more to do with them, and left Chester as quickly as I could. We never know the exact moment when we fall asleep, but I slept at some point, and when I awoke, everyone was up and my father was standing over me. “Robin, when did you come? Why are you sleeping with the servants? And where is Sir Benedict?” Stiff and still tired, I got to my feet. “He sent me on home,” I lied. “He says he has nothing more to teach me.” “With no escort?” “I am a man. I need no escort.” Wary for a moment, he looked me up and down. “Aye, well,” he mumbled. “He has done his job skillfully, and I am glad of it. You must come to the solar to meet Esme and say good day to your mother.” With his forefinger, he flicked at my filthy clothes. “But

first you must wash and make yourself respectable. It is still warm enough to bathe in the stream. Go and make yourself handsome for your bride. I‟ll send a groom out with clean clothes for you.” He laughed, but it was guarded, as if he was still afraid to see me as a man, not trusting that I had improved, and indeed, I did not know if I had.

**** My father rarely entered the solar after he left it each morning. But my mother and her ladies often remained there much of the day. On this fine day, the windows were thrown open, allowing a breeze to bring the scent of late blooms in from the rose gardens below. Though there were four ladies present, I knew at once that it was Esme who rose to her feet when I walked in. When my mother saw me, she got up quickly with her arms out. “Robin!” Until that moment, I had not realized how much I missed her. I crossed the large chamber at a run and pulled her into my arms. She hugged me back and then held me at arm‟s length. “You are taller.” “Mother, I have been gone but half a year. I doubt I am any taller than when I left.” “No, you are taller,” she said again, her insistence making me smile. “Something is different, and I think it must be that you have grown.” “If you say so, Mother, then I will not argue with you.” “You carry yourself taller,” she said at last. “Your walk is more…what is the word…bold. You seem bolder, Robin.” I laughed and hugged her again. “You have only seen me run across the chamber.” When Esme came to stand beside her, my mother released me. “Your cousin, Esme,” she said. “Esme, this is my son, Lord Robin Holt.” I looked into the brown doelike eyes of the rosy-cheeked young girl. She looked like a child, thin and nervous, but she was unquestionably pretty. Curtsying almost to the ground, she paused before rising elegantly, and though she was nothing more than a young girl, I saw that someone had taught her well. All her movements were sure and practiced, and when she spoke, her English was beautiful. “My Lord Robin.” “My Lady Esme.” I bowed. “I am embroidering an altar cloth for our wedding,” she told me. “I am sure it will be beautiful,” I said. An older woman took her elbow, and she went back to take her seat by the window and pick up her embroidery again. “Mother, how many ladies did she bring?” “Only two who will remain after the wedding, thank God.” Mother smiled. “But the hall at Speke is large. You need not worry about fitting them all in.” “I am to have Speke Hall? I thought my father was going to sell it Sir Roscelin Branton.”

“He was, but that man has grown arrogant, and Lord Francis has decided an alliance with him would be a mistake. Your father never tells me anything, of course. I only hear snippets at the supper table. But Speke Hall will be yours now. Come, Robin.” We left the solar and walked to the long gallery where the family portraits were hung. “The Ste-Claires arrived in May with their daughter,” Mother said quietly. “And a good half of their large family accompanied them. They have been living in the west wing ever since, at least twenty of them. You will meet them all at supper.” “I‟m sorry, Mother. I should have been here sooner.” “Lord Francis told me about Sir Benedict and how accomplished you have become at the knightly arts.” “I am not accomplished, but I am better,” I said. Mother stopped in front of me and took both my hands in hers. I had forgotten how small she was, and I looked down at her, feeling such warmth and protectiveness. My father had never abused her, but neither did he truly respect her. “Lord Giles Childerley came here and told Sir Francis that you were sharing Sir Benedict‟s bed,” she whispered. “But your father told me he saw the man flirting with a servant girl and believes none of it. He told me only because I pressed him for details about you.” “Lord Giles is a drunkard. He does no work but lives off his father. Sir Benedict is a true knight.” “Was there more between you and Sir Benedict than knight and squire?” she persisted. I released her hands and walked to the tall window to survey the extensive gardens with their box hedges and fountains. “Yes, but it is over. He found out about Master Eadward, and he was angry that I had allowed such a man to use me.” Coming up beside me, she asked, “Why did you, my dear?” It came out as a whisper because I was ashamed to say the words out loud, acknowledging how I had been duped. “He said he loved me, and I wanted to be loved.” “Oh Robin. I love you.” Hugging my arm, she leaned her head against my shoulder. “I was sorry about the way you left, but it seems to have been the best course you could have taken. Meeting Sir Benedict was fortuitous for you. Now you are back and ready to do your duty, are you not?” “Yes, I am ready,” I said, though I was not, not at all. “I am better for knowing Sir Ben. Everyone is. He is a good man and a good master.” “I shall look forward to meeting him at the wedding.” My heart nearly stopped at her words. “Mother, he cannot come to my wedding. I don‟t want him here.” I could not bear to think of him here at Holt House while I married and then bedded a woman. Or tried to bed her, because that was a thing I doubted I could undertake. “Your father knows nothing of the nature of your union with Sir Benedict and must not. He is very happy with him, though he is of low rank. The invitation has already been

sent. All the invitations went out after Lord Francis returned, and the date was set for Michaelmas. ” My heart sinking, I walked with her back to the solar and played a game of cards with Esme, deciding to allow her to win, but she won without my help. “I‟m sorry, Lord Robin,” she said when she played the winning heart. “Never apologize for winning, my lady,” I said. Later that evening as we sat at table in the great hall, I tried to do little services for Esme, and it seemed to make her and everyone who observed us happy. I was used to serving Sir Ben, and I missed carving his meat and pouring his wine. It felt strange and unnatural to be paying court to a woman. But I was going to marry her, so I might as well try to like her, and in truth there was nothing amiss in her countenance or demeanor. She was pleasant, and though barely sixteen years old, she behaved well. “Thank you, Lord Robin,” she said when I placed an apple tart on her plate beside her venison. I caught my father‟s eye along the table. The pleasure in his face made me wish my behavior was genuine and not forced. I had always desired my father‟s approval but not at any price. I did not want it at the expense of losing Sir Ben, but he was lost to me already. I dragged my attention back to my future bride, though her brown eyes reminded me of Sir Ben‟s beautiful eyes. “I can make delicious gingerbread and almond tarts. I will make some for you,” I told her. “And I know how to sugar fruits and nuts.” There was a pause during which she stared at me before looking down at her trencher. Her shoulders began to shake, and the titter which burst from her drew the attention of my parents. I met their eyes in horror. What lord would make sweets for his bride? I might as well have offered to wear a gown for her. But they had not heard the reason for her mirth, and they smiled at me before smiling at each other, assuming, I suppose, that I had developed both humor and charm as well as good fighting skills in my service to Sir Ben and had made Esme laugh on purpose. I looked out over the great hall where five times the number of people ate their meal as lived at Benedict House. The high table was longer, and the trestles below seated a higher rank of people at the top. All I wanted was to sit beside Sir Ben and listen to him joke with Sir Nicholas and Cob. Everything was different. I had never felt that I belonged at Holt House, but now, upon returning, I felt more than ever that my home was not here. After dinner there was dancing to celebrate my homecoming, but I left quickly, claiming exhaustion, and went to the bedchamber to be alone. I was not alone for long when Thomas came quietly in. Being occupied with Esme and with greeting the household, I had done nothing more than nod to my brothers. Taller and manlier than ever, Thomas said, “I‟m glad you are home, Robin.” The room was warm, and I went to stand beside the window for air. “Are you truly?” “Yes. Esme is very pretty, don‟t you think?” He looked at his feet, his cheeks flushing a little.

“Perhaps you should marry her. I don‟t want to.” “Because she is a girl? But you told me at Benedict House that you liked women now and not men.” “I lied so that you would not betray me to father. I did not want him to force me to leave sooner than I had to. And I wanted to protect Sir Ben.” I looked directly into his eyes and spoke firmly, utterly sure of myself. “But I am a firstborn son, and duty must be done.” “Why are you like this?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “Esme is beautiful. I wish she was mine.” I shrugged. “I wish she was yours also. You would make her happier than I ever could, but I will marry her and make everyone else happy and know that my duty is done.” “I wish I was the firstborn.” “I wish I was a fifth son or a poor man‟s son.” I pulled off my tunic and kicked off my hose and boots. “I am tired. I am going to bed.” “You are an odd one, Robin,” Thomas said but kindly. “And look how your shoulders have grown broad and your muscles thick. You will never be as big as me”— he tightened his muscles through his loose white shirt—“but you look more a man than ever. And you act it too.” “I could make a man of you,” Sir Ben had told me in the prayer garden at St. Asaph, and it seemed he had.

**** I had arrived at Holt House in the first week of September, and the day of my wedding was the twenty-ninth. Each morning I would join Esme in the solar for a short while or walk with her and her ladies in the gardens. I noticed how she looked about as we walked, as if she was hoping to catch a glimpse of someone. “Do you wish to marry me, Lord Robin?” she asked one day, when her ladies had walked on ahead and we had a moment of privacy. “Of course, my lady. Why would I not?” “Do you find me pretty?” she asked. “You are very lovely,” I assured her. In the middle of September, I went late to the chapel attached to the house on the west side, and as I sat in the cool dimness, a veiled figure came to join me on the bench before the altar. Deep in contemplation and unable to see well by the light of the single candle, I thought it was my mother and took her hand. “Won‟t you kiss me, Lord Robin,” a small voice said. I turned to look fully at her and saw Esme pushing her veil back as she smiled. I released her hand as if she had burned me, my heart beginning to thud with panic. “We are not yet married.”

“Michaelmas is but two weeks away. What difference can it make?” It made no difference at all; I just wanted to put off the inevitable as long as possible. “When my brother was readying to marry last year, he spent every moment he had in pursuit of private interludes with his future bride. He could not wait, but you seem willing to wait forever. Am I not right for you?” I turned sideways on the bench to look fully at her. “Esme, you are perfect,” I said honestly. And she was perfect for someone. Just not for me. “You have the softest, brownest eyes and lovely hair.” “Kiss me, my lord, and see if you like it. I followed you here quite deliberately, since we have never been alone together. I chewed a mint leaf on the way.” A little laugh escaped me. Momentarily offended, she poked me in the ribs and then laughed with me. “Do I have sour breath? Is that why you have never tried to kiss me?” “No, you do not,” I assured her. There was nothing offensive about the girl at all, so I might as well try as not. Placing my hand carefully on her shoulder, I leaned forward until my lips touched hers. Esme grabbed my face in both her hands and held me still, kissing me thoroughly and passionately until she sat back gasping and bright-eyed. The flickering candle on the altar drew my gaze. I had felt nothing. Not a twinge in my groin, not an increase in my heartbeat. I might just as well have kissed a statue. I simply could not be attracted to Esme, as young and pretty as she was, as sweet and minty as her breath smelled, as willing and giving as she may be. Her one fault would always be that she was not a man. She was not Sir Ben. I would spend the rest of my life married to her, neglecting her until she took a lover, and seeing Sir Ben in other men‟s faces. “Thomas spoke true,” she said. “You prefer men.” Angry, though I was not sure why, I said, “Thomas should keep his mouth closed.” “He loves me,” she whispered. “And I love him.” Two days later, I saw Esme and my brother in the long gallery after supper, and they were kissing. He lifted the hem of her gown to thrust his hand between her thighs, and her gasping and moaning reminded me of myself when Sir Ben laid his hands on me. I watched them dispassionately, neither offended nor particularly interested in their play, until I heard Thomas say, “I wish you could marry me instead of my brother.” “So do I,” she responded. “I kissed him as a test, and you are right. He was not interested in me. He must prefer men to ladies.” Boldly she pressed her hand to Thomas‟s groin, and I realized they had done this before.

**** The preparations for my farce of a wedding continued. Every noble in the northwest of England was invited except Sir Roscelin Branton. “Why did you invite Sir Benedict to my wedding, sire?” I asked my father very casually one bright cool morning as we stood out on the field watching the men of the

household practice their skills at spear, sword, and archery. “It is a long way for him to come, and he will probably do so out of politeness, but why put him to the trouble?” “Why would I not? He has done for me what no other man could do.” There was no question that my father treated me with greater respect since my return, but he was still wary of according me my status as a man worthy of his admiration. “The messenger went weeks ago. Is he himself not planning to marry soon?” Sir Francis scanned the field. “There is no rush for him, I suppose, since he will never inherit anything and has no name to pass on.” “His name is Childerley.” Anger rose up in my gut at the insult. Lord Francis shrugged. “If Lord Berard Childerley has no objection to his by-blows carrying his name, then may he father many more.” He raised his hand, waving at Master Carlisle, who had just finished instructing my brother Charles at the sword. “Carlisle! Come here.” Leaving Charles to carry on, the big man strode across the field. I had not seen or spoken to my father‟s steward of arms since my return, but my last encounter with him still burned me. “Lord Robin,” the man said, politely but not with the respect my rank demanded as son of the lord he served. “My son is much improved at the sword, Carlisle. Give him some practice,” my father said. Raising his eyebrows skeptically, he said, “As you wish, my lord.” Lord Francis gave us about twenty feet of room and stood with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting. About fifty years old, Carlisle was a huge man, both broader and taller than I and vastly experienced with all weapons. He had worked for my father all my life. “I was not expecting Lord Francis to ask me to practice. I brought no sword or breastplate,” I said. With a gesture of his arm, he indicated the pile of old weapons and discarded, worn armor used for practice. I very nearly obeyed his unspoken order and went to fetch it myself, but I stopped. “I suppose old ones will have to do. Fetch them for me.” Without wavering for a second, I held his fierce look. The air between us felt like it did when thunder was about to crash. The man was a servant, and he must obey a direct order from me. Clearly angered, Carlisle obeyed. Even if he thrashed me soundly in the sword fight, which was very likely given his skill and experience, at least he would not have won the entire battle. Carrying a breastplate and sword, he returned and threw them on the ground at my feet. I did not move, and a brief moment later, he picked up the breastplate and helped me buckle it in place. Just to show goodwill, I picked up the sword myself. The entire scene had been observed by the men on the field. Now their attention was upon us they stopped what they were doing to watch. We took our stance and began.

“If you do not know your opponent’s skill, then go after him aggressively and show him what you are made of,” Sir Ben had told me in the course of my training. Carlisle‟s skill far surpassed mine, but he was not as good as Sir Ben, and my anger had once beaten him. So without pause, I attacked as if my life depended upon it. Relentlessly I went after him, driving him back. It did not last long, and he quickly got the upper hand, making contact with my breastplate several times and forcing me back. The field was flat, well-trodden from years of use, and with no treacherous ruts to cause me to fall. My only hope was to keep going and to move faster. I was young, and Carlisle no longer was, and in the end, my vigor outlasted his. As he began to tire, I got several pokes at his armor. It clanged loudly in the still air, forcing the watching men who had moved in closer to acknowledge my skill. “Enough!” Lord Francis cried out to the relief of us both. We backed away from each other. I threw down my sword, and Carlisle sheathed his. “You have improved in your absence, Lord Robin,” the man said grudgingly. “Someone has taught you well.” Wanting everyone to hear his name, I said loudly, “I have been squire to Sir Benedict Childerley this last while. He is a skilled and noble knight.” “Childerley? He wins at tournament more often than any other man. I‟ve heard of him. His reputation precedes him,” Carlisle said. The hard look on his face proved he was still angry with me, but he bowed before excusing himself, a thing he had never done before. I walked over to my father while the men enjoying the spectacle went back to their occupations, shaking their heads in disbelief. Walking back to the house, my father said, “You are much changed, Robin. Sir Benedict has taken a sniveling boy and made of you a man who can help defend his household and who can command his underlings.” Lord Francis gripped my upper arm to still me. The cool wind whipping the clouds above our heads felt as if it was blowing away my shameful past. I met my father‟s eyes unwavering. “Yes, Lord Francis?” “I should have been a better father to you,” was all he said.

Chapter Seventeen My wedding day arrived with a gentle, warm wind, a bright blue sky, and the sun shining for all it was worth. I looked out of the window in shock, expecting the weather to reflect my mood with a gray sky and billowing storm clouds. It was the end of September, and the fine weather, which everyone had claimed as a good omen the last few days, was out of the ordinary. “It‟s not fair,” Thomas said as he watched me dress in my new scarlet tunic with gold braid along the edges. I had decided to sew it myself, though the bride had said she wanted to. I wore new black hose and beautiful new boots of buttery soft brown leather and a new brown leather belt with a copper buckle. “What‟s not fair? My fine new clothes?” I knew he was griping about Esme, whose longing looks at Thomas everyone had been commenting on. “You have new clothes also. Are they not good enough?” “You know perfectly well what I mean. Esme loves me and I her.” He crossed his arms over his chest, scowling at me. “Speak to Father. I will gladly stand aside for you.” “Don‟t be stupid!” A pewter goblet from the wine he had brought up from last night‟s revelry lay on the floor beside the bed. Thomas hurled it across the bedchamber, hitting the opposite wall. Angered by his spoiled childishness, I shouted, “God‟s teeth! Do you think I want this? I do not! I feel as if I am on a horse, out of control and running toward a cliff. Any moment I will be in the sea, floundering and drowning.” Both dread and helplessness making me weary, I trudged downstairs as though I had not slept all night, and in truth I had slept very little. The entire house was crowded and overwhelming, every corner of every room filled with guests staying for the wedding and household servants who were busier than ever. It was very early, and the pallets used by the servants and grooms of the household were still being cleared away. For days the cooks and kitchen maids had been preparing sweetmeats, cakes, and pastries. All night the house had smelled delicious as savory pies and pastries were baked and numerous whole deer were roasted. Dozens of chickens were packed into roasting pans ready to go into the huge oven. A pig had been killed the day before, and that too roasted on a spit over an open fire outside. I wandered through the kitchen, taking some bread and milk, which I always liked in the morning. I could never stand to drink ale early in the day as most of the household did. The maids looked at me and dipped quick curtsies. Only last Christmastide they had not noticed me as I stood at a table rolling marzipan into the shapes of little fruits and dyeing them bright colors for the festive board. With my bread and milk in my hand, I went outside and found my mother by the fish pond in the walled sundial garden. I offered her my cup, and she drank a little milk.

“Everyone is so different toward me now, Mother. Is it because I am to be married?” Looking me up and down in my finery, she brushed a speck of dust from my tunic. “No, it is because you walk with your shoulders back now, looking at people instead of at the ground. I heard from Charles about your swordplay with Steward Carlisle.” “I could have done better, but the sword and breastplate were not my own, and I had no warning nor practice.” “It made no matter. You impressed your father,” she said. “Did I?” I was genuinely curious to know but nothing more. A year ago, I would have risked my life to have my father say a word of approval to me. Now I hardly cared. “You are a different boy, Robin.” She smiled. “Not a boy at all anymore, but a man worthy of the name of Holt. I can hardly wait to meet this Sir Benedict.” “I wish I was marrying him.” I cared not what she said in response. “I do not want to marry Esme. She and Thomas are in love, or so it appears. He claims to love her.” “Yes, one cannot help but be privy to their longing looks and less than discreet waves, especially this last fortnight. But her parents have demanded a firstborn son. Her dowry is very large, which makes your father happy, and the Ste-Claire family wants the alliance. It is done. Accept it.” “I have accepted it. I will marry her, have no fear. But what if I cannot get her with child?” What if? I knew I could not. “When you are removed to Speke Hall and Thomas is occupied here, as Lord Francis will ensure, then you can assert yourself with her. She will want children as much as you do. It will work out.” “Mother, I do not want children,” I said. Her voice rising with impatience, she said, “No one expects you to raise them! Or Esme, for that matter. But you will produce an heir. It is the inevitable result of your marital obligations. It will all work out. Give yourself time.” I loved my mother; she was kinder to me than anyone ever had been, but even she seemed not to understand that it was impossible for me to change my nature. “I might just as well give myself time to become a great lute player or a court jester. It would take the rest of my life, and I would still do it very ill.” I kissed her lightly on the forehead and left her there. Alone I wandered across to the practice field where some of the guests had set up tents, since there was no room left in the house. The first pennant I saw was of Benedict House, fluttering in the breeze, raised up high from the main tent pole. My heart pounded sickeningly. I wanted to see Sir Ben, and yet I was afraid to. Had he come to see me married because he wanted an alliance with my father? Or had he come because he missed me? Did it even matter? In a few days, he would ride away, and I would go to live at Speke Hall with Esme. I was still gazing up at Sir Ben‟s pennant when I was pulled into a bear hug, squeezed until I could not breathe and then passed to another man, who not only hugged

me but kissed me also. When they released me, they stood side by side, Sir Nick and Cob, smiling benevolently at me. I wanted to fall into their arms again and remain there leaning against the solid wall of their presence. “Less than one month without you and I have missed you both so much,” I said. “We have missed you,” Cob said. “And he acts as if he is in mourning.” He nodded at the tent where I assumed Sir Ben was. “He hates me, or he hates what I did with Chancey and not telling him that the man was under his roof all those weeks.” With their arms slung around my shoulders, the two men walked me away from the tents to the edge of the field, where we threw ourselves down under a tree away from the bustle of activity on the field and the comings and goings from the house. “How old were you when this unholy union began between you and that man?” Cob asked. “Fifteen years,” I said. Sir Nicholas rubbed my shoulder with his big meaty hand. “You were a lad, not a man. He ought to have been ashamed taking advantage of you like that.” “Aye, hearing that, I‟m glad Sir Ben thrashed him,” Cob joined in. “That man trained you to spend only when you are whipped, and that gave him control over you,” Sir Nicholas said. “He offered a lonely boy love, or what you mistook for love, in return for his own pleasure and what he hoped would be the safekeeping of his future.” Cob nodded in agreement with his man. “Is that why he came to Benedict House, to draw you in again?” “No. Chancey‟s arrival there was merely a twist of fate. But once he saw me, he tried to threaten me again. I knew he was beating the boys, and I told them to tell Sir Ben, but I should have told him myself. It was cowardice on my part. I did not want him to find out about my past connection to Chancey.” “But why not?” Cob asked. “I was ashamed.” I hung my head, unable to look at them. “He used me like a whore, and I allowed it year after year.” Fighting back tears, I told them in whispered breaths of my first moments of intimacy with Master Eadward and how at first I had longed for his touch and was later repulsed by it. “For the love of God, Robin, you were a boy! How could you say no to a man who whispered endearments and threats to a lonely child until he had you bound to him? I‟ll wager he offered love with one hand and punishment with the other until you did not know what was up and what was down,” Sir Nick said, rubbing my shoulder hard. “That is true, but no one else understands, Sir Nicholas.” With the heels of my hands, I dashed away the few tears I had been unable to stop. “I did not really understand it myself, but now you explain it, I see it. Will Sir Ben understand? Not that it matters anymore.”

“Whether he likes to admit it or not, Ben Childerley is also still a boy in many ways,” Sir Nicholas said. “And an angry boy at times. He wants to be cock of the walk everywhere he goes. I told you he took it ill when your father came to the house with more men than Benedict House could muster in a month. Then he discovers that a man you once loved was under his roof and thrashing his dependents.” “But truly, I never loved Chancey as I love Sir Ben. I did not know what true love was. I know now, though, since meeting Sir Benedict.” “And now you must marry,” Cob said sadly. “And live a life you do not want and pretend to enjoy it.” “Benedict House is a sanctuary for us. I wish it could be one for you too, Lord Robin,” Sir Nicholas said. Smiling now, he glanced over his shoulder at Holt House. “I had no idea how rich you were. One day Sir Ben wants a house of this great size and opulence. And I‟ve no doubt he‟ll have it.” “I am to live at Speke Hall, thirteen miles to the south, until I inherit, which I hope will be many years away. I hold no ill will toward my father and would not wish him dead. But there is a man in Speke Village who aspires to greater things than he has earned. He wanted to buy the hall from my father, but my father refused him, seeing him as a threat. I have some worries about him living so close to me.” “Your father will supply you with men-at-arms enough. Have no worries on that score. Who is he?” “Sir Roscelin Branton,” I said. “That knave!” Sir Nicholas burst out. “He is naught but a cur and a liar. He has never been knighted and calls himself Sir anyway. He has lost to Sir Benedict many a time and never beaten him. The man is nothing but a coward. Do not worry about him.” From a distance, I saw Charles running across the field toward me. “Robin, you must come. The procession to the chapel is assembling. Esme is waiting in the great hall with her women.” We all three rose. “Yes, I will come, Charles, and do my duty to Holt House and Lord Francis.” I put my arm around my younger brother‟s shoulders. “Meet Sir Nicholas and Corbin. They are Sir Benedict‟s men.” Charles looked hopefully at them. “Will Sir Benedict take me to serve in his household do you think, good sirs? I have already asked my father to ask him.” He glanced at me. “Robin is so changed after living there. He is like a different person. Everyone is saying so. I should like to serve a knight who can make miracles happen.” I did not know whether to laugh or cuff my younger brother soundly across the ear. “If it took a miracle to make me into a man, then Sir Ben was indeed my miracle maker.” To Sir Nick and Cob, I said, “I will see you both at the feast.” With Charles by my side, I walked across the practice field and then the wide lawn in front of Holt House, feeling better for having spoken to Sir Nicholas and Cob but still no more resigned to my fate than before. From where we were, I saw that the big double

doors had been thrown open, and inside the great hall, the procession to the chapel was forming. “She‟s wearing pale blue,” Charles said, and he chuckled. Esme, with her women behind her, waited for me all decked out in her wedding gown and veil. In her hand, she carried the garland of roses and rosemary that I would place on her head after we were pronounced man and wife. “Why is that funny?” I asked. “It is traditional for a bride to wear virgin blue on her wedding day.” “She‟s no virgin,” Charles whispered, though there was no one within earshot. “I saw her and Thomas in a dark corner of the gallery just yesterday. He was on top of her, and she was not fighting him off. She was laughing.” “Let‟s hope she is with child,” I said. “That will save me the trouble, and everyone will think it is mine and be happy. Come, Charles, let us go into the chapel ready for when she comes.”

**** The family chapel was small, so only immediate family and honored guests could view the nuptials. Everyone else would wait outside ready to cheer as we came out hand in hand. The chapel was joined to the house by a door to the right of the altar that led to a passage along the outside wall of the house. The interior was no more than twelve by fifteen feet. A narrow central aisle led up to the stone altar, covered for the occasion by the beautiful embroidered altar cloth Esme had sewn. Rows of benches stood on either side of the aisle. My family sat on the right and Esme‟s on the left, with other important guests crowded along the walls. The priest, when he entered, looked more nervous than I did; his eyes kept darting about the small chapel as if he wanted to speak but did not dare. In the doorway, ready to walk the short distance up the aisle, Esme stood with her women. At the altar, I waited until she joined me and then looked at her to see how she was faring. “Lord Robin,” she said under her breath. “I guessed when you stayed away from Holt House after my arrival that you did not want this match, but here we are, and we had better make the best of it.” “I am more than happy to marry you, Esme,” I said. “Then why do you look as if you are about to go to the gallows?” With a sigh, I looked past her, and there he stood. Against the wall on my family‟s side of the chapel was Sir Benedict. My heart filled with love, and I wanted to cry out for him to save me. For so short a time I had been his, and now he hated me. There was no expression on his handsome face, just his beautiful brown eyes looking into mine with no recognition, as if we were strangers. He wore the blue velvet tunic with the silver braid that I had sewn with such love and care while at Benedict House. He looked so handsome, I would have swooned were I seeing him for

the first time. Why had he worn the tunic I had fashioned for him if he did not care for me? Perhaps only because it was the finest he had. The chapel doors closed with a loud thud, as if a sudden strong gust of wind had blown them shut, sealing my fate and my future. Everyone was looking at Father Claude, who stood behind the altar, swallowing hard but saying nothing. A word broke at last from his lips. “Treachery!” One instant all was still, the gravity of the moment settling upon the assemblage. The next there was chaos. Ladies began to scream and men to shout. Two strangers with swords drawn had shut and barred the chapel doors. The door from the house opened, letting in a stream of armed men who immediately began to attack. In the lead, dressed in black, Roscelin Branton ran straight for my father. We were trapped in a small space and taken unawares. The men unsheathed their swords as soon as they realized what was happening. I grabbed Esme by the hand and dragged her behind the altar, forcing her to crouch down and crawl underneath where she was hidden by the draped altar cloth. “Stay there and do not move. I will return for you,” I said. Suddenly everyone fell silent. Roscelin Branton had my father up against the wall, his sword tip at his throat. Sir Ben had placed my mother and sisters behind him, defending them with his sword extended, but no one dared move with Lord Francis‟s life in the balance. Though my gaze was riveted upon my father and his enemy, I saw from the corner of my eye several men on both sides already dead or wounded. “If anyone moves, Lord Francis will die!” Roscelin Branton said into the heavy air. The look on my father‟s face was one of pure rage. “I will hunt you down like a fox, Branton,” he said through his teeth. “Or my sons will do the deed if you kill me, but you will not rest another day in England.” Looking as angry as Lord Francis, Branton said, “I care not. I have more men outside waiting in your forest. You and the bride will come with us. When a suitable ransom from both your families is paid, I will let you go. I plan to leave England and go to France with at least half your wealth.” “So you can lose tournaments there as well as in England?” Sir Ben‟s voice rang out scathingly. “Sir Roscelin Branton, who was never knighted at all and who is nothing but an outlaw.” “Guard him,” Branton said to one of his men, who took his place with his sword tip at my father‟s throat. Branton turned, sword extended to confront Sir Ben. “Sir Benedict Childerley, a bastard son and a back door merchant. What are you doing in such esteemed company?” If I did not know Sir Ben as intimately as I did, I would not have spotted the anger surging up within him at the words. But I did know him, and the subtle hardening of his

jaw and the flexing of his shoulder muscles screamed out to me. He was going to kill Branton for those words alone, and since we were so wholly outnumbered, I feared I would see the man I loved die before the sun went down. “I am a bastard son,” he said, “though my Lord Mossley thought well enough of me to invite me here. And as his guest, I will defend his house.” Branton sneered. “This is not the tournament field, Childerley. You are all outnumbered, and if you are sensible, you can join my ranks and help me get my hostages away from here alive.” “I‟ll kill you first like the dog you are before I will help you,” Sir Benedict told him. “Oh, so loud and manly with a sword in your hand,” Branton said. “The ladies may be fooled by your handsome smiles and winks, but no one who knows you has ever actually seen you with a woman.” “You question my manhood?” Sir Ben asked, in a bantering tone. “Let us go outside where no one will be harmed and fight this out like men, just you and I.” There was not a sound in the chapel as we waited with bated breath. “No, that will not happen,” Branton stated. “My plan is set. I will not change it.” “I have beaten you soundly at the sword many a time, and you have never once known victory over me. Is that not right, Branton?” “You will call me Sir Roscelin,” the man said, growing angrier still at the exchange. Sir Ben had distracted him for a time, setting him off course, but he was focused again. “And I will have you put your sword down now, Childerley, or my man will stick the tip of his into Lord Mossley‟s throat, and I‟ll take his firstborn son for ransom instead. Put your sword on the floor.” When Sir Ben did not move, Branton screamed, “Now!” All eyes were on Sir Ben. Ordering a knight to lay down his sword was tantamount to ordering him to cut off his sword arm or lay his honor on the floor and trample upon it. I watched as his gaze darted at my father, whose eyes bulged, his face scarlet with anger. I feared he might die from a heart seizure before the tip of a sword pierced his throat. Sir Ben laid his sword on the ground, and one of Branton‟s men picked it up and held him at bay with it. Unarmed, Sir Benedict looked helpless and vulnerable. I was terrified for him and terrified of what his anger might make him do. If the man I loved died in such an ignominious fashion as to be run through at my wedding, I would not rest until I restored honor to his name. The stillness that had settled with the threat to my father‟s life remained as Branton turned his back on Sir Ben and focused again on Lord Francis. “Every man here who is not loyal to me will put his sword in the aisle. Do it now.” Only a few of the guests had entered the church armed. Unsure what else to do, I relinquished my own weapon, which was more ceremonial than anything, a decorated piece of nonsense, but it was sharp. Wedding celebrations and weapons did not go hand

in hand, and no one could have guessed that a threat would creep so insidiously into the chapel. Roscelin Branton pushed aside his man and took his place with his sword at my father‟s throat once more. “You refused me Speke Hall after promising to sell it to me and make an alliance with my army.” “You have no army, only a band of mercenaries who would give their allegiance to the highest bidder,” Lord Francis said. A flick of Branton‟s sword caused a thick trickle of blood to run down my father‟s throat. My mother screamed. A small movement from Sir Ben caught my eye. With a stealthy hand, he was reaching down until he came into contact with his high boot. The instant the slender dagger was in his hand, it was flying through the air with a frightening hiss. Branton wore a breastplate and backplate and helmet, but no gorget to protect his throat. To get a knife in the exact center of the back of the neck without hitting the helmet or breastplate was a thing only a man as practiced as Sir Benedict could achieve. Branton released a strange gurgling cry, more shock than pain. The wedding guests gasped while every eye in the chapel watched. Before Branton hit the floor, Sir Ben had lunged at one of the men guarding the door. Shocked to see his leader on the ground, the man was unready for Sir Ben, who disarmed him and ran him through. He unbarred the doors and flung them open shouting, “We are under attack!” Men flooded into the chapel. Mayhem ensued once more as the ladies ran out into the bright morning, screaming and crying. “Mother, run!” I pushed her toward the door, my sisters trailing behind her, and snatched up my sword, fighting my way through to the altar. Esme still crouched, shaking and crying where I had left her. I pulled her to her feet and held her behind my back, my sword at the ready. The narrow door where the traitors had entered remained open, and I looked and saw that no more men hid there. Pulling Esme through, I closed the door on the chapel. “Run through to the great hall and find your women,” I told her. “Hurry.” Her veil flying behind her, she ran. Just as I turned to return to the chapel, I saw him, hiding in a recess along the stone passage. Master Eadward. “You!” I shouted. “You let Branton‟s men in and showed them how to get into the chapel through the side of the house.” Like the coward he was, he neither moved nor spoke. “Get up, Chancey,” I screamed, anger raging through me. Slowly he got up, his back against the wall. “Robin, I only did it to bring you back to me. You do not want to marry that girl. I helped Branton in order to save you.” “No, you did not.” I approached him until my sword tip was centered on his heart. “You are a self-serving liar. You abuse the kindness of everyone who offers you any.” “Robin, you love me.” His gaze moved back and forth between my sword tip and my face. “Remember how you loved me from that first day when I flogged you? Remember how you felt that day and show me mercy.”

Old memories reared up at his bidding, and for a moment, I was immersed in the gratitude I had felt that day when he had said he would not tell my father how I had behaved. I was awash in the desperate childish love I had felt for him. “No,” I said on a long breath, forcing the feeling from my heart. This treacherous man deserved to be punished for all he had done. “Move!” With the tip of my sword, I directed him back along the passage and into the chapel to find the battle all but over. Roscelin Branton‟s men were dead, scattered about the chapel, the floor slippery with their blood. Tended by Thomas, my father leaned against the wall, his face red, his chest heaving, “Here is the real traitor!” I cried, forcing Master Eadward into the bloodied aisle. “Master Eadward Chancey led Roscelin Branton‟s rogues in here. He showed them how to enter the house secretly and to get into the chapel through the priest‟s passage.” “They made me!” he screamed, hands raised in defeat, eyes wide with terror. My father pushed himself away from the wall and came to stand beside Sir Benedict, who was flanked by Sir Nicholas and Cob. Men filled the chapel, some dragging out the bodies of the dead. “You brought these men into my house on my son‟s wedding day, Chancey? After I threw you out last winter?” Panting, barely able to speak, terror in his beautiful gray eyes such as I had never seen, Master Eadward said, “I went to Roscelin Branton‟s house asking for work. I was destitute. He found out I had worked at Holt House and demanded I help him form a plan to attack and take hostages for ransom. He would have killed me. I had no choice.” “You are scoundrel, Chancey!” Lord Francis bellowed. “How many of Branton‟s men are hidden in my forest?” “None,” Master Eadward said. “He had only a very small army, twenty men at most. I did not help him by choice. I remained loyal to this house even after I was banished.” Master Carlisle entered the chapel then, skidding on the blood. “There is no threat in the forest or anywhere about the house, my lord,” he said and stopped short when he saw Master Eadward. “This matter is over,” my father told him. “Or it will be very soon.” The hatred in my father‟s face for Master Eadward nearly matched what I felt in my heart. Lord Francis reached for his sword, but he was not wearing one. “I‟ll kill you for what you have wrought upon this household.” “Here take my sword, my lord,” Sir Nicholas said, as genially as if he were offering him a cup of wine. “That man wormed his way into Benedict House also and took advantage of Sir Ben‟s kindness. I‟d be happy to see him off myself if your strength has left you.” “I think the pleasure of killing him should be my son‟s.” Lord Francis looked at me. “Dispatch him, Robin. He used you ill. I see that now. You were just a lad.”

“Robin, please!” Master Eadward begged. “Speak for me. Remember the love we shared.” “I will neither speak for you nor kill you.” I slid my sword into its sheath. “I do not love you and never loved you truly. I was afraid of you.” They could think me a coward if they wished, but I could not kill Master Eadward. “Then the honor shall be mine.” With Sir Nicholas‟s sword drawn back, my father thrust hard into Master Eadward‟s belly. His mouth wide with surprise, Eadward Chancey looked into my eyes one last time. My father pulled out the sword, and when Master Eadward stumbled to his knees, my father raised the weapon again and, in one swift movement, brought it down across the back of Master Eadward‟s neck, decapitating him. We all watched in silence while his blood mingled with the blood of the other traitors.

Chapter Eighteen The great hall was festooned with Michaelmas daisies and garlands of rosemary and ivy for the wedding feast. On the dais where the high table should be, only the chairs were lined up. My father, calm now and in command, a cup of wine in his hand, sat in his big chair. To one side of him sat my mother on a smaller chair. On his other side were Esme‟s parents. Nervous and whispering to each other, Esme and my three sisters sat on the edge of the dais in front of them. I stood off to the side with Thomas and Charles, waiting for my father to speak. The wedding guests, my father‟s men-at-arms, and the servants—two hundred and fifty people or more—milled about the great hall in expectation. Outside the open double doors, the people from the villages on Holt land who had come for their share of the celebration now waited like everyone else in shock and dismay at the attack. Though I could not hear them speak, I saw my father consulting with Hugues SteClaire. When he was ready, Lord Francis raised his hand. The crowd fell silent, waiting for their lord to make sense of the events of the morning. “I had an enemy in my house this day, and I did not see the snake until he had us trapped.” Like a father telling a story to his children, Lord Francis recounted the tale of the happenings in the chapel. The crowd hung on his every word, whispering the story to those behind until it traveled outside to the villagers on the lawn. Not once did he use Sir Ben‟s name until the very end of the story. “This man challenged Branton, was forced to give up his sword in order to save my life, and when we thought all was lost, he drew a dagger from his boot and flung it with the accuracy of William Tell shooting an apple from his son‟s head!” The assembly gasped. “And who is this man?” My father‟s voice carried to the timbered ceiling. “A stranger to this house! A man unknown to me until a few months ago when he took my son Robin into his household as his squire. That man is Sir Benedict Childerley of Benedict House near Chester. Come forward!” The crowd parted like the story of the Red Sea from the Bible, silent until Sir Ben stood before them, tall and handsome, looking like a prince in his knee-length blue tunic. My father got down from the dais to embrace him. The cheering and stamping of feet was deafening. At length the crowd settled, and my father returned to his chair. “Sir Benedict Childerley. You have the loyalty of Holt House for the rest of your days and your sons after you. Though many miles stand between our houses, should you ever call upon Holt House for help I will send men to your aid.”

“And I will do the same for you, my Lord Mossley,” Sir Ben replied graciously, though we knew he had few enough men to protect his own manor and would have no sons at all. “I thank you for that, Sir Benedict. You saved my life and the lives of everyone in the chapel, my sons, the Ste-Claires, and their lovely daughter.” “And Lord Robin saved me,” Esme‟s small voice piped up. I looked at her in surprise, unaware that I had done very much at all, especially compared to Sir Ben. “What happened, child? Tell your story,” Lord Francis urged her. Though her cheeks grew pink, Esme‟s eyes were bright, and she rose, the better to be heard. I suspect she enjoyed being the center of attention. With both her pretty hands, she pushed back her virgin blue veil to reveal her long golden brown hair. A small ahhh circled the room at the gesture. “The very moment the enemy entered the chapel through the house door, Lord Robin protected me with his body and hid me under the altar. I remained there until Sir Benedict had killed Sir Roscelin and had the chapel doors open. The fighting began again in earnest, and so Lord Robin took me out from under the altar and once again protected me with his body and his sword while he led me away from danger.” While I thought she exaggerated slightly, I was thrilled to be acknowledged for bravery, especially in front of Sir Ben and Lord Francis, though in truth it was Sir Ben my gaze rested upon and his expression I studied, hoping for approval. My heart soared when Sir Ben said, “Lord Robin proved himself brave and honest in my service. Did he not, Sir Nicholas?” Sir Nicholas pushed his way to the front with Cob at his side. “He did, Sir Benedict. It is no surprise to me that he came to the aid of a lady in distress. I would expect no less from him.” Now they were really painting a portrait of me with added color. Still, I drank it all in, thirsty for recognition. Lord Francis stood again, raising his hand for silence. “The day has grown long, and everyone is hungry. My men will carry the trestles outside and set them up on the lawn. The kitchen maids and grooms will carry the food outside. We will feast first, and the wedding will take place this evening, after the chapel is cleaned.” A great cheer rose, and the crowd began to move outside, anxious to eat. It was midafternoon, and no one had broken fast yet, anticipating the feast much earlier. “Remain, Sir Benedict,” Lord Francis told him. “And your good friends. These two men were first into the chapel when you called for assistance. I saw them come running at your command, swords at the ready.” Thomas patted my shoulder, clearly impressed with me, and Charles had not stopped grinning during the entire proceedings, though he had been in tears in the chapel. But I could not take my eyes from Sir Ben. “Sir Benedict, you are a fine and admirable man,” Lord Francis said.

“He is, and I too offer the support and hospitality of my house should you ever come to France,” Hugues Ste-Claire said. Sir Ben offered both men an elegant bow. “You may ask a boon,” Lord Francis said. “What will you have Sir Benedict? Horses? Men to help build onto your house? I will supply timber to make your fine house grander still. A house worthy of a man like you. What about my youngest daughter, Hilda? She is but twelve years old. In three years she will make you a beautiful and noble wife.” I glanced at Hilda, who blushed furiously at being offered so casually to a handsome man. “I thank you, my lord,” Sir Benedict said. “But I think another man might suit your daughter better.” “Then what will you have? I owe you my life. Whatever I have is yours, Sir Benedict.” There followed a long pause during which Sir Benedict looked unwaveringly at my father before saying in a loud, steady voice, “I want your son.” Absolute stillness followed his words. I watched as confusion passed over the faces of Lord Francis and Hugues Ste-Claire, and apprehension over my mother‟s. She knew exactly what Sir Ben meant. Charles‟s eyes grew wide with hope. He had spoken several times, even before the heroics in the chapel, about wanting to squire for Sir Ben. My father obviously had the same thought. “You wish to take Charles as your squire?” “I will happily take Charles as my squire if you wish. I will train him into a knight you will be proud of,” Sir Ben said. “My lord, a word in your ear if I may.” My father got down from the dais and stepped aside with Sir Ben. I followed them with Sir Nick at my side. My mother joined us without invitation. She knew exactly what was going on. With the others out of earshot, Sir Ben continued, “I meant Lord Robin. I want your son Robin. I love him.” The emotions that rocked my body in that instant almost knocked me to the ground. Sir Ben loved me, and he claimed me publicly. There were no denials from him, no pretense. Just noble and knightly love declared openly before my father. But I was also afraid. Sir Ben was telling him that Lord Giles had spoken true when he came to Holt House telling Lord Francis that I shared Sir Ben‟s bed. Instead of growing red with anger, my father paled visibly. Lord Francis looked at Sir Ben, saying, “Sir Benedict, Lord Robin is to marry the Ste- Claire daughter. You must get another squire. Charles is more than willing.” By now my father knew exactly what Sir Ben meant. I could see it in his eyes. “I do not want Lord Robin as my squire. I think you know that, my lord. I want him as my companion. It is all I ask of you.” Sir Nicholas blew out a long breath. “Sir Ben, I think this could be a mistake,” he said quietly.

“There is no mistake, Nick,” Sir Ben said. I could not tear my gaze from his face. The royal blue tunic looked so well on him. He was tall and brave, and he wanted me despite what he knew of me. It was time I was as brave as Sir Ben. “Father, Thomas loves Esme. And she may already be carrying his child.” A gasp from my mother followed my words. “Mother, you know it is true.” To my father I said, “Let Thomas marry Esme. Let me go with Sir Ben.” “The agreement has been made. I cannot go back on it,” Lord Francis said. “Be sensible, Sir Benedict. I am rich. What would you like in return for your service to me?” “It was my pleasure and my duty to defend you, Lord Mossley. I am a guest in your home. I want Robin. If I cannot have him, I will accept your hospitality but nothing more.” Plainly confused that anyone would refuse a gift of gratitude from a rich man, my father watched Sir Ben closely as if he thought he might break into laughter and claim the whole speech as a jest. When Sir Ben‟s face remained set and serious, he shook his head, looking first at my mother and then at Ste-Claire. “Robin is betrothed. I can do nothing.” With all the command I could rally, I spoke. “I relinquish my rights as your firstborn son. I give up my inheritance in favor of Thomas. Release me from my betrothal.” Sir Benedict turned to face me and placed his hand on my shoulder. “You would give up all this for me? This wealth, this grand mansion, hundreds of men at your service? You would give it all up to live with me?” Looking up into his eyes, I said, “I would give up my very life for you, Sir Benedict. I love you.” “This is enough,” Lord Francis blustered, red-faced and embarrassed by our declarations. “You cannot give up your rights, Robin.” Usually my mother kept her mouth firmly shut when men were at business. And marriage was a business like any other. “Why not?” she asked my father quietly. “Why should Robin marry Esme and both of them be miserable, when she could have Thomas and Robin have Sir Benedict? No one will lose their rank. Robin will keep his title, but he will never be Lord Mossley. Thomas will one day be Lord Mossley and master of this house. Why not allow Esme to have a willing husband?” She looked directly into my eyes. “And let Robin have his happiness.” Exasperation making him sweat and fumble, Lord Francis glanced again at SteClaire. “Let me speak to Hugues.” He called his cousin over and spoke quietly to him, saying only that I was not finished with my training and was not yet ready to be a husband. And since Thomas and Esme were already bound by love, why not let them marry. “It will all be written down. Thomas will inherit. What do you say?” “I want it written down and witnessed before the nuptials. Get your scribe and have it done now. Esme can marry Thomas when the document is signed.”

With a look of relief so comical he might have been an actor in a farce, Lord Francis said, “There, Sir Benedict, it is settled. You can take Robin home with you. Take Charles as well. Train him and make a man of him. You worked a wonder with Robin. Charles should be easy for you.” In a loud voice, my father told the company the news, adding, “But say nothing yet. I will announce it after the feast.” The cries following that statement were far more joyous than any other that day. Charles clapped his hands with joy and ran off to boast to his friends. Thomas and Esme threw themselves at each other before hurrying away, Esme declaring she was so hungry that it was likely she was indeed with child. Cob slapped his round belly with both his big hands. “I don‟t know about that little girl, but I could eat an entire stag.” “Come along, Cob.” Sir Nicholas said. “You can seat yourself on the grass, and I‟ll bring you some food.” “No, you will all have places of honor,” my father proclaimed, “at the high table. But please.” He looked at Sir Ben and me. “Let us be circumspect.” “It is our way of life,” Sir Benedict told him. My parents and the Ste-Claires looked at us with bewilderment and then headed outside. I was left alone in the great hall with Sir Benedict as several grooms entered to carry out the chairs from the dais. But there was something I must do before we joined the party. “Come with me, Sir Ben, I want to show you something.” I took his hand, and he followed me out of the great hall and through the house, farther and farther from the noise of the festivities, until I led him into the silent chamber where Master Eadward had first bound me to him. As a boy, I had entered this room with both dread and excitement, never knowing what game Master Eadward would play with me that day. Now that he was dead and I had a future that excited me, this room seemed only hollow and lifeless. My fear had fled. I drew Sir Ben over to a table in the recess beside the hearth. “This was the school chamber where Master Eadward taught us in the mornings.” I placed my hand flat on the table in the exact place where my cheek had rested when he flogged me. “It was in this chamber he made me drop my hose, and he flogged my bare arse for the first time. I was so excited both by him and the intimacy of the moment that I spent onto the floor while he beat me. That was when it started.” Sir Ben pulled me close to his chest. “Robin,” he whispered, “he wronged you.” “He promised not to tell my father what I had done that day if I became his obedient creature, and so I did. I knew not what else to do.” “I understand. Nick told me what he thought had happened, and he was right.” Sir Ben‟s voice was quiet and fraught as if he could bear to hear no more. But I could not bear to stop until I had unburdened my soul.

“He ordered me to meet him later that day in the summerhouse in the woods. There he fucked me for the first time.” Sir Ben squeezed me so hard I could scarcely breathe. “After that I was his. Always he would speak of my father and the shame and anger he would feel if he knew what I was doing. Master Eadward made me promise all the time that I would give him a pension and a home for the rest of his life, and I swore I would.” “He betrayed you,” Sir Ben said. “As the weeks and years passed, I felt more and more ensnared. I could not escape him. I spent my days walking quietly in hopes he would not find me, but always he would creep up on me, hiding about the house, watching for me. When we were found out, I was shamed beyond measure, but I was relieved that it was over. Then when Brother Abelard used me, it seemed natural to allow it.” Sir Ben gripped my shoulders and held me from him, looking into my eyes. “Chancey is dead. It is over, and the ties are broken. No man will ever use you ill again. I have declared my love for you to your father. Now I declare it to you. I love you, Lord Robin Holt. I have been miserable without you.” Smiling up into his beautiful, kind eyes, I asked, “Do you miss my gingerbread and almond tarts?” His wonderful laugh always lifted my heart. “Yes, I do, boy. And I miss your warmth and your gentleness. I miss the smell and the feel of you. I miss you in my bed.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I miss fucking you.” “Fuck me now, Sir Benedict,” I said. Sir Ben released me from his tight grip, and with one arm about my shoulders, he walked me swiftly through the house and outside into the bright, crisp afternoon air. The lawn was crowded with people. Children and those of low rank sat on the grass feasting happily while the gentry sat at trestle tables. At the high table, my family and Esme‟s watched the guests, seemingly as content as if the wedding had taken place. Side by side, Sir Nicholas and Cob had places of honor. The air inside Sir Ben‟s tent was cool. Since only three men had come, they had brought the small tent. I watched Sir Ben remove his clothes. The tunic he folded carefully before placing it on top of his hose. He had not brought all the supplies he would take on the tournament circuit, which would last for months. A sennight or so of camping did not require proper bedding. Sir Ben spread out a soft wool blanket and stretched out, waiting for me. I undressed, taking the same care with my new tunic as he did. “Did you sew that one yourself, Robin redbreast?” he asked. “Yes, it is identical to yours in fashion. Only the colors are different.” Sir Ben opened his arms to me. “I see that. No wonder your father could not refuse to let me have you. We are a matched pair.” I threw myself down and rolled on top of him, stretched full length, my body against his. Sir Ben rubbed his work-roughened hands up and down my back, arousing my skin until my cock pressed against his, growing longer and thicker.

“Charles is very excited to be your squire,” I said. “You will be good for him, Sir Ben.” “Am I good for you, my lovely boy?” he asked. “Everyone says so. I did not realize how different I am. But everyone says I walk taller and carry myself like a man, though I am no bigger, really.” “Your shoulders are broader, and your body is muscled from all the work I made you do. You were a thin, pale boy when you came to me, and look at you now, rescuing ladies in harm‟s way.” “You transformed my mind and body,” I said, for it was true. “I had no love of myself nor sureness of my manhood until I met you. I love you, Sir Ben.” “I love you also, but I was unsure how to say it. I have never loved a man before, only wanted them in my bed.” He gave a little laugh. “Or up against a tree or over a barrel.” I slid off to the side so that I could take his cock in my hand. It was less than a month since we had parted, and I had missed the feel of his hot, thick organ against my palm. I had missed the taste of it. “You told my father you love me. You claimed me as your own to one and all.” That meant more to me than he would ever know. He turned his face to kiss my forehead. “At a different time, it might have been difficult to admit such a thing without the risk of being run through with his sword. But I had just saved the man‟s life, so I took advantage of the moment.” “Sir Ben, my father is very wealthy and very grateful to you. He was grateful before you got here just for the very fact of you making a man of the son he saw as hopeless. But after what took place in the chapel, he was willing to give you more coin than you would make at tournament for the next five years.” “I‟ll make my own wealth as I have always done,” he said earnestly. “But Robin, I was unfair to you. Or so Nick tells me. If the house was under attack or there was a dispute of any kind, Nick would always defer to me. But when it comes to matters of the heart, he gives me advice, and when I am wise, I take it.” “I love him too and Cob,” I said, and Sir Ben smiled because he knew what I meant. “Aye, and so do I. Nick told me you were trained all wrong. He says I must train you in the bed chamber the way I trained you on the field, with discipline and love.” “I am ready and willing to be trained by you, Sir Ben. But I like to be whipped, and I wish that you would continue to whip me.” “There is no reason why not, as long as you take pleasure in it. But it must be a pleasure and not a punishment. And I must tell you, I admire your fortitude. You can take pain that would render many men faint.” His voice grew very quiet when he asked, “Did you love him, Chancey?” “Yes, Sir Ben. In some ways. Not the way I love you, with my whole heart. And I never admired him as I admire you. I want to be like you, as much as any man can be like

another, but I never wished to be like Master Eadward. Even as a boy, I knew he was like the fox that steals hens after dark.” “But still you could not kill him?” “No. Was I cowardly?” “No. It merely shows your gentle heart, and that is one of the things I love about you.” “Why did you never tell me you loved me until that last day when I left Benedict House?” I asked. “I thought it was unmanly to make declarations and pet you and such,” he admitted, frowning as if even now he was unsure. “All that kissing you wanted.” “And never got.” I smiled. “What does Sir Nicholas say about that?” “He says I should pet you often and call you sweet names.” He paused before adding quietly, “And kiss you.” He planted a noisy kiss on my lips. “There!” he said with a sheepish grin. “Now stop talking and lie on your back for me.” I obeyed him at once, and gladly too. Sir Ben got on his knees between my thighs and lifted my legs high until they rested over his shoulders. Feeling strange and awkward, I closed my eyes. He had never taken me this way before. “Open your eyes, Robin. Look at me.” I opened my eyes at once. Sir Ben‟s cock was already leaking clear fluid as he positioned the tip at my arsehole. Our eyes were locked upon each other as he pushed hard, forcing his cock up my backside in one long, relentless push. My cock was already hard. “Rub yourself,” he ordered me as he began to thrust. As Sir Ben fucked me hard, holding my legs, I gripped my cock and rubbed as fast as I could. A couple of times, Sir Ben closed his eyes as he panted, but always opened them again to look at me. “My sweet boy,” he whispered between ragged breaths. My pleasure soared with his words, and I felt myself on the very edge of release. And then it happened. All the flooding sensations in my thighs and buttocks, the pulsing pleasure in my belly forced itself through my cock, and I cried out as I spurted my stuff. A moment later, Sir Ben forced his cock in harder, moaning from deep in his chest as his pleasure overtook him. Releasing my legs, he fell on top of me, moaning. Sweaty and pink, we clutched each other. “That‟s my boy,” Sir Ben said quietly. “My sweet Robin.” For a long time, we lay, kissing tenderly, my love for him overflowing until the sweat began to cool on our bodies, making us shiver. “Let us get dressed. I‟m hungry,” Sir Ben said. “If I am no longer your squire, what am I?” I asked. “You are my husband, and I am yours,” he said. “Not my wife, but my husband.” “Am I still allowed to cook and make your clothes?” I asked.

“Yes, you are.” He slapped my thigh, making me cry out and get to my feet laughing. “You can do whatever you wish if it makes you happy. There are more ways than one to be a man.” We dressed quickly and went out into the breezy afternoon. The feasting was still in full force, and at the high table, two places waited for Sir Ben and me. My father raised his cup at our approach and we sat down beside him. With a wave of my father‟s hand, one of his grooms ran off and soon enough reappeared leading a big destrier. The horse had arrived only a sennight before and was beautiful. My father was going to keep it for himself. “A gift to you, Sir Benedict,” Lord Francis said. “The entire Holt household is at your service.” “My lord, you are a generous host. I thank you,” Sir Ben said, his eyes shining. “It is a handsome animal. I think my father is so grateful to you that he might even adopt you as his fourth son,” I said, overcome with happiness. I had my knight at my side and full leave from my father to live with him. Lord Francis rose and proclaimed a toast. “To Sir Benedict Childerley!” The throng stood and raised their cups to Sir Ben. He was everyone‟s hero, but mine especially.

Loose Id Titles by Fyn Alexander Knightly Love Precious Jade

The ANGEL AND THE ASSASSIN Series Angel and the Assassin Be Brave

Fyn Alexander I grew up in Liverpool, England, with a great love of books and the English language. As an adult I moved to Canada, but I return to England to visit every few years to remind myself of my roots. I love writing and I love romance, so bringing the two together is a perfect fit. Precious Jade, my first published book, was inspired by a visit to the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, in early 2009. I have always had a fascination with assassins and could not resist writing about one in my series, Angel and the Assassin.