Destiny's Bastard

Destiny’s Bastard

Hank Edwards

Destiny’s Bastard Copyright © August 2010 by Hank Edwards All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the 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 978-1-60737-841-9 Editor: Sandra Rychel Cover Artist: April Martinez Printed in the United States of America

Published by Loose Id LLC PO Box 425960 San Francisco CA 94142-5960 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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Dedication For Sandra, without whom these characters would never have found their true destinies.

Part One Algonwick, England – 1456

Chapter One The hot, rounded tip of Tristan‟s cock parted Gerard‟s threshold and slid deep into his passage. Gerard sat astride Tristan‟s hips with his head tipped back, easing himself down onto the hardened shaft and pushing the man farther inside him. In the stables beneath the hayloft, the horses snorted and stamped their feet as if they sensed and envied the pleasure being experienced above. “How is it?” Tristan asked, tightening his fingers on Gerard‟s thighs. Gerard looked down, pausing in his impalement to focus on the shape of Tristan‟s face, the high cheekbones, the pointed chin with the small dimple, the strong nose offset by cool gray eyes. The man‟s wavy blond hair was damp with sweat from the heat of the loft, and Gerard felt a line of sweat run down his back as he sat there. Gerard leaned down and swept his tongue into Tristan‟s mouth for a long, slow kiss, then pulled up just enough to be able to see his love‟s eyes and smiled. “It is perfect.” “The amount of lard is enough?” Tristan asked, his brow creasing with concern. “There is no burn as there was last time?” Gerard kissed him again, keeping his tongue inside Tristan‟s mouth a little longer before saying quietly, “It is just right. Calm your concern.” Sitting up, Gerard placed his hands on Tristan‟s bare chest, sliding his fingers through the blond hair to the man‟s nipples and twisting them. Tristan groaned, and his hips rose in response, pressing his yard even deeper. “Oh,” Gerard gasped at the sudden surge. His eyes closed and his hips bore down, taking as much of Tristan as possible. Even as he relaxed his inner muscles to allow his lover access, Gerard knew it would not be enough. As much as he could take from Tristan, it would never be enough to satisfy him. He wanted the man—all of him—inside him, filling the empty places, completing him as no one else ever could. Tristan‟s thumbs found Gerard‟s nipples beneath the sweat-soaked dark hair and flicked them into hard, sensitive points. Below, the horses snorted again, and a trio of doves cooed in the rafters of the hayloft above as Gerard rocked his hips. Tristan‟s yard slid in and out of his passage, filling him, then retreating, faster and faster. “I need your mouth,” Tristan said, his voice deep with lust. He reached up to put a hand on the back of Gerard‟s neck and pulled him down for a hard kiss. Their tongues collided, jousting together as Tristan‟s hips worked to push him farther into Gerard with each thrust.

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“I love you, my knight,” Tristan said, pulling back to look Gerard in the eye. “More than the fields of Algonwick and all the heavens above, you have claimed my heart.” “Aye, love,” Gerard said and kissed him again as his loins tightened with the familiar building of his climax. “You warm me as the light of dawn warms the fallow fields.” He sat up, arching his back as he rode Tristan‟s bucking hips. “I am close, my love. Take me in hand.” Tristan‟s fist closed around the bucking length of Gerard‟s member and stroked him hard and fast. Gerard grunted at the familiar clench and rush of his release, and a splash of hot, thick semen landed on Tristan‟s sweat-covered torso. Gerard lost all knowledge of time and place, his senses attentive only to the feeling of Tristan‟s penetration tucked so tightly behind the swollen focus of his climax. As the flush of sensation faded, Gerard wiped sweat from his brow and looked down into Tristan‟s eyes, saw the desire smoldering in their gray depths, and resumed rocking his hips. Tristan ran his fingers through the slick of Gerard‟s seed and rubbed it into his skin. “I want to smell you on my skin the rest of the day,” Tristan said. “I want to remember this moment as if it were a painting.” Gerard trailed his fingertips through his own semen, then pinched Tristan‟s nipples, coating them with his essence. He increased the speed of his rocking motion, the thick length of Tristan‟s yard driving into him in ever-faster thrusts until the man gasped. “I-I am going to—” Tristan cried out, closing his eyes and lifting his hips. Moments later, Tristan‟s eyes flickered open, his face relaxed and glowing in the waning afternoon sun. He smiled and placed a palm along Gerard‟s bearded cheek. “My knight,” Tristan sighed. “Each time we are together, my heart fills afresh with love for you.” Gerard leaned down to kiss Tristan softly on the mouth, his tongue gently brushing the man‟s lips. “My prince,” he said between kisses. “I shall always belong to you.” With a slight grimace, Gerard eased himself off Tristan‟s softening yard and stretched out alongside him. His back passage felt slick and wet, and he tightened the muscle to hold Tristan‟s seed within him as long as he could. Tristan put an arm around his shoulders to pull him close, and Gerard ran his fingers through the sticky patch of seed drying on Tristan‟s chest as they caught their breath. The hayloft was hot beneath the late afternoon sun, but an occasional breeze found its way in through the open door at the far end. Gerard sighed as Tristan kissed the top of his head; then he placed a kiss in the center of Tristan‟s chest and turned his head to look up at his face. “We play a dangerous game, my prince.” “Aye, that we do,” Tristan replied. “But this love I feel for you is true, my knight. I cannot imagine lying this way with any other, be they woman or man.”

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Tristan propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Gerard with such intensity, it caused Gerard to sit up as well. “I understand the church‟s teachings and the threat of eternal damnation for lying with a man,” Tristan said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “But the feelings I have when you and I are together raise doubts about these teachings. How can this thing that brings us such joy be wrong in the eyes of God? It feels so natural to be with you, to be inside you. I do not believe this to be a sin.” Gerard kissed him quickly. “My prince, your father—the king—would have both our heads if he knew of our relationship. Does that earthly threat not give you pause?” Tristan let out a breath and looked up at the doves shifting and cooing above them. “My father does not begin to understand the man within me. He sees me still as a child, his only son who must be protected at all costs so that I may rule his kingdom once he is gone.” “I understand you,” Gerard said and reached up to touch Tristan‟s cheek. “These last few months getting to know you have been the most joyous of my life.” Before Tristan could reply, voices rose below them as the stable master stomped into the stables, shouting at someone they could hear shuffling alongside him. Hidden from view in the hayloft, they held their positions, sitting nude side by side and staring into each other‟s eyes. If they were discovered, it would most likely mean their executions—Gerard‟s for certain, Tristan‟s quite possibly. As they sat still and silent, the wind died down, and the still air in the loft became stifling hot. Sweat coursed down their naked torsos and beaded on the skin of their arms and legs. They would need to climb down soon and try to leave the stable unseen or fall under the deadly spell of the unbearable heat. The stable master berated what Gerard assumed was a young stable hand for several minutes, shouting and cursing at the boy for the slovenly appearance of the stables. Finally, just as Gerard feared he might faint from the heat, the stable master stomped away, leaving the stable hand sniffling below. The boy soon began to sweep and shovel, making enough noise so as to effectively mask the sounds of their movements as they dressed. Tristan leaned over for a final kiss, his tongue making a slow circle inside Gerard‟s mouth, then pressed his lips to Gerard‟s ear and whispered, “I will handle the stable boy, my knight. You steal away when I have him distracted.” Gerard smiled and nodded. “As you wish, my prince.” Tristan stood and brushed hay from his clothes before loudly clearing his throat. “Wh-who‟s there?” the stable boy asked in a quivering voice. Tristan met Gerard‟s gaze and held his palm over his heart, their sign of devotion at times when they could not speak the words. Gerard returned the gesture and watched Tristan climb down the ladder to stand before the young lad.

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Gerard crouched by the ladder, sweat soaking into his linen shirt and breeches as he listened to the conversation below. “Is that any way to greet your prince?” Tristan asked as he stepped off the ladder. “Ah, Your Highness, sir,” the stable boy said, his voice rising in pitch with his surprise. “I didn‟t know you was up top there.” More like bottom to top, Gerard thought with a smirk, and the muscles of his back passage tightened with the memory of Tristan‟s penetration. “Well, I was,” Tristan said, and Gerard could hear the regal tone in his voice. It was the I-am-the-prince-and-there-will-be-no-question-about-it tone Gerard liked to tease Tristan about when they were alone. It came from having been raised in a castle, surrounded by servants and luxury and wanting for nothing. It was a life that Gerard knew Tristan sometimes wished he could abandon, and it was also a life Gerard could only understand through his conversations with Tristan. Stinging sweat ran into his eye, and he realized the heat was making him dizzy. He needed to quickly remove himself from the hayloft or risk losing consciousness. He listened to Tristan berate the stable boy about the condition of the horses, a bit more gently than the stable master, and then Tristan‟s voice faded as he led the boy to the back of the stable and away from the ladder. Gerard descended the ladder, the cooler air caressing his sweaty brow with each downward step. The horses whickered in recognition at his appearance, and he stroked the wide, soft nose of the nearest horse to calm him. Standing a moment at the bottom of the ladder, the sweat starting to cool on his skin, Gerard stroked the animal‟s nose and watched Tristan at the other end of the stable, pointing out piles of manure and dirty straw to the unfortunate stable boy. Tristan had made sure to position himself to facing the ladder, thereby forcing the stable boy to stand with his back to Gerard. As Gerard watched the young boy listening to Tristan‟s direction, it brought to mind his days on the farm where he had been born and raised. His father had taught him the ways of their farm: the care of horses, cows, and chickens, as well as how to sow and reap a variety of crops. During the winter months, he had helped his mother in the kitchen and listened to his father‟s stories as they sat before the roaring hearth. And both his parents had taught him how to be a good man before that tragic afternoon that had changed his and his sister‟s lives forever. Gerard‟s mind flicked back over the years to that time on the farm on the outskirts of the village. As usual, the memory of that one horrific afternoon skewered all other thoughts of home. He had been seven years old and working in the fields with his parents and younger sister, Eleanor, tending to the corn and squash as his back burned beneath the unforgiving sun and his young hands grew hard with calluses. The farm lay on the outer edge of the king‟s lands, and because of this, they were vulnerable to roaming thieves and bandits. It was a pair of thieves, daring and drunk, who had ridden into the field that afternoon and cut down his father before he could react. The men had clumsily dismounted and

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grabbed his mother, forcing her to the ground freshly stained with her husband‟s blood. As the men attacked her, she screamed at Gerard to take his sister and run to the house. Gerard had grabbed Eleanor‟s hand and run from his mother‟s screams, dragging his sobbing sister behind him through the corn. One of the men followed them through the field back to the small house, his heavy tread and cursing as he crashed through the tall plants behind them urging Gerard to run fast. Sometimes, even now, Gerard awoke at night in a cold sweat, the sounds of that pursuit still echoing in his mind. They had made it to the house with moments to spare. Gerard bolted the door and pushed his sobbing sister beneath the bed shared by his entire family, then armed himself with his father‟s dagger. The thief broke down the door and came at him, swinging his sword. But the run had tired the man, and the drink Gerard could smell on his breath made his movements loose and sloppy. Gerard easily dodged the man‟s attack, darting close to drive the dagger into his belly. The man fell bleeding to the floor, and Gerard stepped up and cut the man‟s throat as he did to their spring lambs. He then picked up the thief‟s heavy sword and stood behind the door to patiently await the dead man‟s partner to arrive. Sometime later, a knight rode up to investigate reports of his mother‟s screams and discovered Gerard and his sister cowering in a corner, both thieves dead on the floor, and the bloody sword still clutched in Gerard‟s fist. Out in the field, their parents lay dead among the bloodstained crop. Taking pity on the orphans and impressed with Gerard‟s killing instinct, the knight, Sir Henry Fenton, made him a page in the castle, where Gerard was given an education and trained to become a knight. His sister became a servant girl in the castle and currently worked in the kitchens, preparing the royal meals. And now here he was, Sir Gerard Fogg, one of the few knights chosen to protect the royal family. He was the youngest member of the Royal Guard: strong, determined, loyal, and in love with the king‟s only son. With one more longing look at Tristan standing at the other end of the stable, still berating the stable hand, Gerard strode from the building, the cheeks of his arse slick with lard from the prince‟s member. It was not far from the stables to the kitchen entrance, and Gerard stepped close to the wall of cool gray stone to take shelter in the castle‟s shadow. He made his way along the wall of the east tower, trailing his fingers over the rough surface of the wall and nodding to the servants and staff he passed. The chambermaids and kitchen wenches smiled at him, some shyly, others in a more bawdy manner. He returned each smile with a nod and a wink before stepping through the kitchen entrance. The heat of three roaring fires took his breath away, and he paused just inside the door, near a large stone used as a counter for meal preparations. The kitchen was hotter than the hayloft he had just abandoned. Women crowded the room, talking and joking among themselves as they went about preparing the meal: plucking ducks, boiling vegetables, chopping or grinding seasonings, and rolling out dough for breads and pies.

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“Aye, and here he is now,” the oldest woman croaked as Gerard stepped into the room. “And we thought this would be the day you wouldn‟t show for a preview of dinner.” She cackled and turned back to her task, her red, gnarled fingers furiously plucking feathers from the plump duck before her. “I knew you‟d be on time, though. You‟re one to depend on, you are, Sir Gerard. Especially when there is food involved.” The other women in the kitchen paused just long enough to laugh before returning to their work. A few, Gerard noticed, cast him shy, longing looks as he crossed the stifling room to a thin brunette who stood with her back to him, rolling out dough. He grabbed her around the waist and leaned down to kiss her neck, and she shrieked and tossed a pinch of flour in his face, both of them laughing as he backed away, wiping the flour from his sweaty skin. “Are you breading me for cooking?” Gerard said. “If I were to do that, I certainly would not serve you to the royal family,” Eleanor replied with a smile that exposed her crooked teeth. “I have chamber-pot duty later, and I don‟t want to deal with what messes eating the likes of you would cause them.” The women in the kitchen laughed, and Gerard grinned at her. “You‟ve always been an evil little sprite, Eleanor,” he said. “I don‟t know why Nicholas married you.” “He didn‟t grow up with me, Brother,” Eleanor said. “And besides, he likes it when I‟m bad.” She smirked and leaned into him a moment, then stepped back with a scowl. “Gah, you smell of hay and horse. What stables have you been lying in?” The women laughed again, and Gerard blushed, dropping his eyes to the straw- and flour-covered stone floor. “You‟re a crass woman,” he said through a smile. “And you, elder brother, are a rogue.” “One has to be around a group such as this,” Gerard replied, loud enough for the rest of the women to hear him. They all shouted back comments of varying vulgarity, and he laughed before turning back to his sister. “What stomach ailment are you cooking up for the royal family today?” Eleanor shot a dirty look over her shoulder as she kneaded a massive pile of dough. “Biscuits with honey and cream. And there‟s none for tasting yet, so off with you. I‟ve work to do.” They grinned at one another, and then an older male servant bustled in to announce the king was asking about dinner. The activity in the kitchen doubled, and Gerard took his leave, breathing deep of the cooler air outside the kitchen as he headed back to the knights‟ quarters.

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Chapter Two Following a hearty dinner shared with the other members of the Royal Guard, Gerard and several of his brother knights donned cloaks against the chill night air and walked to the alehouse in the village outside the castle walls. The low-ceilinged room was heavy with smoke from the fire in the hearth and a number of pipes enjoyed by the men laughing and shouting for more ale. The knights pushed a number of men off the benches of a long table by the fire and gulped tankards of ale, their voices growing louder with each round. A large knight, Bartholomew, the eldest of the Royal Guard and the leader of the select group of knights, banged his empty tankard on the tabletop and said in a booming voice, “Brother knights!” Gerard and the rest of the knights quieted down and looked to Bartholomew, some sipping ale, others gnawing on bread. “We have a problem on the road out of town,” Bartholomew said, stifling a belch. “A band of thieves has taken to robbing travelers.” “Thieves,” growled Phillip, a short, squat knight packed with muscle who sat across the table from Gerard. “As if the Scots aren‟t bad enough, now we‟ve got to deal with English bastards too.” “Therein lies the rub, brother Phillip,” Bartholomew said. “There is talk that the leader of this band of thieves does not look or talk like an Englishman.” “It‟s the Scots!” Phillip cried and raised his ale. “Death to the bloody Scots!” Gerard cheered along with the other knights and gulped down ale, but Bartholomew quieted them down again. “This man does not appear to be a Scot either.” Phillip looked at Gerard and screwed up his face before looking back at Bartholomew. “French?” Bartholomew shrugged. “Who‟s to know? He has no hair upon his head and strange markings upon his body.” “Markings?” Gerard asked with a frown. “What sort of markings?” “Odd symbols etched upon the skin of his neck and arms,” Bartholomew explained. “For now, we ride in pairs when we manage the village and outlying areas. These thieves are very organized, and if you cannot get the leader, try to get at least one of them alive to be questioned, and maybe he will lead us to the leader.” “Aw, no killing?” Phillip said. He looked down into his ale and mumbled, “Where‟s the fun in that?”

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“These thieves have killed a man and his servant already,” Bartholomew said. “If allowed to continue, the surrounding towns and cities may quit trading with Algonwick, and we cannot allow that to happen. Understood?” The knights nodded, and Bartholomew raised his ale. “A toast, then, to all of us within the Royal Guard, brothers to each and each to his brother.” The knights raised their tankards and drank, and then some told stories of past skirmishes with thieves and the occasional battle with the Scots. As the ale flowed, the tales became more bloody and outrageous, and Gerard, the youngest knight of the guard, who had never been in battle, listened and laughed. At one point, a timid young lad tugged on Gerard‟s sleeve to get his attention. “Well, hello there, young one,” Gerard said with a grin and bent down. “What is it you need?” “Begging your pardon, sir,” the boy shouted above the raucous noise of the other knights. “But there‟s someone outside wants to see you.” Gerard thanked him and handed over a large chunk of bread, watching as the lad scurried to the door, the food clutched tight to his scrawny chest. Gulping down the last of his ale, Gerard pushed back from the table and made his way through the crowd to step outside. The night air was cool and sweet after the heat and smoke inside the crowded building, and he paused to take a deep breath before squinting into the darkness. “Hello,” he called. “Who is it that wishes to see me?” A hand fell over his mouth, and Gerard reacted from instinct. He twisted out of the man‟s grip, grasped the offending wrist, and spun the attacker around to pull the man‟s back against his chest with an arm around his throat. “Who is it that accosts me?” Gerard hissed in the assailant‟s ear. “Easy, love,” Tristan said through clenched teeth. “‟Tis I, your faithful prince.” Gerard released Tristan‟s wrist and grabbed his hand to pull him around the corner to the deep shadows behind the alehouse. Pressing Tristan‟s back against the wall, Gerard placed his hands on either side of the man‟s face and kissed him hard. “Did I hurt you, my love?” Gerard asked. Tristan shook his head, and Gerard leaned in again, whispering between kisses, “How did you know I needed to see you again tonight?” His heart pounded in his chest, and his yard already throbbed, hard as bone inside his breeches. “Because I too needed to see you,” Tristan replied. “This afternoon we were not allowed to linger as we like.” “Aye,” Gerard breathed and moved his lips to the soft skin of Tristan‟s neck, gently kissing him as the prince sighed. “And I have been thinking of that yard of yours all evening.” Tristan placed his hands on Gerard‟s shoulders and pushed him to his knees. “Have you? I do not feel you have thought of it enough. Study it closer so that later you will be able to more clearly remember its size and form when you are alone.”

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Gerard spread the dark, hooded cloak Tristan wore and lowered the man‟s breeches. The thick length of Tristan‟s cock stood proud beneath linen undergarments, and Gerard pressed his mouth against the shaft through the material. Tristan moaned softly, placing a hand on the back of Gerard‟s head and pushing his hips forward. Carefully pulling the material out and down, Gerard freed Tristan‟s staff and took it in his mouth, savoring the taste of rose water and sweat. He dragged his mouth up the length and gently pulled the foreskin back from the rounded head to plant a soft, loving kiss on the slick tip. Then Gerard swallowed Tristan to the root of his manhood, gagging slightly before pumping his mouth up and down the stonehard pole. “Ah, my knight,” Tristan sighed. “Your skills with a sword are formidable.” Gerard stroked the spit-slick shaft in time with his sucking as Tristan‟s fingers tangled in his hair. He did not think he could ever get enough of the man inside him at once, and when the prince reached his release, Gerard eagerly swallowed each sweet, thick drop. “You act as if you have not eaten for days,” Tristan whispered between gasps for breath. “And just this afternoon we lay with one another.” Gerard stood and kissed him, slipping his tongue between Tristan‟s soft lips. “These stolen moments conducted under the cover of darkness or in hiding are not enough,” Gerard said. “Nay, even if we were free to be together always, day and night, in front of any and all to witness, for all the days of our lives, it still would not satisfy me.” Gerard could see Tristan‟s smile even in the shadows as the prince said, “I feel the same for you, my love. Perhaps someday the world will be ready to embrace us, but for now we must satisfy ourselves with these stolen moments.” Gerard nodded as his mood darkened at the truth of the situation. “I will accept what time we have.” Tristan turned Gerard around and leaned him against the wall, then pressed against him for a kiss. “Then let us take a few more moments to ourselves while we can,” Tristan said in a hushed voice and knelt before him. Through the wall behind him, Gerard could hear another round of drunken singing and calls for more ale. And then Tristan‟s soft lips touched the tip of his manhood, and Gerard sucked in his breath with a hiss. The prince‟s lips moved steadily lower as he delivered gentle kisses to the full length of Gerard‟s hardened condition. “After all that ale, I am surprised to see you so emboldened,” Tristan said. “No amount of ale could keep me down when you are present,” Gerard replied. Tristan pulled the swollen shaft away from Gerard‟s hairy belly so that it pointed straight at his face. “This is like a lance. You might use this to joust in the Royal Games.”

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Gerard looked down to where Tristan knelt before him, one soft hand wrapped around the base of his yard. In the shadows, his pale face gave him the appearance of a ghost, and when he returned Gerard‟s gaze, his eyes were dark with shadow, as if his head were just a skull, causing Gerard to shudder. The illusion vanished, however, when Tristan opened his mouth wide and easily accepted Gerard‟s full length. The wet heat of the man‟s mouth made Gerard gasp, and he put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Tristan sucked him hard and fast, his fist tight and pumping in time with his lips until Gerard shuddered and grunted quietly with the sudden rush of release. Tristan drank the thick seed down, slowing his hand and mouth until Gerard stood limp and spent before him. “I believe I have won the jousting contest,” Tristan said and stood to kiss him softly. “I have upset your attempt to retain the championship at the Royal Games.” He licked his lips and whispered, “I do enjoy the tang of your seed. It will satisfy my hunger until our next meeting.” “When shall that be?” Gerard asked between gentle kisses. “Soon, love,” Tristan promised. “Very soon.” Gerard kissed him again and tucked himself back into his undergarments, his senses fully alert as he fastened his breeches. “I am glad for this surprise visit, but as a member of the Royal Guard, I must insist on escorting you home, my prince.” Tristan rested a palm against the warm, rounded bulge of Gerard‟s groin. “I was hoping that would be something you insisted.” A small scuff sounded from around the corner—soft, almost predatory—and they both fell silent. Gerard pulled Tristan around to his left, away from the corner of the building, and instinctively reached for the sword he had left back in the armory. Breathing a dark, quiet curse, Gerard crouched in preparation for attack. “Who is it?” Tristan whispered in his ear. “I do not know,” Gerard replied, never taking his eyes off the dark corner. “But someone approaches.” Above them a gentle wind set the trees to swaying, masking any other sounds. No one appeared, and Gerard rose to his full height. “Come, let us get you back to the secure castle walls.” He turned to lead Tristan around the other side of the alehouse, opposite the door, then stopped with his heart in his throat at the sight of a large man draped in shadows, lurking mere steps from Tristan‟s back. “My Lord!” Gerard gasped and moved quickly, pulling Tristan out of reach around behind him, then stepping up to the man who stood at least two hands taller than himself. The stench of drink and an unwashed body assaulted him, and Gerard recognized their supposed assailant. “Shamus,” Gerard snapped, and he felt the grip Tristan had on his arm ease at the mention of the man‟s name. It was the village drunk, rumored to be of half his mind as well; Shamus was sometimes humorous, mostly annoying, but always

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harmless. “You put the fear of death in me. Why are you sneaking about in the night?” “I had to piss,” Shamus slurred. He swayed on his feet, then pointed at Gerard and said in a very serious voice, “I seen ‟em.” “Have you, now?” Gerard muttered and turned to Tristan to roll his eyes. When he turned back, he was startled to find Shamus had advanced on him and now stood nearly touching noses with him. “Ugh! You reek of filth and spirits.” “I seen the spirits,” Shamus said quietly, rolling his frightened eyes. “I been to the Cave of Sorrows, I have, and I saw giant birds way up high and a road of stone with carts.” “Giant birds and carts, I see,” Gerard said and put a hand on the man‟s chest, wincing at the sweaty feel of Shamus‟s tunic. “Well, I suggest not going back to the Cave of Sorrows any more. Many have gone and never returned.” Shamus looked toward the west, where Moorland Mountain and the Cave of Sorrows lay, and in the moonlight Gerard could see honest fear in the man‟s eyes. “I almost never did come back. I thought I was to be there forever, I did.” “Here, my friend.” Tristan spoke up from over Gerard‟s shoulder and extended his hand to drop a few coins in Shamus‟s dirty palm. Shamus‟s eyes lit up with the prospect of being able to afford more drink, and he gave them a wide, wet smile, then pulled both against him in a crushing hug. “All right, then,” Gerard muttered and pushed the man back, turning his face away to gasp a fresh breath. “Go on now and indulge yourself. Go on.” Shamus ambled off around the corner, and Gerard turned to Tristan, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms. “Do you really think that was a good idea?” Tristan shrugged and smiled. “It got him to leave us alone, didn‟t it? I don‟t believe he recognized me.” Gerard shook his head. “His brain is so pickled with drink, I don‟t believe Shamus would recognize his own mother any longer.” He checked around the corner to make sure no one else lurked there, then led the prince to the road and looked about for the man‟s horse. “You did not ride here?” “No, I walked.” Tristan leaned in and whispered, “Like a villager. It‟s good to experience life from their point of view.” He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, masking his face in shadows. “I see.” Gerard frowned but, realizing he had no choice, turned toward the castle and waved for Tristan to precede him. “After you, my prince.” “I would get lonely walking ahead of you, faithful knight,” Tristan said. “Please walk alongside me.” They strolled through the village, watching drunken men stumble to their homes, all of them unaware that a member of the royal family moved in their midst. As they walked they talked of minor things, their hands touching on occasion, the

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glow of their shared release behind the alehouse warm within Gerard‟s chest. They passed out of the village proper and into open land that rose steadily toward the walled castle grounds. Off in the distance, moonlight lay across the forest, whitening the mist tangled in the trees as well as the peak of Moorland Mountain. “That man we saw,” Tristan said. “Shamus?” Gerard let out a snort. “A waste of flesh. Always drunk. The knights are usually called upon to evict him from one place or another each night.” “What did you think of the things he claims to have seen within the… What did he call it?” Gerard smirked. “The villagers call it the Cave of Sorrows. It lies at the foot of Moorland Mountain.” “The Cave of Sorrows. That sounds familiar. Where have I heard that mentioned before? Oh yes, by Ranulf Godfrey. He has mentioned it on occasion.” Tristan shook his head and let out a sigh. “He has been acting anxious of my whereabouts of late.” Gerard shrugged. Ranulf Godfrey was the king‟s trusted advisor and, some said, a wizard. He was old and favored gray cloaks that matched the long gray beard hanging down his chest. Gerard had met the man once, and since that time had only seen him from a distance, walking in the castle gardens or pacing in the halls. “Is that not typical for a man as odd as he?” “Aye, you speak the truth,” Tristan said with a nod. “He is of a different mind than most that I know. I still do not understand how my father trusts his guidance, a man rumored to be a wizard and dabbling in magic that goes against the teachings of the church.” “Perhaps you have more of your father in you than you think,” Gerard said. “Our bond goes against the teachings of the church. Is it so hard to conceive of your father turning toward a world so vilified by the church as well?” “I suppose you have a point,” Tristan conceded. “Though I still find it strange that my father kneels so devoutly in prayer in his church and afterward consults his wizard to learn what fate has in store for him.” Tristan shook his head. “Ranulf told me years ago that I was going to be a great and powerful king. He said the cards had told him so.” “Cards?” Gerard asked and leaned in to whisper in Tristan‟s ear. “Is he playing cards with you, my prince?” “No, not cards of that nature,” Tristan said with a smile. “Cards with which he claims to see fortunes.” “Ah, those cards. Yes, I am familiar with those cards myself.” Tristan gave him a doubtful look. “Oh, you are?” Gerard nodded. “Yes. And I consulted my cards just this evening before leaving the castle grounds for the alehouse.” “I see. And what did the cards have to say?”

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Gerard again leaned in close. “That you and I would see each other again tonight and I would have another opportunity to carry your seed within me.” Tristan let out a quiet gasp and grabbed Gerard‟s face for a quick, passionate kiss. “Your talk sends lust to my loins, my knight.” Gerard pressed his hand against the hardness within Tristan‟s breeches. “So I feel, my prince. But this would not be an ideal time for release.” He looked up and down the shadow-draped road. “A passerby could happen upon us at any time.” “I‟ve been with you twice already today,” Tristan said and kissed him again. “And yet it is not enough.” “It is never enough, my love.” Gerard kissed him a final time and turned him toward the castle. “On we must journey.”

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Chapter Three The following day, Gerard rode alongside Bartholomew, his sword bumping against his thigh and a mild breeze lifting his shoulder-length brown hair. The sun shone brightly as they guided their horses through the town, eyes alert for any trouble. Villagers carrying bags of vegetables or clay pots filled with water from the town well broke around their horses, nodding to them as they passed. “Seems quiet today,” Bartholomew noted in his deep voice. “‟Tis quiet every day,” Gerard grumbled, and Bartholomew laughed. “That it is, young buck, that it is.” They rode in silence a little longer; then Bartholomew turned to squint at him. “So, Brother Gerard, are you entering the Royal Games that swiftly approach?” Gerard smiled and glanced at his companion. “I believe I‟m obliged to enter, seeing as how I won the medal out from under you at the last games.” Bartholomew gave a snort and looked away a moment before turning back. “The field was wet when we fought, and I lost my footing. If I had stayed on my feet, you never would have taken me.” Gerard pursed his lips and nodded solemnly, as if in agreement. “‟Tis true, you were done in by your own two feet. But I don‟t remember the field being wet.” “Never mind.” Bartholomew faced forward again with a huff. “Just know, young buck, that when you step on that field, I‟ll be waiting for you.” “And I, you, my friend,” Gerard said. “And I, you.” As he rode in comfortable silence beside his brother knight, Gerard thought about beating Bartholomew at the last Royal Games. The contests were held every four fortnights, and the next games swiftly approached, just a few days away. Gerard had been taking time to practice his sword-handling skills and jousting, building his muscles and honing his moves. He was determined to win the games again after ending Bartholomew‟s reign of ten championships in a row at the last games. The jeweled medal awarded to the victor was an inspiration, as was the thrill of being named champion among all his brother knights. A woman appeared, running toward them on the road that led out of the village to the neighboring town of Audenbaine. She waved her arms, crying breathlessly, then stumbled and fell hard on the road. “Trouble, young buck,” Bartholomew said and prodded his horse to a gallop. “Thieves,” Gerard said to himself, his stomach tight with anxiety as memories of his parents‟ deaths slammed into his mind. He urged his horse faster and followed Bartholomew to where the woman struggled to sit up. After dismounting,

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Gerard approached as Bartholomew, already off his horse, helped the woman to her feet. Her face was distraught, her eyes wide with panic, and trickles of blood ran from her elbow and her lip from her fall in the road. “Up the road, nary a furlong inside the woods,” she gasped. “Thieves stopped our cart. They hold my husband and my son. I slipped away into the woods. Please, sirs, please help them!” “Go to your home,” Bartholomew told her. “We‟ll take care of them.” “Please, bring them back to me,” the woman sobbed. “They are all I have in this world.” “Go to your home,” Bartholomew repeated. “We‟ll find them.” They rode hard and fast along the road, quickly covering the mile to the start of the thick woods through which the road wound. As they entered the leafy canopy of the trees, they slowed their gait to ease their mounts along the two ruts worn by wagons and carts over the years of trade. Not far within the wood, they rounded a wide bend and came upon a small cart and horse in the middle of the road. Three men pawed through the contents of the cart while two men, the father and son, stood nearby, held at swordpoint by two more robbers. All five thieves looked up at the sound of their horses, and the three men at the cart stepped toward the captive men, swords held at ready. “Oi! Stop or they die!” one of the thieves cried out, a tall man with a bald head that gleamed in the sunlight tinted green by the leaves overhead. Strange symbols had been drawn onto his neck, and Gerard frowned, unease tightening his stomach as he drew his sword and dismounted to stand beside Bartholomew. “Release the men and vacate these parts,” Bartholomew shouted. “This is King Fysher‟s land, and you are not welcome here.” “Oh, we‟re not welcome here,” the bald man said, his accent and the way in which he spoke so strange, it was difficult for Gerard to understand him. The man looked around at his fellow thieves and smiled, showing large, white teeth. “Well, since they put it that way, maybe we should just pack it in and leave, eh, lads?” He threw back his head and let out a high-pitched cackle that sent a shiver up Gerard‟s spine. The man turned back and brandished his sword at them, his face suddenly contorting into a raging snarl of anger. “Do you think I care about your puppet king and his bloody kingdom? You have no idea who I am or where I‟m from. This place”—the man raised his arms and looked to the trees above—“this unspoiled land I‟ve stumbled on is a twenty-four-hour buffet for me and me alone.” He looked straight at Gerard and sneered. “And your ancient codes of right and wrong have no effect on me. I can take what I want and be gone like a ghost.” “He speaks in a strange tongue,” Bartholomew said quietly so only Gerard could hear him. “Aye,” Gerard replied, never taking his eyes off the man. “And there is an air of reckless danger about him.”

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“We must be cautious, young buck,” Bartholomew said and then raised his voice to address the thief. “Come, put down your weapons and release the man and his son. We can take you to the king and have this sorted out.” The bald man laughed, that high, shrill cackle that again chilled Gerard though the day was warm. “Did the young child at your side tell you to say that, old man?” Gerard felt his face flush at the slight on his age but remembered his training, from Bartholomew himself, no less, to keep his tongue still and his eyes open. He saw the men holding the father and son captive shift nervously and glance toward each other. They would not be difficult to fight, but the tall, bald man with the unsettling laugh and the strange markings on his skin would not be easily defeated. There was something wild and unpredictable about him, and that made Gerard uneasy. “We‟ll mean something to you when we remove your head from your body.” Bartholomew growled. He started toward the men, saying to Gerard beneath his breath, “Try not to kill them all, young buck.” Gerard followed Bartholomew, his gaze locked on the frightened father and son as images of the attack on his parents flashed through his memory. Forcing himself to focus on the present situation, he adjusted his grip on his sword as one of the thieves at the cart rushed forward to slash at Bartholomew. The knight easily deflected the blow and stepped back from another wild swing. Gerard was about to assist Bartholomew when another of the thieves who had been rooting through the cart ran at him. He swung his sword up, blocking the blow and taking a step back. The man rushed him again, swinging wildly, his eyes bright with a mix of terror and excitement, but Gerard easily deflected each blow. The man was a sloppy fighter, and it took just a moment for Gerard to step into his swing and knock the sword from his hand. He hit the man in the forehead with the pommel of his sword and watched him fall to the road, where he then lay still. Stepping back from his fallen assailant, Gerard raised his head in time to see Bartholomew punch his own attacker in the face. The thief spun around and fell hard to the road, where he lay still as well. Bartholomew looked over and gave him a nod, which Gerard returned. The high-pitched cackle came again, raising the hair on the back of Gerard‟s neck. Turning, he found the bald thief standing between the father and son, a dagger in each hand and held at their throats. The two remaining members of his band sat astride horses beyond the cart, torsos twisted to look back at the standoff. “You have defeated my two laziest friends, but what about the lives of the villagers you‟re sworn to protect?” With sharp movements, he cut the throats of both the father and son. The men opened their mouths in surprise and raised their hands to grasp their open throats as blood splashed down their shirts. They collapsed in the road, and the murderous thief ran to his horse and mounted it quickly to ride off down the road, the unnerving high-pitched laugh floating behind as Gerard and Bartholomew rushed to try to aid the bleeding men.

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Gerard held the son‟s hand as the boy gasped for breath. His eyes rolled up to lock on Gerard‟s, and as he stared helplessly down, Gerard watched the spark of life leave the boy‟s eyes. Tears spilled from Gerard‟s eyes, and he was filled again with the grief of his parents‟ murders. He clutched the boy‟s hand tight, murmuring a prayer and a promise to avenge his death as the body settled onto the road and let out a final, wet breath. “The father is dead,” Bartholomew said in a heavy voice. “As is the son,” Gerard replied. He stood and wiped his eyes, then stomped back to where the thieves lay in the road and stood over them, drawing his sword. “I say we kill them as they lie here witless.” “But then we would be no better,” Bartholomew said in a gentle voice. He put a hand on Gerard‟s shoulder. “I understand your anguish, young buck, but these men may have information we can use to find their cackling leader.” They bound the thieves with leather straps and tossed them in the back of the cart alongside the bodies of the father and son. Bartholomew took the reins of the carthorse and turned it around to head back to the village as Gerard trailed behind with the reins of Bartholomew‟s horse tied to his saddle. As they came into town, the woman they had found in the road rushed out of a house and collapsed across the bodies in the cart. The thieves were awake by this time but groggy, and they gave little resistance as Bartholomew tied the men‟s bindings to each of their saddles and made them run behind their horses as they rode back to the castle. After delivering the thieves to the dungeon and leaving Bartholomew to question them, Gerard stood on the steps of the castle, staring out at the woods between the village and Moorland Mountain. In between bird songs and the evening breezes, Gerard imagined he could hear the cackling laugh of the bald thief on the still, cool air. He thought about Tristan and tried to will the man to find him, to come out the castle doors, put his arms around him, and calm his wildly beating heart. He needed the soothing presence of his love to help clear away the anger and helplessness he felt over the death of the father and son and the thief‟s escape. But Tristan did not show up, and Gerard stood for a long time, staring out over the fields surrounding the castle. Finally Bartholomew approached to stand beside him, and they looked out across the land in silence for several minutes before the older man spoke. “The men told me the bald one is known as Malcolm and that he met them in an alehouse and asked them to join his group. They do not know where he hails from, nor do they know the meaning of the marks on his neck. They have been robbing travelers along the road, usually in the woods between the towns.” “Do you believe what they say is true?” Bartholomew shrugged. “They suffered a bit before telling me, so I feel it is the truth.” He winked at Gerard and grinned. “But they have only been robbing with him for a few weeks.”

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“Malcolm,” Gerard said, the name filling his mouth with cold vengeance and a bad taste. He looked out at the darkening woods and fisted his hands. “It is good to have a name for the laugh.” “Aye, that it is.” Bartholomew stood beside him in brotherly silence a bit longer, then reached out to drape a big arm around Gerard‟s shoulders. “What say we go to the village and you can buy me a few tankards of ale to help me forget about the day‟s events?” “Oh, I am to buy?” Gerard asked and managed a weak smile. “Well, you do possess the jeweled medallion of the Royal Games.” Bartholomew squeezed his shoulders, and the two descended the castle steps and walked off down the road.

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Chapter Four Gerard stood in the heat of the canvas tent, his chest bare and cooling in the breeze across the field. He ran his hands through his thick, sweat-drenched hair and stretched his tight, aching muscles. A group of his brother knights milled about the interior of the large tent behind him, all of them struck down in the artificial battle in which Gerard had been named victor. These knights, finished with the games for the day, left the tent to find kegs of ale, and were followed by their young pages. Standing alone in the tent, Gerard watched the battle rage out on the field between the remaining knights of the Royal Guard and thought of Tristan. He recalled the man‟s face in the moonlight several nights ago outside the alehouse, considered the soft touch of his lips and the quiet grunt that signified the prince‟s release. Closing his eyes, Gerard conjured the image of the prince‟s gray eyes watching him on the field as he fought in mock battle. His yard shifted within his armor as he imagined being with Tristan later that night, after they had both managed to steal away from the feast and found a place to be alone. He sorely wished to take Tristan in his arms and kiss him before the entire kingdom, proclaim his love for the man to every villager and royal family member in attendance that day. But alas, he was forced to keep these feelings hidden, harbor them within his chest until such time as the two of them could be alone. With a deep breath, Gerard turned his attention back to the field and tried to focus on the battle currently underway. Both Bartholomew and Phillip were members of the second group, and he paid attention to their skills and techniques. As he stood in the shade of the canvas, arms crossed over his bare chest, he heard the rustle of someone entering the tent behind him and, turning, found it was Tristan. His heart soared. “Quite a sight you are, my knight,” Tristan said, looking around the tent to make certain they were alone, then stepping close. “Your skills in battle are second only to your skills in love.” Tristan took Gerard‟s hand and placed it on his chest. “My heart beats more swiftly after I watched you in battle, even now with you the victor. Though I knew it was all a ruse, I feared you would be cut down by another and drop to the field as though dead.” Tristan‟s eyes darkened. “I could not bear to see that, even in mockery. I cannot imagine a life without you.” Gerard leaned down and kissed him softly; then, moving his lips to Tristan‟s ear, with a flick of his tongue, he whispered, “You shall never be free of me, love. Even apart, we are still as close as this.”

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Tristan trailed the fingers of his left hand through the hair on Gerard‟s chest and dropped his face into the hollow of Gerard‟s shoulder, where he took a deep breath. “The aroma of your exertion rouses something within me.” Gerard reached down to cup the fattening bulge within Tristan‟s breeches. “I see what you mean, my prince.” Voices approached outside the tent, and they quickly stepped apart. Tristan‟s eyes shone with lust as he whispered, “Tonight we shall lie together in my chambers. Take the back stairs to the top and step to the right. I shall hang this chain on the catch.” Tristan lifted a chain made of delicate silver links. Gerard nodded, and a moment later, the tent flap flew up and two knights strode in. When they saw Tristan, each fell to one knee and bowed his head. “My prince!” the men said in unison. Tristan held Gerard‟s gaze a moment longer, then turned to face the men and said with a touch of disdain in his voice, “You may rise, fallen knights of my father‟s army.” The men got to their feet, and their eyes widened at the sight of Gerard standing bare-chested before the prince. Tristan noted their reactions and turned to deliver a smirk in Gerard‟s direction. “He has a strong will, does he not?” Tristan said, his voice regal but admiring. “I came to congratulate him on his win, and here he stands half-unclothed before me. Such a knight has a firm conviction of his place. You could both learn from his example.” “I thank you, my prince,” Gerard replied and bowed his head. “All my efforts in battle are done for Algonwick and its royal family.” Tristan nodded. “The royal family commends your skill in battle.” Gerard dropped to one knee and held his fist over his heart, bowing his head and saying, “For love of country and the royal crest of Algonwick.” “Arise, my knights,” Tristan said and nodded to Gerard as he placed a hand over his heart. He then turned to the two knights standing by the tent flap and nodded. “Farewell, fallen knights. Perhaps a bit more practice on the field would keep you longer in the games?” Tristan gave Gerard a final smirk, then turned and, as one of the fallen knights rushed to open the flap, ducked out of the tent and was gone. “God in heaven,” the other knight said with a gasp and looked at Gerard with wide eyes. “You were visited by the prince himself!” Gerard nodded and turned his back on the man, resuming his watch of the battle and hiding his smirk. “Aye, that‟s what happens when you win the Royal Games, Sir Trent. Remember that as you go about your own lessons.” The knights grumbled replies that Gerard could not hear, picked up the swords they had returned for, then ducked back out of the tent. The swelling cheers of the crowd told Gerard it was almost time for his final challenge, and he called to the pages he could hear play-fighting outside the tent to help him dress for battle,

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the gray of Tristan‟s eyes filling his mind and the hard length of the man‟s cock still burning in his palm. Beneath the high afternoon sun, King Everard Fysher stood and raised his hands, and the crowd fell silent. Tristan held up a golden goblet within which lay scraps of parchment, each with a challenge written upon it. The king pulled up the sleeve of his robe and reached into the goblet to draw out a piece of folded parchment. As the king opened the parchment, Gerard found he was holding his breath and slowly let it out. He was up against Bartholomew again, and though he had been confident of his victory coming into the games, he suddenly felt nervous. Bartholomew was more experienced and cunning in battle. He would need to be cautious. The king‟s voice carried easily across the hushed, expectant crowd. “The final challenge for these Royal Games, between Sir Gerard and Sir Bartholomew, is to be…” He paused, then said, “The joust!” The crowd cheered, and Gerard let out a breath, turning to nod to Bartholomew, who set his mouth beneath his heavy, dark beard and nodded back. Gerard mounted his horse at one end of the field and lowered the visor of his helmet. Two pages handed him his lance, and he held it up alongside his torso. Down the field, Bartholomew adjusted himself on his steed, and Gerard took several deep breaths to steady himself. Bartholomew was the strongest member of the Royal Guard and the most experienced. But Gerard had bested him before; he would be able to do it again. At last the trumpets sounded, and Gerard lowered his lance and urged his horse forward. He focused only on Bartholomew‟s advancing form, searching the knight‟s hunched, armored form for an opening as the lance wavered in his grip, its weight straining against his shoulder. The first pass, Gerard missed Bartholomew completely but felt the blow of the older knight‟s lance strike his left shoulder. The tip of the wooden lance exploded as it struck him, and Gerard was shoved back in his saddle. The crowd gasped, but he managed to stay on his horse, and a mighty cheer arose from the benches. Whether it was for Bartholomew‟s blow or the fact that he had remained on his horse, Gerard could not say. They repositioned themselves, and Bartholomew was handed a new lance. Gerard‟s left shoulder ached, and the muscles of his right arm burned from the strain of holding up the lance. But then the trumpet sounded again, and their horses made another pass. This time Gerard noticed Bartholomew shift his weight back and to the right, and he adjusted the position of his lance to strike the right side of the man‟s chest. His aim was true, and though Bartholomew‟s lance missed him, Gerard felt the impact as his lance connected with Bartholomew‟s right side and the tip splintered. The blow sent Bartholomew reeling, flailing his arms as he struggled to maintain position atop his horse. The crowd gasped as one, and Gerard could see every face turned to watch Bartholomew. The knight dropped his lance and finally slid off his horse to land on the dirt of the field, the sound of his armor

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loudly hitting the ground just before the crowd burst into cheers. Gerard had won the medal a second time. As Gerard rode his horse around the field, he sought Tristan‟s face. When he came round and at last met Tristan‟s eyes, even for that briefest of moments, he saw the lust burning in their gray depths and felt his manhood rise beneath his armor with a sudden will of its own. Later they would find a chance to be together, but for now he needed to focus on receiving the jeweled medallion from the king. Gerard rode to the center of the field and dismounted. Pages took from him the remains of the shattered lance and his helmet and carried them off the field, leading his horse by the reins. Gerard shook hands with Bartholomew, who glared at him before turning to limp off the field. The trumpets sounded again, and Gerard laughed as a team of jesters came cartwheeling and tumbling at him across the field. Behind the jesters walked several maidens wearing gowns of white and carrying baskets filled with white rose petals. They spread the petals on the ground at their feet as they walked up to Gerard and, giggling and blushing, split to walk to either side and stand behind him. The trumpets blew again, and all in the seats behind Gerard rose as the knights of the Royal Guard came out on the field two by two. They followed the trail of white rose petals up to Gerard and then split around him as the maidens had moments before, each man clapping him hard on either armored shoulder. Gerard could feel their competitive spirit wanting to dethrone him from his string of wins, but he also felt their deep-seated affection and respect. Bartholomew came last and squinted hard at him before giving him a strong, painful hug. A final blast from the trumpets sent the knights to one knee, Gerard included, as young pages appeared carrying banners flapping in the breeze, emblazoned with the crest of Algonwick: an owl clutching a sword and archer‟s bow in one claw and several scrolls in the other. Behind the pages strode Tristan, his chin held high and his expression regal. He stepped up to Gerard and said loud enough for the quieting crowd to hear, “As prince of this fair and loyal land, I pronounce you, Sir Gerard William Fogg, the victor of these Royal Games.” The crowd cheered yet again and then suddenly fell silent as King Everard stepped onto the field with Queen Jocelyn on his arm. A quiet sigh of awe swept through the crowd at seeing the royal family at so short a distance, and then Gerard heard the king and queen come to a stop just before him. “Arise, Sir Gerard William Fogg of Algonwick,” King Everard said, his voice strong and carrying easily to the crowd. Gerard got to his feet and looked into the king‟s cool gray eyes. He could feel the man studying him and wondered if the king suspected his involvement with Tristan. A line of sweat ran down his side as several awful scenarios galloped unbidden through his mind: Tristan called out before his father and mother and taking his own life, leaving Gerard to wallow in his grief; the two of them called out and burned at the stake as sodomites; or Tristan forced into marriage with the princess of a neighboring kingdom, leaving Gerard alone and miserable.

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And then the king continued to speak, and Gerard forgot all else. “You have proven, yet again, to be a man not only of virtuous heart, but able of body and quick at battle. It is with great pleasure that I bestow upon you this jeweled medallion. Shall this medal remind you of these days of golden youth when you are older and not as fierce in combat.” The king turned and accepted from Ranulf Godfrey a heavy medallion covered with jewels. King Everard draped the medallion about Gerard‟s neck and said to him in a quiet voice, “From evil times often does a champion emerge. I am honored that fate brought you to my Royal Guard.” Gerard fell to one knee and clasped his fist over his heart, surprised to find tears in his eyes. “It is I who am honored, Your Majesty.” The crowd cheered, and the trumpets sounded as the knights pounded Gerard on the back, then ran to the benches to look for their women. Gerard stood dazed for a moment beneath the hot sun, the medallion heavy around his neck. A touch on his elbow brought him around to find King Everard beside him. The king leaned in and said, “Come, Sir Gerard, and walk with me a bit before you ride off to celebrations.”

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Chapter Five It took some time, but Gerard finally managed to slow his stride to match the king‟s leisurely pace by the time they had reached the royal gardens. Sweat greased his skin and had soaked through the tunic and breeches he had quickly changed into inside the tent. He was sure he smelled of horse and the efforts of his battles, but the king did not seem to notice. Tristan and his mother had taken the direct route back to the castle, and now it was just Gerard and the king walking the shaded garden paths. They passed a bench nestled in a small alcove, and Gerard smiled at the memory of an encounter with Tristan on that bench weeks before. “You are a fine warrior, Sir Gerard,” the King said in his deep, clear voice. It was a strong voice, used to addressing the kings of neighboring countries and other foreign dignitaries as well as crowds of people of his own realm. “Strong, alert, confident without arrogance, and the other knights of my guard seem to hold you in great esteem.” Gerard bowed his head. “Your words do me great honor, Your Majesty.” “I speak only the truth.” The king came to a sudden stop, and Gerard took a few steps before realizing the man was no longer beside him. He turned to find the king with his hands clasped behind his back, looking up at the trees towering above them, his face calm, thoughtful. “These trees have been here long before you or I,” the king said. Gerard looked up at the green canopy spread above them. “That they have, Your Majesty.” “They will be here long after you and I have left this life behind. Much like my son and his heirs will outlive me.” Gerard shifted uncomfortably but remained silent. He did not like to think about Tristan getting married and having children, engaging in those rituals they could not participate in together. The king took a few steps closer and lowered his voice. “My son is a good man, Sir Gerard.” Gerard nodded. “That he is, sir.” “He is just and brave, compassionate and loyal.” “All excellent qualities for a future king.” “His fault, if I may be so bold, is that he tries to be too many things to all people,” the king said. “He wishes to mingle more directly with the folk of the village, learn their routines, hear their woes.” The king snorted and shook his head. “Next he will want to learn their trades and plow their fields.”

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Gerard shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable and unsure what to say in response. He and Tristan had spoken at length about the prince‟s ideas of becoming more involved with the people of the kingdom, and Gerard did not wish to disparage his lover‟s ideals. Clearing his throat, Gerard said, “I believe the prince wishes to work toward improving the quality of life in the village.” “Indeed,” the king said, then narrowed his eyes. “You speak with an educated tongue, Sir Gerard.” Gerard blushed and nodded. “Thank you, sir. It is because of your books and tutors that I can claim my education.” King Everard nodded, then took a breath and let it out slowly, his gaze wandering across the many colors of flowers throughout the garden. “Alas, Tristan may be strong of heart and opinion, but he is not a strong warrior.” Gerard held back a smirk. He had wrestled with Tristan many times, usually as a precursor to the removal of their clothing, and knew this to be true. “I am sure the prince is a fine warrior in his own right.” The king shook his head and continued along the path, his gait slow and thoughtful. “I have watched him practice at swordplay and hand-to-hand combat in the courtyards of the castle. He has physical strength, but he lacks the skills and learned agility to be truly great. If he had had a brother to spar with growing up, things might be different, but alas, my wife was unable to bear me any more children after Tristan.” The king‟s gaze darkened, and he looked away, his eyes distant as though looking back at a memory he could not leave alone. A moment later he seemed to shake himself free of the past and glanced at Gerard. “I fear his inexperience in battle may prove one day to be his downfall.” The king took a long, slow breath and released it, turning to Gerard with a narrow-eyed look. “I worry for my son‟s life, Sir Gerard.” Gerard was instantly on alert, his heart rate accelerating and a flush rising in his cheeks. “Has the prince been threatened, my lord? I swear on my life, no harm shall befall him while I still draw breath.” The king waved for him to relax. “Be still, Sir Gerard. There has been no direct threat on Tristan‟s life. However, I have…information that he may be in danger.” The king looked out over the gardens, his face troubled. “Something has changed here in Algonwick. I have it on good authority that evil influences are at work in my kingdom.” He shot a defensive look in Gerard‟s direction. “Very good authority, if you care to know. From a man I have trusted since before Tristan was born. He has never steered me wrong.” Gerard nodded and held the king‟s gaze. “You speak of Ranulf Godfrey.” He paused, uncertain if he should continue, but decided to let the king know what was being whispered in the streets of his kingdom. “Some say he is a wizard, a warlock, if you will, and practices magic considered heresy by the church.” The king closed his eyes and shook his head. “I know these practices people speak of, and they are not black magic or heretical in nature. Ranulf has a gift, one I have seen him use many times to better this kingdom. Yes, I know Ranulf

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practices ceremonies frowned upon by the church, but I trust him as no other. He has never led me astray, and I believe him now.” “What exactly has Ranulf told you?” Gerard asked. “Does he know any more than what you have told me?” “Alas, no,” the king sighed. “He just mentioned to me that something in his readings has changed. A new element has been introduced that he cannot trace to its source, and he fears it may have an impact on Tristan.” “That is vague, Your Majesty,” Gerard said. “Considering it comes from a man who proposes he can see into the future.” “Yes, I know. But with the possibility of a threat in mind, I would like to ask a favor of you, Sir Gerard.” “Of course.” “I would like you to train my son in the art of battle,” the king said. “I have seen the two of you talking together on occasion, and he appears to hold you in high regard. I believe he may more willingly take lessons from you than from any of the other knights of my Royal Guard. What say you to this request, Sir Gerard?” Gerard looked away to hide his smirk. Here was the king offering him unrestricted access to his son, Gerard‟s true love. The king was requesting Gerard to engage in physical contact with the prince, to grapple with the man he lay with in secret. How could he refuse? “I would be honored, Your Majesty.” Gerard bowed his head. “I will work tirelessly with the prince, night and day if need be, so you may rest assured he will be able to defend himself against any threat.” The king nodded. “Though the threat may come to naught, it makes me feel better to know you will guide him. And please, do not speak of this to any of the other knights. I will explain this to my son myself.” “As you wish, sire.” The king nodded. “I thank you, Sir Gerard, for indulging an old king‟s eccentricities. I will sleep better knowing you spend more time with my son. Now come, let us return to the castle and gorge ourselves in honor of your bravery and skills.” The celebration was well underway by the time they reached the castle. The villagers were treated to food and drink in the courtyards of the castle, and the road leading into town was crowded with people coming and going. Gerard escorted the king as far as the main doors to the castle proper, where he bade the man farewell and turned to scan the crowd. The sun was past its zenith, and a cool breeze stirred the banners and pennants. Men and women laughed and called to one another as tankards of ale and platters of food passed back and forth. Gerard stood a moment on the stone steps of the castle and let the joy and celebration of the scene fill him, etching it into his memory as he thought about all the time he and Tristan would be able to spend together. The king‟s concern sat in a corner of his heart, a worry he

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had taken on himself, but for now he could celebrate his victory. Tomorrow he would begin teaching Tristan the skills he needed to protect himself. From within the crowd Gerard caught sight of a group of his brother knights. He waved, and the men approached. “Well, well, well,” Bartholomew said. “If it isn‟t the man of the festival. Where‟s your medallion of jewels?” “Do you think I would wear it with the likes of you lurking around?” Gerard said, and they all laughed. “You seem to be missing something,” said Phillip as he looked at Gerard‟s empty hands. “Here, let me remedy that.” Phillip turned and reached into the midst of a group of people nearby. When he pulled his hand back, he clasped three tankards filled with ale. “Why, look what I found!” Phillip kept one for himself, gave another to Gerard and the last to Bartholomew. Phillip then raised his tankard high, and his face grew serious as he locked eyes with Gerard. “For Sir Gerard Fogg, may he always stand strong in the face of adversity.” “And watch his back,” Bartholomew added, “because we all wish to take the title from him.” The men laughed and drank, and Gerard endured the pounding of their hands on his back. “You are all too kind, really,” he said in a dry voice. “Come, young Fogg,” Phillip said and put an arm around his shoulders. “Let us celebrate your final victory in the Royal Games with food from the king‟s kitchen.” Laughing, the knights pushed their way through the crowd and entered the castle. In the great hall, tables had been piled high with platters of meats, breads, fruits, boiled vegetables and potatoes, fresh-baked pies and cakes and sweet buns. Casks of ale stood at one end of the hall behind tables stacked with freshly drawn tankards. The men grabbed more ale, then picked up pewter plates and loaded them with food. “All this food for Sir Gerard?” another knight said into Gerard‟s ear, and he turned to find a short, stocky man missing several teeth grinning up at him. “Of course it is, Colin,” Gerard said. “And because I like you, I‟m allowing you to partake as well.” They both laughed as they made their way to a table up front near the dais where the royal family dined. The queen sat to the king‟s right, and Tristan sat on his father‟s left. Gerard nodded to him as he sat down, and Tristan tipped his head in greeting, then returned to his conversation with Ranulf Godfrey. Ranulf turned his dark eyes Gerard‟s way for a long moment, and Gerard nodded to him as a sudden shiver climbed his spine. The evening passed with abundant food, more drink, and much laughter. A trio of men climbed atop a table and played popular songs on recorders and flute, and the throng of drunken celebrants pushed aside tables to open up space for

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dancing. As the ale flowed, the songs became increasingly bawdy and the crowd more raucous. With the knights around him drinking mug after mug of ale and exchanging exaggerated tales of bravery in battle, Gerard caught himself staring more openly at Tristan. The ale had made his glances more brazen than earlier, and he felt Tristan‟s longing in the looks he returned. Finally Gerard could take no more. He nodded to Tristan, and the prince gave a nod in response, then turned to excuse himself to his mother. Gerard watched Tristan leave the room, his gaze falling to the rounded curve of the man‟s ass and his member fattening with intent. His brother knights were still trading stories, and Gerard easily slipped into the crowd to head for the back stairway that led to the royal bedchambers. Tonight he was to lie with Tristan in the prince‟s bed for the first time.

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Chapter Six Candlesticks illuminated the halls of the castle, spaced along the walls at great intervals and causing Gerard‟s shadow to grow and shrink as he passed each one. During previous parties and festivals, he and Tristan had met in a small alcove halfway up these steps, on a landing not four paces in width. A pair of gardennymph statues flanked the alcove, and a small wooden bench stood inside the indentation, ready to allow the old or infirm to rest partway through their ascent— or provide a private place to those seeking a tryst. A single candle on the wall across from the alcove provided a dim, flickering illumination that cast more shadow than light and set a romantic mood. Gerard mounted the steps two at a time, breath hot in his throat and his member growing harder the higher he climbed. He passed the alcove without pausing, rushing up the stairs, climbing higher in the royal tower than he had ever been before. At the top, a long hallway branched off to curve around the tall central tower, and Gerard moved stealthily, one hand trailing along the stone wall until he came to a stop before a thick wooden door. The silver chain hung on the catch, and Gerard smiled. He took the chain in his hand, paused to catch his breath, then pushed open the door. He stepped into the room and closed the door firmly behind him. The first thing that struck him was the size and height of the bed. Four solid wooden posts stood at each corner, supporting a panel decorated with heavy fabrics and surrounded by drapes of the same material. Layers of various furs lay on what looked to be a down mattress, and tapestries woven with richly colored threads covered the walls. A gathering of small oil lamps around the room cast golden, wavering light, and Gerard could see several lined up inside a small fireplace no doubt used for heat in the winter. A large wooden tub stood in one corner, pitchers of water and piles of soft towels nearby. Tristan stood behind a high-backed chair, his fingers curled over the top. “So now you see how spoiled I am,” Tristan said. “This is where each night I sleep and dream of you.” Gerard crossed the room in three quick strides, his passion driving him forward to grab the prince and kiss him hard. Their tongues met and rolled together before the prince pulled back, his hands on Gerard‟s chest. “I arranged to have fresh bathwater brought up earlier.” Tristan kissed him again. “I thought you might want to wash away the smell of horse and battle.” “I thought you enjoyed my sweat.”

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“When it‟s earned with me in the mix.” Tristan stepped away, holding on to Gerard‟s hands and leading him to the tub in the corner. “Come, let me cleanse you.” Gerard glanced over his shoulder. “What if we are missed?” Tristan crossed the room and bolted the door. “The rest of the kingdom is too drunk to notice our absences.” With a smile, Gerard pulled his tunic over his head and untied the leather laces of his boots. He dropped his linen breeches and undergarments and stood nude before Tristan, his cock stirring in the breeze from the narrow window. “You seem to have been injured in your battles,” Tristan said, walking up and grasping Gerard‟s member. “This area appears to be swelling.” Gerard gasped at the softness of Tristan‟s hand and tipped his head back. “You have me at a disadvantage, my prince.” “Do I?” Tristan gave him a quick, firm squeeze, then released his grip and stepped around the tub. “Please step into the tub, my knight.” Gerard stepped into the wooden tub and sat with his arms around his knees. Tristan removed his brocade jacket and unlaced the ties of his white ruffled shirt, all the while giving Gerard a critical look. “You are a filthy beast.” Gerard‟s member twitched at the sight of Tristan undressing. “Filthy and aroused, thanks to you.” Tristan gave him a small smile. “Patience, my love.” He removed his shirt and linen undershirt, his shoes and silk pants quickly following, until he stood wearing only linen undergarments. “There, this should make washing you easier.” “I like this style of bathing better than the bath I share with my brother knights.” Tristan moved behind him and lifted a pitcher of water, then dumped the warmed contents over Gerard‟s head. Gerard sputtered and wiped water from his eyes, then turned to watch Tristan dip a cake of lavender-scented soap into a water basin. With lather in his palms, Tristan ran the bar up and down the length of Gerard‟s back. Gerard groaned at the slick feel of the soap and the strong caress of Tristan‟s fingers. “That feels much better than when Bartholomew does it for me.” Tristan laughed as he worked the lather over Gerard‟s back. He had Gerard stand, then soaped the mounds of Gerard‟s buttocks, slipping a soapy finger into the eager hole, causing Gerard to grunt at the sudden invasion. His yard bounced, and a thick line of clear fluid dribbled into the water in the tub. “Be careful what you begin, my prince,” Gerard cautioned. “Oh, my apologies, Sir Gerard.” Tristan grinned as he eased his finger quickly in and out of Gerard‟s passage. He moved lower, soaping up each leg down to the foot, where he had Gerard lift first one, then the other, as he ran lathered hands around and under each.

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With the backside washed, Tristan emptied two warmed pitchers over Gerard‟s body, sluicing away the soap and dirt into the tub. He then emptied another warmed pitcher down Gerard‟s front and ran soapy fingers across his hairy, muscular chest and flat belly. “You are a hairy beast, aren‟t you?” Tristan said. “Just as you like me.” “‟Tis true,” Tristan replied. Gerard watched Tristan‟s soft, pale hands work the lather across his bronze skin. He raised his arms, and the man cupped soap-filled palms into his armpits. The lavender scent and warm water relaxed him even as his cock jerked and throbbed. As Tristan‟s hands moved lower along his torso, a runner of clear fluid dribbled from the hooded tip of Gerard‟s cock to fall into the dirty water around his feet. “You‟re leaking, my knight,” Tristan said. “Due to your attentions,” Gerard replied. His gaze dropped to Tristan‟s tented linen undergarments, and he had to close his eyes to keep from stepping out of the tub and grabbing the man before he was rinsed. “I think this area is especially soiled,” Tristan said, taking hold of Gerard‟s yard with soap-slicked fingers. Gerard moaned at his slippery touch and, keeping his eyes closed, said through gritted teeth, “I believe you are correct, my prince. You may have to scrub that area more thoroughly than the others.” Tristan pulled on Gerard‟s member, slowly at first, then gradually moving his hand faster. Lather dropped from his quickening fist into the water as Gerard sucked in his breath and bent his knees. The sensation of Tristan‟s soap-slick fist sent waves of pleasure rushing through him. With his hands fisted at his side, Gerard could feel himself drawing close, so close. “There, that should do it,” Tristan said, and his hand fell away, leaving Gerard with his mouth agape, his yard hard as stone and unspent. “All clean.” Gerard opened his eyes to glare at Tristan. “You are a tease.” “Oh, that‟s not teasing,” Tristan said, his intent obvious by the pouch of his own undergarments. “If I were to not let you finish at all this evening, that would be teasing.” He poured warm water down Gerard‟s chest to wash away the soap and dirt, then produced a low stool for him to sit on above the dirty water and wet his hair and face. Gerard closed his eyes and let his mind drift as Tristan‟s long fingers worked the lather into his scalp, slowly working their way across his skull. No one had ever touched him as Tristan did. The fingers moved lower, into his beard, and Gerard raised his head to allow him to reach under his jaw. Another pitcher of water rinsed the soap away, and then a soft towel was draped over his head, and Tristan vigorously scrubbed at his hair to dry it.

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“A little slower, please,” Gerard growled beneath Tristan‟s onslaught of drying. “I would like to not be bald when you have finished with me.” “Oh, you‟re so particular,” Tristan said, but Gerard could hear the smile in his voice. At last Gerard had been washed, rinsed, and dried, and he stood nude just outside of the tub. His yard, still solid with intent, jumped in time with his heartbeat. He licked his lips as Tristan stood at the foot of the massive bed and slowly lowered his undergarments, stained now with his sticky, clear fluid. Gerard could stand it no longer and moved quickly, dropping to his knees before Tristan and gulping down his hot, solid length. Tristan let out a quiet gasp, placing a hand on the back of Gerard‟s head to hold him still as he moved his hips. The thick length of him slipped in and out between Gerard‟s lips, filling his mouth, then leaving behind the salty taste of his skin. “Oh, my knight, I miss your body when we are apart,” Tristan sighed. He slowed his hips and reached down to grab Gerard beneath the arms, pulling him to his feet and kissing him hard. With their tongues entwined, Tristan slowly spun them around until Gerard felt the backs of his knees hit the foot of the bed, and he fell across the pile of furs covering the mattress. Tristan spread Gerard‟s legs open and leaned down to gently purse his lips around the red, glistening tip of his member. Gerard groaned and laid his head back on the soft furs as Tristan slowly moved his mouth up and down his hardened length. Every now and then, Tristan would pause to slip his tongue beneath the thin flesh that covered the rounded head, a move that sent shudders of pleasure rippling through Gerard. He lay with his eyes closed and his hands fisted on the fur beneath him, the feel of Tristan‟s mouth around him nearly overwhelming his senses. Tristan had never paid this much attention to his manhood before—they had never had the luxurious possibility of uninterrupted time together—and Gerard felt things he had never experienced. The light flick of tongue beneath his foreskin, the warm, wet envelopment as Tristan took his entire length in his mouth, the gentle kneading of his low-hanging purse—all these feelings made his head swim and his loins ache for release. After several minutes, Gerard lifted his head and said in a deep voice, “You need some attentions now. Switch with me.” Tristan raised his head, the lamplight revealing eyes glassy with lust and lips wet and plump. “I am never allowed this much opportunity to enjoy your body.” “Let us share the time, then,” Gerard said, almost pleading. “I need the taste of your flesh.” Tristan climbed on top of the mattress and positioned himself alongside Gerard with his feet at the head of the bed and his swollen manhood next to Gerard‟s face. Gerard rolled onto his side and took the man‟s hard, sticky pole into his throat. His nose pressed into the soft, hairy sac of Tristan‟s purse, and Gerard breathed in the smell of sweat and lavender soap. As Gerard filled his mouth with the hard shaft, Tristan resumed sucking his yard as well. They slurped and

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grunted, sweating and grasping at each other until first Tristan and then Gerard let loose a torrent of hot seed, which the other eagerly swallowed. Easing his mouth from Tristan‟s still-firm rod, Gerard placed a gentle kiss on the hooded tip and rolled onto his back to catch his breath, the tang of seed pleasingly sharp on his tongue. Tristan shifted position and lay beside him, an arm over his chest as he leaned in to kiss a sensitive nipple. Gerard sighed and turned his head to kiss Tristan on the mouth, tasting himself on the man‟s tongue. The kiss deepened, and Tristan rolled on top of him, rubbing his softening staff against Gerard‟s until both were once again hard. “We‟ve never had opportunity to revive ourselves for another encounter,” Gerard said around Tristan‟s enthusiastic mouth and tongue. “An opportunity long overdue,” Tristan replied. With one more kiss, Tristan slipped to the floor to pad across the room, and Gerard watched the lamplight play across the pale, rounded mounds of his backside. “Would you leave me in this state?” Gerard pushed his erection upright and slowly stroked it. Tristan retrieved a small jar from the shadows in the corner behind the tub and returned to the bed to straddle Gerard‟s waist, slapping his hardened lance against Gerard‟s chest several times and leaving a trail of sticky fluid tangled in his dark hair. “Much better,” Gerard said and put his large hands on Tristan‟s hips. The lamplight flickered across their forms as Tristan dipped fingers into the jar and reached back to slide a slick hand along Gerard‟s length. Gerard gasped and closed his eyes as something cool and slippery touched him. “What is this with which you baste me?” “‟Tis only lard, my love,” Tristan assured him. “And not to bake you, but to stick you.” Gerard looked up at Tristan in confusion. “Stick me? Shall I stick myself? Why do you grease my yard instead of my hole?” Tristan rose to his knees and reached back to finger his hole, closing his eyes in delight, and Gerard suddenly understood. “You‟ve never taken me before,” Gerard said. “Be sure you wish this, Tristan, before proceeding.” Tristan kissed him. “I‟ve wished this for many weeks now and planned this night thus. I have made use of several objects alike in size to you, my knight, so I am assured to be ready to join with you. Lie still as I impale myself upon your lance, Sir Gerard.” “As you wish,” Gerard replied, his cock twitching in anticipation. In their previous encounters, Gerard had always been the one to be penetrated. The first time it had happened, he had been consumed by the need to have Tristan inside him, to allow the man to invade and control him. He had made use of a generous

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amount of spit, and after a period of adjustment that he stubbornly worked through, Gerard found he enjoyed the penetration and withdrawal as much as he had anticipated. Now each carried a small amount of lard with him for unexpected encounters, and Gerard relished the slick entry of Tristan‟s staff, the feel of the man deep inside him, filling him, completing him, and the sticky leak of the man‟s seed hours after the act had reached climax. Now, in Tristan‟s bedchamber, their roles had suddenly reversed, and the prince gripped Gerard‟s pole and guided it toward the tight, round threshold of his center. Gerard lay still across the bed, hands resting on Tristan‟s thighs as his lover lowered himself onto his hardened staff. The foreskin peeled back from the sensitive rounded tip as it pushed beyond the taut ring, and Gerard sucked in a breath at the sensation, like none he had ever experienced. He had not been with a woman and had never been on the delivering end of the act of love, so he only had his own experience with which to compare. As his yard moved deeper into the hot confines of Tristan‟s arse, the prince‟s muscles closed around his shaft like a tight, pliable fist, and Gerard moaned. “Your hole embraces me well,” Gerard said. “Go easy. Do not rush.” “Your lance is long,” Tristan said with a slight grimace. “This might take some practice.” Gerard smiled up at him. “Take as long as you need. I‟m quite happy right where I am.” Tristan grinned down at him, then eased up and down along the top half of Gerard‟s member, slowly taking more with each lowering until, finally, he sat fully impaled. They paused to kiss, Gerard‟s yard buried inside Tristan, throbbing within the dark, wet heat of his tight embrace as the prince sighed and rolled his tongue through Gerard‟s mouth. After breaking the kiss, Tristan sat upright and rocked his hips as Gerard himself did when he sat impaled. Gerard closed his eyes and marveled at the sensation of the advance and retreat of his yard. Tristan‟s muscles clenched and relaxed around him, and as Tristan‟s rocking motion increased, Gerard lost track of where he ended and Tristan began, his hips soon joining the motion, thrusting as if of their own accord. Gerard opened his eyes, then looked up at Tristan‟s face and watched his love‟s expression as his staff slid into the man. They were forever joined now, equals in this love. Before, Gerard had felt alone in his need to be filled by Tristan, the maddening hunger for the sensation of the man‟s yard pushing into him, filling him, touching that place deep inside where no other had ever been. And now Gerard was experiencing what Tristan felt all those times before—the initial resistance of the man‟s threshold, the hot embrace as his length burrowed deep within him, the building intensity of his climax as Tristan rocked on top of him. Tristan balanced himself with his palms on Gerard‟s chest, his eyes open and staring down into Gerard‟s as each thrust seemed to push the air from his lungs in quiet gasps. A quick, sharper gasp was all the prince could manage to warn of his climax, and Gerard watched Tristan‟s eyes squeeze shut. The sudden hot splash of

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Tristan‟s seed across his chest and the tightening of muscle around his yard pushed Gerard to his release. His hips rose off the mattress, lifting Tristan, and he clenched his jaw as he spent himself inside the hot, slick depths of his love. They remained joined as they caught their breath, kissing and touching each other. “We are now one,” Gerard said, kissing Tristan again. “I love you as I have loved no other.” “As I love you,” Tristan whispered, kissing him and swiping his tongue across Gerard‟s lips. “You are deep inside me, so close to my heart. I do not want you to withdraw.” “I will stay within you for as long as you wish,” Gerard said. “How did you find it?” Tristan kissed him and ran fingers through the puddles of his seed on Gerard‟s chest. “You fill me well, my knight. The evidence of my pleasure seems to be spread across your chest.” Gerard kissed him again, and then, with a reluctant sigh, Tristan eased himself off Gerard‟s softening yard. “Ah, it feels better in the heat of it,” Tristan said with a grimace. Gerard smiled. “You are the most courageous man I have ever met.” Tristan cocked his head. “Courageous?” “Your bravery gives me hope that one day we shall be able to live as one,” Gerard said, his gaze moving over Tristan‟s body, turned from the fireplace so that he was half in shadow. “Perhaps others will be encouraged by your bravery and change their own ways of thinking.” “Others? Like my father?” Tristan asked. Gerard looked away and gazed into the fire across the room. “You know, your father asked me to teach you the art of battle.” Tristan nodded and turned to cross the room to the tub, saying over his shoulder. “Yes, he told me of this request while we dined. To be honest, I first felt offense at his arrangement.” Gerard sat up in bed. “Offense?” Tristan shrugged. “He does not think me capable of taking care of myself. I am but a child to him. He refuses to see me for the man I have become.” Gerard touched a palm to the indentation left in the soft mattress by Tristan‟s knees. He looked back up and set his jaw. “Your father is concerned for your welfare, based on things Ranulf has told him. And I must confess, I feel protective of you and wish to help you learn to become a great leader who not only counsels his people when times are low, but leads his men onto a field of battle with courage in his heart and steel in his fist.” Tristan turned, and in the half-light from the fire, Gerard could see the man‟s lips pressed tight. He paused, then bent to pick up a damp towel to clean his back passage. “You are right, of course. Both you and my father are right. I need to learn

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the ways of battle if I am to be king one day. I must be able to lead my army into battle if that is what is called for.” Gerard nodded. “To lead an army of men, to gain their respect, you need to understand what they see on the battlefield.” Tristan took a breath. “You‟re right, I know. It just…it hurts to think he‟s not proud of me the way I am.” “Do not doubt your father‟s love or pride,” Gerard said as he slid to the edge of the mattress and stepped onto the cool stone floor to cross the room and stand before Tristan. “You are his legacy and the reason he works to make this land as strong and bountiful as he can. He sees nothing but great things in you and wants others to see that too. And Ranulf‟s talk of threats against your life has him frightened. Where is Ranulf‟s proof? In the magic cards through which he claims he can read the future? Is it not convenient that none other but him can read those cards?” Gerard made a face and waved his hand in the air. “Enough about the old wizard. I accepted your father‟s request to be able to spend more time with you, to allow us to be alone together more often with no questions. This is our chance to really be together, to leave the castle walls and be ourselves. You should be grateful to your father for this unexpected gift.” Tristan said nothing, and Gerard stepped closer. He took Tristan‟s face between his palms, and the man lifted his mysterious gray eyes, so similar to his father‟s. Within them, Gerard saw a hint of sadness, and he leaned down to kiss each eyelid. “You mean more to me than my own breath. This training will give us the chance to be together more often, without the need for deceit.” Tristan smiled, and Gerard was relieved to see the sadness in the prince‟s eyes retreat. Tristan reached up to place his hands over Gerard‟s, where they rested along his jaw. “You always know how to make me feel better, my knight.” Gerard kissed him softly. “And here we are, alone already, and in your bedchamber, no less.” “So the lessons have already begun?” Tristan asked. “And what did you just teach me? Plundering?” Gerard kissed him and smiled. “More like a gentle invasion.” Tristan used another towel to reach down and wipe Gerard‟s staff clean, kissing him softly in the process. “If all invasions feel that good, I say let them invade Algonwick time and time again.” The prince dropped the towel into the tub, then leaned into Gerard and hugged him. Gerard held the man close, basking in the feel of their bodies pressed together, the sound of Tristan‟s breath in his ear, the beat of his love‟s heart so close to his own. “I love you,” Tristan whispered. “But I fear it is time we must part.” “Aye,” Gerard replied as a dull ache settled in his chest at the thought. “My brother knights will be looking for me, no doubt.”

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“And my father and mother will be wondering where I have got off to.” Tristan sighed. Gerard pulled back to kiss him softly. “We may be apart, but now you carry my seed within you, as I have yours so many times before. We are closer now than we have ever been. Do you not feel the same?” “I do, my knight,” Tristan said and settled a gentle kiss on his lips. “And I shall sleep in the spot where you lay and breathe in the scent of your body and dream of your yard cooling the passion that inflames my heart when I think of you.” Gerard kissed him and turned away to hide the tears in his eyes. They dressed in silence, then embraced once again. Gerard smiled. “I could not ask for a better victory celebration than this. Sleep well this night, my handsome love.” “Sleep well, my strong, brave knight.” Gerard turned to the door, then turned back and said with a pout, “You did not say I was handsome.” Tristan laughed and leaned in to give him a kiss. “Go, my strong, brave, handsome knight.” Smiling, Gerard checked the hallway to make sure no one was about; then he slipped from the room and made his way to the steps, where he descended into the raucous music and laughter of the feast.

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Chapter Seven The morning lessons fell into a comfortable routine that allowed them to spend many hours together. It also broke up the monotony of Gerard‟s day and gave him more of an incentive to work on his battlefield skills. Under Gerard‟s tutelage, Tristan began to develop a sense for battle and the skills to go along with it. The prince‟s arms, toned to begin with, showed more muscle definition as he wielded his sword in the various scenarios Gerard devised for him. One hot afternoon, after a particularly grueling practice in a meadow away from the castle grounds, Tristan refreshed himself with water from a nearby stream and returned to sit beside Gerard in the shade of an old willow at the top of a rise. They sat side by side in comfortable silence for a long moment, and then Tristan asked, “How do you know so much about battle if you‟ve never fought in a war?” “My, aren‟t you impertinent,” Gerard replied with a chuckle. “Still sore over that throw I surprised you with?” Tristan shot him a narrow-eyed look. “You didn‟t surprise me. I just wanted to know what it felt like to be thrown.” “Ah, I see.” Gerard nodded and looked out over the moors. Tristan threw a small stone at the side of his head. “Do you mean to be insulting, or does it just come out of you naturally?” “My sister says it‟s my nature.” “Your sister is an intelligent woman.” “Some would say her brother taught her everything she knows.” “Those people would be either drunk or friends of Shamus, claiming to have seen giant birds in the sky.” Gerard laughed and plucked at the grass. “All right. In answer to your question, my impertinent student, I learned my skills under tutelage with Sir Henry Fenton.” “Fenton?” Tristan squinted at Gerard. “I believe he gave me lessons in military strategy.” He rolled his eyes. “My mind turned numb with boredom.” Gerard tried not to laugh, but a chuckle managed to escape. “Sir Henry was a great warrior and instructor.” “Perhaps to the deaf, blind, and infirm,” Tristan said. “Which would explain your fondness toward him.” Gerard rolled over to grapple with Tristan until he had the man pinned in the soft grass beneath the willow. After looking around to make sure no one was about, Gerard lowered his head and gave him a long, slow kiss.

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“Now,” Gerard said as he broke the kiss but kept Tristan pinned, “apologize for your insult.” Tristan freed his hands and slid them down the front of Gerard‟s linen breeches to grasp his hardened staff. “I see where your thoughts go by the size of your yard.” “With you beneath me, I cannot resist where my thoughts wander,” Gerard replied. “I am accustomed to our time together now. I require daily release.” “I spoil you,” Tristan said, slowly stroking Gerard‟s shaft. Gerard closed his eyes, groaning quietly. “That you do, my prince.” A moment was all it took for Tristan to flip Gerard onto his back. Before Gerard could right himself, Tristan had lifted the knight‟s legs to his shoulders and pressed the rounded bulge in his breeches against him. “A swift move,” Gerard said. “I commend you on your skills of distraction, but I don‟t think that would work in the heat of battle.” Tristan reached down and tore a hole in the taut material of Gerard‟s breeches and the undergarments beneath, exposing the ring of his threshold to the air. “What madness grips you?” Gerard said with a frown. “These were my new breeches.” “The seams were weak,” Tristan replied. “You should return them to their maker and demand repairs.” After a moment to anoint himself with lard, Tristan leaned in and pressed his hard, slick cock into him. Gerard gritted his teeth and looked up into Tristan‟s face as the prince eased his entire length within him. Tristan‟s eyes glowed with lust as he pumped his hips. “Faster,” Gerard grunted. “Push all of yourself into me. Take me over and fill me with your juice.” “I am close,” Tristan gasped, sweat dripping from his brow to fall on Gerard‟s face. “Your arse is so eager, it begs to be filled. Oh, I cannot hold back. I‟m there.” Gerard watched Tristan‟s face as he achieved release, wrapping his legs around the prince‟s hips to hold him in place. He wanted to treasure this moment and hoped if he held Tristan within him tightly enough, their love might somehow stop the relentless rush of time. Gerard whispered, “Stay within me,” as he raised his shirt and slid a hand inside his torn breeches to furiously stroke his oozing rod. “Keep your yard inside me, just a moment, just until…” He lost his voice and squeezed his eyes shut. The feeling of Tristan‟s fevered staff within him, the blue sky overhead, and the sounds of the meadow around them came together as his seed burst from him to splash upon his exposed belly. Gerard caught his breath and slowly opened his eyes to find Tristan smiling down at him, his gray eyes warm and lazy. “I love to watch your face during love,” Tristan whispered and leaned down to kiss him as he slowly, gently slid himself from within Gerard‟s passage. A sad, cool emptiness replaced the familiar feel of Tristan‟s staff, and Gerard found he was already eager to feel it within him again.

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“You are a great instructor,” Tristan said. “Much more interesting than Sir Henry Fenton. Now, shall we clean ourselves in the river and make for home?” He pulled Gerard to his feet and held his hand as they approached the river‟s edge.

*** The weeks passed in a comfortable rhythm of lessons and love, and Gerard found he was truly happy for the first time. He enjoyed being able to teach Tristan the skills of battle and then spend time together in the meadows and woods around the castle. Even though Gerard was ever on alert for the threat to Tristan‟s life as voiced by Ranulf, he found himself whistling more and cheerfully greeting his brother knights, who eyed him with suspicion. And even those few lessons that did not end in release were special to him because of the chance to talk to Tristan about many things. Their relationship deepened and became one of mutual respect, tenderness, and a passionate intensity Gerard had never anticipated. On one of these mornings, cool now with the end of summer and approaching harvest, they were walking through a field of fading sunflowers when Tristan startled Gerard by saying, “I am going to be king someday.” Gerard nodded and swung his sword at stalks of sunflowers turning brown from the nighttime frost. “Aye, that you are.” “And the king can make laws, is that not so?” Tristan said, chopping at another clump of sunflowers himself. Gerard noticed that his swing had improved over the summer, but thought it best to follow the current conversation. “Aye, that he can.” Gerard wiped sticky sunflower milk from his blade. “And what laws will you pass when you wear the crown?” “I shall pass a law that will allow the two of us to live together, as if we were betrothed.” Gerard raised his eyebrows. “Will you, now?” “Aye, that I will.” “I am sure the church would have something to say about that certain law.” “The church does not need to bother with the laws of my kingdom,” Tristan said and cut down another clump of sunflowers, then turned to face him. “Would you live with me, if such a law were to be passed?” Gerard stopped his humorous remark as he noted Tristan‟s serious expression. “My prince, are you inviting me to marry you?” Tristan blushed and looked at the sunflowers scattered around his feet. Inspiration seemed to take him, and he fell to one knee to hack the stem clean from a flower. Placing the flower upon his head, petals pointing to the sky as if it were a crown, Tristan stood and held the grip of his sword with the point in the ground. He turned gray eyes to Gerard‟s face and said in a solemn, regal voice, “As future king and ruler of the lands of Algonwick, I do beseech you to join me in holy wedlock for all the days of our lives, be they many or be they few.”

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Gerard felt a hot lump in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears as he gazed at Tristan‟s earnest, handsome face. His head spun with the idea of being able to spend his life sleeping beside Tristan every night, eating meals at his side, and helping him make decisions concerning the day-to-day business of the kingdom. He could imagine making love with him each night in his bedchamber and awakening beside him the following morning. “What say you, my knight?” Tristan asked in a low voice. “Will you have me for the rest of your life?” Gerard cleared his throat and wiped the tears from his eyes. “It would be my honor and my privilege to stand beside you for the rest of our days.” The resulting smile lit up Tristan‟s face, and he slid a ring from his finger. “Give me your hand.” “That ring will not fit on the thick logs of my fingers,” Gerard said with a smile. Tristan handed over the ring. “Take it anyway, and keep it with you. This ring binds my heart to thee, forever and always.” Gerard accepted the ring and held it in his palm. The autumn sunlight sparkled along the smooth gold of the band, revealing finely etched vines and leaves. A black stone had been centered in the top, and the sunlight shimmered within its depths. “It is black pearl,” Tristan said and closed Gerard‟s hand over it. “A precious stone to signify our precious love.” “I shall think of you whenever I look upon it,” Gerard replied. “And now we are betrothed?” Tristan removed his sunflower crown and kissed him softly, his tongue easy and familiar inside Gerard‟s mouth. Breaking the kiss, Tristan stepped back and said, “By the power granted me by the throne of Algonwick, we are betrothed.” Tears blurred Gerard‟s vision, and he cleared his throat, glancing away until he could regain his composure. Looking back at Tristan, Gerard was relieved to see tears rolling down his cheeks as well. He stepped up to kiss Tristan again, but this time the kiss felt different—less needy and more passionate. Something had shifted for them with the enormity of Tristan‟s announcement. He put his arms around Tristan and pulled him close. “My life is now complete. You have made me so very happy.” “As you do me,” Tristan replied. Gerard leaned down to touch the tip of his tongue to the pink curve of Tristan‟s ear, then whispered, “When shall we take our wedding night?” Tristan pulled back and smiled at him, and Gerard felt his heartbeat double at the joy in his lover‟s face. “When we can figure out a way to sneak you into my bedchamber again.” Gerard leaned in to kiss him. “I have an idea that may help us in that regard.”

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Tristan‟s smile widened. “Tell me your plan, my knight.” They resumed walking toward the distant castle as Gerard explained his idea.

*** That night, beneath a half-moon, Gerard stole across the open castle yard to the kitchen entrance. He eased the door open and slipped inside, then crossed the room to a nook that housed a tall set of wooden shelves stacked high with plates and serving dishes. He stepped into the dark shadows and crouched before the shelves, reaching past the dishes to the rear wall. A small, well-hidden indentation in the back wall gave his fingers purchase and allowed him to slide a portion of the wooden backing aside. Gerard move away the dishes, then fell to his belly and slid into the dark, chilly passage behind. He returned the dishes to their original location, then closed the secret door behind him and, using his hands to guide his way, followed the narrow hallway to a set of stone steps that wound up into darkness. Following a rigorous climb that left him gasping, Gerard reached the top of the circular staircase and felt his way along another narrow hall. This passage led behind the bedchambers of the royal tower, and as he walked he counted his paces, passing wooden doors until he came to one in particular. Small wooden pegs had been pounded into the walls to afford hanging lanterns, but Gerard had a better idea. In the dark of the passage, he pulled from beneath his tunic the jeweled medallion he had won at the Royal Games. He held it for a moment, thinking of the first medallion he had won now hidden beneath the floor of Eleanor‟s bedchamber. He had no safe place of his own to store his jeweled treasures, and the knights‟ bunkhouse saw too many visitors come and go for him to keep the medals by his bunk. Besides, Gerard liked knowing those who meant the most to him were guarding the objects he held most dear. Gerard smiled at the memory of Eleanor‟s stunned expression when he had presented the medallion to her. After hanging his most recent medallion on a peg across from a narrow wooden door, he turned and slid the door aside. Robes, breeches, and other finery hung in the armoire that concealed the passage doorway, and he pushed the clothing aside. Gerard stepped into the wardrobe and turned to slide the false back of the armoire closed behind him, then eased open the wardrobe door. A fire burned in the hearth, and Gerard blinked against the light until his eyes adjusted. Tristan sat nude in the high-backed chair before the fire, one leg draped over the arm, fully erect and slowly stroking himself as he watched Gerard emerge from the armoire. “You are stealthier than the rats in the grain,” Tristan said. “I did not hear you approach until you opened the back panel.” “The masons who built this castle made sure to leave other means of escape in case of attack,” Gerard said, shedding his clothes as he slowly crossed the room. “As a member of the Royal Guard, I have been taught where each of those secret passages open and end, should I ever need to help the royal family retreat.”

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He stood above Tristan and pushed his undergarments to the floor, leaving him to stand nude save for the gold black-pearl ring on a chain around his neck. “And so, I thought we might make use of them to spend our wedding night together.” “And you come wearing my ring.” Tristan sat forward in the chair and reached up to touch the ring where it lay nestled in the hairy valley of Gerard‟s chest. He then lowered his head and placed a kiss on the tip of Gerard‟s throbbing yard. “And you brought with you all that I need in this world to be happy.” Opening wide, Tristan took him to the root, causing Gerard to gasp and close his eyes. Tristan nursed him awhile, pursing his lips tight around the shaft and stroking in time with his mouth. As Tristan busied himself with Gerard‟s staff, Gerard stood with his head tipped back, twisting his own nipples until he could take it no longer and pulled himself from between Tristan‟s eager lips. He leaned down to kiss the prince‟s full, swollen lips, then crossed the room to pull a fur from the bed and spread it on the floor before the fire. “Come lie with me by the fire,” Gerard said and held out his hand to help Tristan from the chair. They lay in opposite directions and feasted on each other as they had done before. As Tristan‟s mouth rose and fell along the hot, throbbing shaft, he moved a hand between Gerard‟s legs and tapped a probing finger against the puckered ring of his back passage. Gerard moaned encouragement and lifted his leg to allow Tristan to slip the tip of a gentle finger just inside his eagerly twitching hole. Gerard grunted around his mouthful of Tristan‟s hardened length and increased the rate of his sucking. Tristan released Gerard from his mouth and, stroking the spit-slick shaft, said in a voice tinged with lust, “I wish to feel your body grip my yard with its hot, wet embrace.” Gerard allowed Tristan to roll him onto his back, and he lifted his legs, holding the backs of his thighs as the prince slicked his hole with lard warmed by its placement near the fire. Tristan knelt before him, and Gerard felt the hard, rounded tip part the trembling circle of his threshold. He sighed at the familiar invasion, a sensation he found himself craving more often these days as he spent more time in Tristan‟s company. The lard eased Tristan‟s entry, and a moment later, his full length was pressed deep inside him. “I want to stay like this forever,” Tristan whispered, delivering soft kisses to Gerard‟s calves. “Lying within you, no one else about. I could live off these moments we share.” “You steal the words directly from my heart, my love,” Gerard said and reached up to run his fingers through the blond hair covering Tristan‟s chest. Tristan fastened his gaze on Gerard‟s face and began to slowly thrust his hips. The withdrawal and invasion of Tristan‟s member sent shivers up Gerard‟s spine, and he stared up into Tristan‟s eyes, riding the waves of pleasure as the prince‟s hips picked up speed. Tristan‟s full length plunged into him, over and over, the arch of it touching a spot deep inside Gerard that took his breath away. A particularly

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deep plunge sent a small, shuddering jolt through him, and a dribble of semen welled up from his shaft, the thick white fluid filling his navel. Tristan dipped a finger into Gerard‟s seed and raised it to his mouth, closing his eyes as he sucked it clean. He thrust deeply several more times, pushing Gerard off the edge to full climax, his yard bucking with its eruption as Gerard‟s hands gripped the fur beneath him. Tristan‟s mouth dropped open, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he spent himself buried in the hot, slick embrace of Gerard‟s back passage. Gasping for breath, Tristan leaned down to kiss Gerard on the lips as he gently slipped himself free. He lay on top of Gerard and placed a hand along the side of his face, kissing him repeatedly as their hearts slowed to what felt to Gerard as a single beat. “And now we are bound together?” Gerard whispered. “And now we are one,” Tristan said, fingering the gold ring that lay upon Gerard‟s chest. “And none shall ever separate us as long as we draw breath.” Gerard wrapped his arms around him, holding Tristan firmly on top of him and kissing him softly. They lay that way, drifting in and out of sleep, the puddles of Gerard‟s seed drying to a scale between them, until the fire burned low and a chill crept into the room. They roused themselves and got to their feet, then dragged the fur cover to the bed with them and slid beneath the comfortable sheets. Gerard felt the ring on the chain lying against his chest as he put an arm around Tristan‟s shoulders and pulled him to his side, knowing that all was well and good in his life. With a gentle kiss, the two fell asleep, sharing the bed until morning, when Tristan helped Gerard dress and checked to make sure the hall was empty. Gerard slipped away, glancing back once at the top of the steps to find Tristan watching him, a small, sated smile on his face. Gerard held his hand over his heart, then stole down the steps, treading carefully and ducking into wall nooks now and then to avoid the chambermaids.

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Chapter Eight On a gray, chilly morning, a fortnight after Gerard had begun spending as many nights in Tristan‟s bedchamber as he could steal away from the knights‟ bunkhouse, Tristan mounted his horse and led Gerard farther than usual from the castle. Gerard was curious about their destination, but Tristan would not give him details. “Your idea of surprise concerns me, my prince,” Gerard said, his horse trotting behind Tristan‟s as they entered the wood outside the village. He looked up and down the empty road with growing apprehension. “There are dangerous thieves about these parts. We should not stray far from castle grounds.” Tristan turned to look over his shoulder. “Relax and loosen your need for control, my knight. These are my lessons, are they not? So I should be able to choose the setting. Just look around and enjoy the scenery.” Gerard exhaled and gazed at the trees spreading out from the road, the autumn colors of the leaves dimmed by the overcast sky. Gerard looked ahead at Tristan and said, “These are very nice trees, my prince, but similar to those much closer to the castle.” Tristan laughed and urged his horse a little faster. With a low growl, Gerard did the same, trying to stay as close behind Tristan as possible. The woods opened up at the base of Moorland Mountain, its rocky peak slowly rising from the grassy foothills. It was not an impressive mountain, but it provided rocks for climbing and small pathways to ascend to the top. At the base of the mountain, Gerard knew, lay a small, dark opening, barely large enough for a man to crawl through on his belly. This opening led into the bowels of the mountain and was not easily seen from afar unless a person stood right before it. It was the cold, dark place known in the village as the Cave of Sorrows. At the edge of the wood that gave way to open grass, Tristan dismounted and tethered his horse to a rowan tree. “Why have you brought us to this place?” Gerard asked, furrowing his brow as he dismounted and looked over the gentle rise of the mountain slope. “This is Moorland Mountain, wherein lies the Cave of Sorrows.” “Aye,” Tristan said and, leaning in close, whispered in his ear, “Do you feel the change in the air? There is no birdsong here, no buzz of insect. Nothing good or pure can live within range of the Cave of Sorrows.” He laughed and turned to face the mountain, hands on hips and a light of excitement in his gray eyes. “I wanted to see it for myself.” “Tristan, this is not a good idea,” Gerard scolded gently. “There are many tales about this place, and none of them end well. Even Shamus, the town drunk, is not

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pickled enough to return to this place. We should leave and find a spot closer to the castle.” He gestured to the darkening sky overhead. “Besides, rain threatens, and we would be foolish to get wet in this cool weather.” “Do a few ghost stories truly frighten you, my knight?” Tristan taunted him. “Is that all it takes to unsettle a member of the Royal Guard?” From the corner of his eye, Gerard saw Tristan turn away with a sigh, then suddenly draw his sword and spin back around, swinging playfully at Gerard. Gerard ducked beneath Tristan‟s sword and drew his own, blocking the man‟s next blow. They battled, chasing each other back and forth through the tall grass of the meadow. Gerard found himself laughing despite his uneasiness with their location, and he went on the offensive, forcing Tristan back until the prince strengthened his attack and pushed Gerard back. At one point, Gerard locked swords with Tristan, both men standing face-to-face, breathing hard and looking in each other‟s eyes. “I brought you here to ensure our time alone,” Tristan said. “Since most in the village are frightened of this place, I assumed we would have time to ourselves.” Gerard leaned in closer. “And is this what you had in mind for our time alone? Swinging swords at one another?” Tristan smirked. “Not exactly the swords I had in mind, but you do need to maintain your skills to remain on my father‟s Royal Guard.” Gerard laughed and pushed Tristan back, standing with his sword ready. “You are quite sure of yourself today, my prince.” “Perhaps I am, but this day is one of a handful we have left to enjoy the outdoors, my knight. The winter cold will soon be upon us, and we will be forced to spend our time indoors where others may intrude.” They battled a little longer, back and forth across the field of tall grass. Gerard noted that Tristan‟s stamina and skills with the sword had improved considerably. And just as he was about to suggest they pause in their battle, he felt the first cold drops of rain. “The rain you predicted has arrived, my knight,” Tristan called to him as the rainfall steadily increased. “And now we shall never know the true victor of this battle.” Gerard lowered his sword and looked at the base of the mountain. From his position, he could not see the mouth of the Cave of Sorrows, but he knew it was there, and as much as he did not want to admit it, the cave was their only true source of shelter to wait out the storm. He turned back to Tristan and pointed to the mountain. “Let us take shelter!” He led Tristan across the field, the grass bending beneath the heavy rainfall, and they crawled one after the other into the mouth of the cave. The chill of the cave bit their wet skin, and both shivered, clasping their arms across their chests. They sat against the wall, huddled together for warmth against the cold of the cave‟s stone.

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“And here they will find us,” Tristan said through chattering teeth. “Frozen together on a mild autumn day.” Gerard drew the man around in front of him, seating Tristan between his legs and pulling him against his chest as he wrapped his arms around him. “Is that better, love?” Tristan snuggled in closer. “Quite. Thank you, my knight.” Gerard kissed Tristan‟s ear and tightened his arms around the man. They sat quiet and still for a moment, Gerard enjoying the feel of Tristan against him. Despite the chill, Gerard‟s body reacted to Tristan‟s nearness, the fattening bulge in his breeches pressing against the firm curve of the prince‟s ass. Tristan sighed and pushed back against him, earning a low groan from Gerard. And then the soft sound of rock on rock came to them from the darker depths of the cave. Gerard‟s arms tightened around Tristan, and he squinted into the black shadows, trying in vain to see the source of the sound. “What approaches?” Tristan whispered. “A creature from the back of the Cave of Sorrows?” “I know not,” Gerard said into his ear and felt Tristan shiver at the touch of his lips. “But we should leave this place. Move slowly toward the cave opening. I will free my sword and follow.” Tristan eased himself from between Gerard‟s legs and closer to the mouth of the cave. Gerard got to his feet, standing in front of Tristan and pulling free his sword. The cold fled his body as he focused on the darkness before him, and a bloodthirsty excitement flooded his system. He considered the possibility that the murderous band of thieves may have taken shelter in this cave as well, and a sudden, savage desire to avenge the slaughtered father and son rose up in his breast. The heat of his craving for vengeance warmed him, loosened his muscles, and sharpened his senses. He squinted into the darkness ahead of him and bent his knees, lowering himself a bit to make less of a target and prepare for attack. Behind him, Gerard heard Tristan pull his sword from its sheath, and he blinked, coming out of his battle readiness in an instant. He was the only protection for Tristan, the man he loved and prince to the kingdom, and here he was, ready to take on an unknown number of enemies to satisfy his personal vengeance. Gerard let out a breath and took several steps back. He bumped into Tristan and continued backing away, pushing the prince closer to the mouth of the cave and the torrential downpour outside. “Why do you retreat?” Tristan whispered in his ear. “My duty is to protect you,” Gerard replied quietly, eyes on the darkness deep within the cave as he eased them both toward the exit. “Have you not trained me these last weeks in the skills of battle?” Tristan hissed, his breath hot in Gerard‟s ear. “What if whoever lurks back there is a threat to the village? Would a true king turn and run from battle?”

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“Tristan,” Gerard growled, risking a glance over his shoulder at Tristan‟s icy gray eyes and the cave opening just steps away. “Now is not the time for this. We know not what we are up against.” “No way to find out without looking,” Tristan said and spun across the width of Gerard‟s back to slip past his left hand and charge forward into the unknown blackness of the cave. “Tristan! No!” Gerard shouted. He took two steps, then froze in place as a high, childlike giggle floated out of the darkness. A cold burst of fear filled his chest, and he adjusted his grip on his sword. He knew that laugh, had heard it spoken of with fear in the village and heard it himself when Malcolm, the bald bandit leader with the strange symbols on his neck, had murdered the father and son on the road before him and escaped. The laugh had taunted Gerard then, but now it turned his blood to ice. “Show yourself,” Gerard commanded, “and stop these childish games.” The scuffle of struggling feet approached, and then Tristan emerged from the shadows of the cave, unarmed, his face white with fear and the gleaming line of a blade at his throat. Malcolm‟s cold blue eyes peered over Tristan‟s shoulder. Gerard could see, even in the dim light of the cave, the vicious glee that sparkled there. “Looky what I found,” Malcolm said, his voice trembling with excitement. “What‟s the market value of a pint of this fucker‟s blood, eh? This supposed prince of Algonwick.” “Release him at once,” Gerard growled, “and perhaps you may live to see another day.” The crazy, chilling giggle floated to him again, sending a shiver up Gerard‟s spine. It was a merciless laugh, lacking compassion or honor, and it frightened Gerard for the simple fact that the man‟s actions could not be predicted. The laugh together with the man‟s strange accent and odd way of speaking, his shaved head, and the symbols that seemed to be burned into his neck, confused and terrified Gerard. “Stop this madness at once and release him,” Gerard said, trying his best to sound commanding and not frightened. “If he is harmed in any way, there will be no place for you to hide in all of England. I shall turn every stone and search the depths of every cave to find you.” “Yeah? Might take you a bit o‟ time, mate,” Malcolm said with a sneer. He pressed the blade harder against Tristan‟s throat, and the prince sucked in his breath. “No!” Gerard shouted and stepped forward. “I‟ll kill ‟im!” Malcolm shouted, freezing Gerard in place. The man‟s eyes narrowed, and a sudden wicked enlightenment burned in their dark depths. “Aw, now ain‟t that something. You‟ve got something going with him.” Malcolm giggled again. “I bet the king would be interested to know his son is taking it up the arse from a member of his own guard.”

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Gerard summoned every ounce of patience and courage, then said in a calm voice, “Let him go. You may have me in his stead.” “No!” Tristan said. “This mongrel deserves no respect from us. I will not allow it!” Keeping his eyes on Gerard, Malcolm put his lips to Tristan‟s ear and flicked the lobe with his pointed tongue. With a jerk of his head, Tristan pulled away and, in doing so, pushed against the blade at his throat, spilling a dark runner of blood down over his pale skin. Tristan gasped and turned his gaze to Gerard, his eyes wide and fearful. Moving slowly, Tristan raised his hand and placed the palm over his heart, and Gerard nearly wept with frustration and grief. “Fucking faggots,” Malcolm said with a sneer. “I didn‟t know you were around in this time. Didn‟t the church burn you at the stake with witches and shit?” With a move faster than Gerard would have expected, Tristan grabbed the man‟s wrist with his left hand and pulled the blade from his throat. He spun in place and turned to face his attacker, then punched Malcolm in the face with his free hand. Over the sounds of their scuffle and the storm, Gerard heard the snap of Malcolm‟s nose and the thief‟s scream of pain. Malcolm pulled out of Tristan‟s grasp and, holding a hand to his bleeding nose, turned to flee into the darkness of the cave. Tristan stumbled back, and Gerard moved forward to stop his fall, glad to feel the heat of his body and the strength of his fingers as Tristan gripped his arm. “Are you hurt?” Gerard asked. “No,” Tristan replied, gingerly touching the wound at his throat. He turned cold, ruthless eyes up to Gerard and whispered, “Kill him.” “Stay here,” Gerard ordered and stood to follow Malcolm when he came up short. Two men stood before him, both filthy with long, dirt-clotted hair and cold, ruthless eyes. They each held short daggers and longswords, and Gerard gripped his bastard with both hands, ready and eager to take them on if need be, but first he wanted to get to their leader. “I have no quarrel with you…yet,” Gerard said. “Stand aside so I may settle grievances with Malcolm, and you may continue to draw breath.” The man to the left snarled and leaped toward him, thrusting with his dagger as he simultaneously swung his sword. Gerard blocked the dagger and leaned into the swing of the sword, taking the brunt of the blow from the flat of the blade on his shoulder. He drove his blade deep into the man‟s unprotected belly and felt the warm splash of blood on his hands. The man cried out and fell to the cave floor, his sword clattering against the wall. The remaining man gave a shout of surprise and anger, and Gerard heard him advance. He pulled his sword from the first attacker‟s midsection and turned in time to block a strike. As he parried and delivered blows in the cramped space of the cave, Gerard glimpsed Tristan picking up the dead thief‟s sword. “Tristan!” Gerard shouted over his shoulder. “Get out!” Tristan stood with the sword in his hand. “I will not abandon you!”

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Gerard fought the thief hard, pushing the unskilled man deeper into the cave. The thief came at him viciously, wildly swinging the dagger and thrusting with his sword. Gerard ducked beneath the dagger and blocked the man‟s thrust; then his blade found its mark, and the man screamed, dropping his weapons and collapsing. A shout from behind brought Gerard around, and he stumbled over his opponent‟s fallen body. Falling to the hard ground, he lost his grip on his sword and heard it clatter against stone in the dark of the cave. Malcolm ran at him, blood painting the lower half of his face crimson, his eyes burning with rage. Gerard groped in the darkness for his sword as Malcolm closed in on him. Just as he touched the grip of his bastard, still warm from his hand, Tristan leaped over Gerard with a fierce cry, the thief‟s sword in his hand. Malcolm spun clear of Tristan‟s thrust, and the prince stumbled into the deeper darkness of the cave. “Tristan!” Gerard cried, then turned to see Malcolm pick up his fallen sword and raise it over his head. “Fuckin‟ shame to be killed by your own blade,” Malcolm sneered, his voice sounding nasal through his ruined nose. The man rushed him, the hatred in his eyes visible even in the weak gray light seeping in from the mouth of the cave. Gerard raised a hand in an attempt to ward off the blow, but then a figure rushed past him in a blur to collide with Malcolm, and both of them reeled away to strike the wall. They fell together in a heap, one man crying out in painful surprise. “No!” Gerard scrambled to his knees as Malcolm disentangled himself from Tristan‟s limbs. He no longer held Gerard‟s sword, but turned to stare at him with something close to horrified satisfaction. Gerard stepped forward, and Malcolm moved away from the crumpled form lying against the wall. Gerard heard the thief‟s steps as the man retreated deeper into the cave, but he was focused on Tristan. The man lay with his back toward him, and Gerard hurried to kneel beside him. In the weak light, he could see dark blood spilling between the fingers of the hand Tristan held tight to his side. His skin was pale and slick with sweat, his eyes glassy and unfocused. “Tristan, no,” Gerard said and gripped his shoulder. He took Tristan‟s face in his hand and gasped at the chill of his skin. “Tristan, ‟tis I, Gerard.” It took a long, heart-stuttering moment for Tristan‟s eyes to focus on Gerard‟s face, but at last he seemed to recognize him. “My love. Did I stop him?” Gerard nodded and wiped tears from his cheeks. “You did. You were very brave. Your father will be so proud.” Tristan smiled and turned his head as he grimaced. “I felt the prick of sword as we fought. It did not hurt as much as I had imagined it would. Does it look deep?” Gerard eased Tristan‟s hand from the wound, and dark blood streamed onto the floor. His stomach wrenched at the sight, and he quickly pressed Tristan‟s hand against the injury. “Keep your hand tight on it, Tristan. I shall bring the horses closer, and we will return you to the castle. You will be strong again. I promise.”

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Malcolm‟s giggle floated to him from the dark of the cave, and rage squeezed Gerard‟s heart. Clenching his jaw, Gerard retrieved his sword, his stomach twisting at the sight of Tristan‟s blood on the blade. “I will find you, Malcolm!” Gerard shouted into the blackness. “Fuck you, faggot!” Malcolm called, and his high giggle oozed from the darkness. Gerard had just turned away to tend to Tristan when a brilliant white light filled the cave. The light blanched the stone walls and Tristan‟s pale face, startling Gerard and bringing him around with his hand on the pommel of his sword. Darkness claimed the cave again, and a heavy silence pressed upon him. Outside, the thunder rumbled and the rain echoed softly, assuring him his hearing was still intact. Then Tristan groaned, and Gerard turned to kneel beside him. “I am here, my love.” Tristan gave him a small smile. “I thought you had left me.” “Never.” Gerard leaned down, the gold black-pearl ring swinging free on its chain around his neck. He slipped one arm behind Tristan‟s back and the other beneath his knees and lifted him gently. “Oh, my Lord,” Tristan gasped and turned his head away to vomit. “Easy, love,” Gerard soothed, walking even as Tristan emptied his stomach. “We‟ll get you home and healed.” “The pain is sharp,” Tristan said. “I feel the blood leaving me faster.” “Focus on my voice,” Gerard instructed. “Stay with me, love.” “For all the days I can, my knight.” Tristan coughed and held a fist to his mouth. When Tristan lowered his hand, Gerard was alarmed to see a bright red splash of blood upon the skin. Gerard crawled out of the cave and reached back inside to pull Tristan out into the cold downpour, both of them shivering. He carefully made his way down the rocky slope to the field, where not long ago he and Tristan had been happily at practice. Their horses still stood tethered beneath the rowan tree, heads lifted to nip at the scarlet berries on low-hanging branches. His horse being the stronger of the two, Gerard helped Tristan slide a leg over the animal‟s broad shoulders. He loosed the reins of both horses, hoisted himself into the saddle behind Tristan, and wrapped an arm around him, then dug in his heels. His horse leaped forward, and Tristan‟s horse galloped behind as they began the long ride home.

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Chapter Nine Gerard rode hard through the village, the streets slippery with mud, rain lashing them. Lightning flared above, followed closely by deep, angry rumbles of thunder. What few villagers were out in the storm scrambled out of his path and sent curses after him. Tristan drifted in and out of awareness, his head dropping forward and then popping back up again with gasps of pain as the horse shifted beneath them. Gerard clung to him, his hand pressed tight on Tristan‟s hand over the wound to try and keep the blood from flowing. He could see it staining the sides of his horse, thinned by rain but shockingly red. At the castle gate he cried out for help, his voice hoarse with fear and desperation. It seemed he waited an entire season for the castle guard to open the gate, the man‟s bored expression changing to one of alarm at the sight of the prince covered in blood. “Stand aside, you fool!” Gerard snapped and dug in his heels so his horse leaped through the gate. His horse made its way through the winding inner streets of the castle grounds, hooves slipping now and then on the slick cobblestones. Gerard clutched Tristan tight, the prince‟s occasional moan both heartbreaking and reassuring—he was injured but alive. The street curved around, and there ahead stood the castle, its gray stone walls dark with rain, the crenellated towers blending into the lowhanging storm clouds. He urged his horse forward, up the steps to the door, where he dismounted and pulled Tristan into his arms. Gerard kicked open the door and stormed into the hall, calling for help. “What disturbance is this?” a manservant asked, his tone annoyed until he saw the prince. “Dear Lord, Prince Tristan!” He led Gerard to a sitting room heated by a roaring fire and instructed him to lay Tristan on a wooden bench. The servant called a name several times until a young lad appeared in the doorway, his eyes widening at the sight of Tristan. The servant snapped, “Summon the king and queen, and fetch the surgeon!” Gerard held Tristan‟s cold hand and touched his icy cheek. “My prince, please awaken. Come back. Do not leave this world.” Tristan‟s eyes fluttered open, and he stirred, but then he winced and turned tired, pain-filled eyes to Gerard. “My knight…” His voice, so weak, faded out, and his eyes closed. “It is I,” Gerard said, fighting back tears. Tristan managed to give his hand a gentle squeeze before the servant pulled Gerard to his feet, and he whirled angrily on the man. “I shall not be cast out!”

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The servant put a hand against Gerard‟s chest. “You are not to be in this room. The king and queen are coming, and this is not your place. Clean yourself in preparation to provide explanation to King Everard.” At that moment, amid the rustling of fabric, King Everard and Queen Jocelyn hurried through the door. They ignored Gerard and crouched on either side of Tristan, the queen grasping her son‟s hand, the same hand Gerard had just released. “What happened?” the king demanded, standing up with his hands fisted at this sides, his angry gaze falling upon Gerard. “How could you allow this to happen? You were sworn to protect him.” “I am sorry, Your Majesty,” Gerard said, his voice thick with tears. “We were attacked by thieves as we took shelter from the storm. Tristan fought bravely, but was injured—” “Fought?” the queen exclaimed. “Fought? Why was he fighting? You should have fought to protect him!” “I did fight,” Gerard explained. “I tried to protect him. I commanded him to leave the cave, to leave them to me, but he stepped into the battle as well.” The king looked down at Tristan‟s pale face, and his voice was quiet when he said, “He was under your protection.” The servant took Gerard by the arm. “Abide my words and leave this room at once. There will be time enough later for explanation.” Exhaustion, worry, and grief weakened Gerard‟s resolve, and he allowed the man to escort him to the door. Turning for one last glance at Tristan before stepping into the hall, Gerard watched the king kneel again beside him and Tristan‟s eyes flutter open. Then he was in the hall, where the man at his elbow hissed at the staff lingering outside the door to get back to work. The manservant turned loose of Gerard‟s arm and returned to the room, slamming the door behind him. Gerard stood in the empty hallway, the excited whispers of the other servants echoing around him. He turned, lost, unsure where to go, wanting only to awaken from what surely had to be a horrible dream. The sound of steps on the stairway around the corner drew his attention, and he looked around to see Ranulf Godfrey turn the corner in a flourish of gray robes. Ranulf paused outside the door, his gaze stopping on Gerard‟s face. The wizard read the anguish in Gerard‟s expression, and his face tightened. “It is bad,” Ranulf said. “Aye,” Gerard replied, his voice breaking. “His injury is deep.” Ranulf put his forehead against the door, resting his hand on the latch and closing his eyes. “This is as I feared.” “It was the thief, Malcolm,” Gerard said, rage flooding his system at the man‟s name. “He uses strange words, and he speaks differently from us.”

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Ranulf shook his head, slowly rolling his forehead back and forth across the surface of the door. “Oh no. No, no, no, no. This cannot be. I must have shown him the way.” Gerard wiped tears from his cheeks and shook his head. “You were not at fault. It was Malcolm and his band of thieves.” Ranulf lifted his head and turned eyes filled with torment to Gerard. “Thank you, Sir Gerard, but I know where the fault lies.” The old man took a long, trembling breath and let it out. “You should go to the bunkhouse and clean up. The king will want to speak to you later, and it would upset him to see his son‟s blood splashed upon your garments.” Gerard nodded, and Ranulf turned the latch and stepped into the room. Just before the door closed behind the old wizard, a choking sob tumbled out into the hall, and Gerard could not tell if it came from the king or the queen. The air seemed to leave the hallway all at once, and Gerard fled to the castle doors and rushed outside to lean over the stone railing. He vomited into the ditches now filled with muddy runoff as the rain drenched him further. When his heaving subsided, he fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold stone of the rail and allowing sobs to shake his body. Thunder roared overheard as he knelt in the freezing rain, hands fisted beneath him in futile rage.

*** Eleanor found Gerard late that night in the knight‟s quarters, sitting on his bunk, staring at his hands. She put her arms around him and held his head to her chest as she told him Tristan had slipped away. She rocked him as his tears soaked the bodice of her dress and the gold black-pearl ring swung on the chain around his neck. “You cared for him deeply,” she said, her voice quiet in the still bunkhouse. “I would give anything to be able to take his place,” Gerard said. “He would not want that for you,” she told him. “I saw the two of you together on more than one occasion. I know the affection he held for you.” Gerard felt the familiar fear of discovery rise up within him. “Where did you see us?” Eleanor shook her head. “It is of no importance. I know what you meant to each other, and this is a loss for you as well as the royal family.” Before Gerard could respond, the door banged open, startling them both. Bartholomew stood in the doorway, his face grim beneath the dark wilderness of his beard. “Brother Bartholomew,” Gerard said, wiping away tears. “What news?” Bartholomew shifted his feet and rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. Clearing his throat, he said in a subdued voice, “Under order of King Everard and Queen Jocelyn, I am hereby commanded to take Sir Gerard Fogg into custody.” “What?” Eleanor exclaimed and jumped to her feet. “You‟re arresting him?”

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Gerard stood and took his sister by the shoulders. “Eleanor, it is what I expected. Do not be alarmed.” “But,” Eleanor stammered, looking from Bartholomew to Gerard, “you didn‟t kill the prince! You fought to protect him!” “But I failed in my duty,” Gerard replied. He felt surprisingly calm and leaned in to hug her tight and whisper in her ear, “All will be well.” Eleanor let out a quiet, gasping sob, clinging to him even as Bartholomew took Gerard by the arm and led him to the door. “Bart, no!” Eleanor cried, holding on to Gerard‟s hand, trying to keep him from leaving. She lost her grip and collapsed on the floor, her face twisted with shock and grief. “Bart, you can‟t take him from me. He‟s all I have left! Bart!” Gerard turned away, allowing Bartholomew to lead him from the knight‟s bunkhouse to a heavy wooden door set into the side of the castle. A member of the castle guard opened the door, and Bartholomew followed Gerard down steep stone stairs to the damp, cold hallways of the dungeons. At the sound of their approach, men and women alike cried out for food, water, justice, and mercy. Dirty hands reached through the small, barred windows within the doors of the cells, grasping at Gerard and Bartholomew as they moved to a cell near the end. Bartholomew guided Gerard inside and, dropping his troubled gaze to the ring hanging against Gerard‟s chest, held out his hand. Gerard closed his hand around the ring and said, “Leave me this one token, Bart. Surely a simple ring and chain can do no harm. It is all I have left.” The big man closed his eyes but kept his hand out, and Gerard finally lowered the ring and chain into the man‟s dirty palm. Bartholomew closed his fingers over the ring, and his face seemed to crumble in on itself. “Young buck,” Bartholomew started, but his voice failed him, and instead he merely shook his head and turned to leave, pulling the door shut behind him and throwing the bolt. Gerard stood a moment to look about the stone walls and straw-covered dirt floor, noticing the chamber pot in the corner. There was no window, and the air was dank and fetid. The only light was the meager flicker of the torch in the hallway sconce that managed to find its way through the barred window in his door. He moved to a corner and sat on the straw, then drew his knees up to his chest and gave in to his grief. Closing his eyes, he focused on remembering Tristan‟s face, the sunlight in his wavy blond hair, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his kiss. He thought back on those mornings he had awakened beside Tristan in his bedchamber, how he had watched the man sleep, his face soft and peaceful, lips slightly parted, hair messed in swirls. Tipping over to lie on his side on the cold floor, Gerard pulled his knees up to his chest and sobbed.

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Chapter Ten Gerard used a small stone to scratch a mark upon the wall for each day he sat imprisoned. From the other cells he heard the cries of imprisoned men and women, and once a day a castle guard would come down to his end of the hall to shove a plate of foul-smelling food through the slot in the bottom of the door. “Don‟t know why they haven‟t cut off his head yet,” he overheard one of the guards grumble to another. “Probably going to make a big show of it,” the other replied. “Get lots of folk in from other cities, that kind of thing.” Gerard picked at his food but found he had little appetite. He spent his days stretched out on the straw or sitting with his back against the wall, memories of Tristan spinning through his mind. When he slept, the fight in the cave haunted his dreams. Every night it was the same: the chill of the cave walls, the unrelenting downpour outside, and then Malcolm‟s wicked, high-pitched laugh. At night, Gerard would awaken with a gasp and lie for a time, tossing and turning on the floor, only to fall into another exhausted sleep and the same dream. And yet, no matter how often he dreamed about it or considered his actions, the fight always ended the same: Tristan received the fatal blow instead of him, and Gerard‟s heart would break afresh. Three days after his incarceration, the bolt was drawn back on his door, and Eleanor stood illuminated by the torches in the hall behind her. She rushed across the cell, crouched to throw her arms around him, and sobbed on his shoulder. “Oh, my brother!” she wailed. “This imprisonment is not just. You deserved to be at Prince Tristan‟s funeral just as much as the royal family.” “Hush, Eleanor,” Gerard said into her ear. “Do not let others hear you speak so, lest they arrest you along with me.” Eleanor sat beside him on the dirty, straw-strewn floor and blew a lank of hair from her face. “I shall bend to your wishes, but only because it‟s you who asks it of me.” Gerard smiled and reached out to hold her hand as she told him about Tristan‟s funeral the day before, how the entire kingdom had turned out and women and men alike had been wailing in the streets. The king and queen had ridden in their carriage behind the coffin, their backs stiff and faces stoic. Ranulf Godfrey had ridden in the carriage as well, his face pale beneath his thick, gray beard. The knights of the Royal Guard had escorted the coffin to the royal crypt, where it was sealed inside its vault.

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Gerard nodded, unable to speak as tears filled his eyes, and he looked away. Eleanor took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Look, Brother, I‟ve brought you something.” He heard the rustle of fabric and turned to see Eleanor pull from beneath her bodice a chain, at the end of which hung the gold ring with the black pearl. Gerard let out a breath and took the ring from her tiny hand. “How did you get this?” he asked through his tears. Eleanor smiled. “Bartholomew is not the brightest knight in the Royal Guard.” She closed his fingers over the ring. “Hide it well, Brother. Better it stay lost forever than be traded for ale.” The cell door opened, and a castle guard looked in. “Time‟s done.” “Aye”—Eleanor sighed as she got to her feet—“that it is.” Gerard stood and hugged her tight, the ring clutched in his fist. They stood that way for a moment, and then the guard cleared his throat. Eleanor stepped away and wiped tears from her eyes. “I love you, Brother, even though you stink worse than usual.” Gerard gave a hollow laugh. “Aye, and I love you, little sister. Be well.” She gave him a final, sad smile, then left the cell, and Gerard held the ring to his chest. That night, after waking from another dream of being back within the cave, Gerard took the ring from around his neck and held it over his heart. He closed his eyes and said a brief prayer to Tristan, then tore a wedge of material from the hem of his shirt and wrapped it around the ring. He pulled free a stone around which he had chipped away the mortar and placed the package within the damp earth behind. After replacing the stone, he pressed his hands against it and closed his eyes, whispering, “This ring shall bind us together across time and death, my love. I shall not have them take it from my body after my execution. It shall remain hidden here forever after I am gone, a secret shared by only us two.” On his fifth day, in the dead of night, Gerard was awakened by the sound of the bolt on his door being drawn back. He sat up, blinking in the orange, flickering glow of a lantern as a tall shape entered the room. Dark, flowing robes swirled around the figure, and Gerard struggled to his feet, cold terror filling his chest. “Who are you?” he cried out. “Announce yourself!” “Keep your voice down!” hissed his visitor. It was a male voice, one he recognized but could not place. “Show yourself,” Gerard commanded. The figure raised the lantern and drew back the hood to reveal the face of Ranulf Godfrey. Gerard let out his breath and slid down the wall to sit upon the floor. “What deeds bring you about in the dead of night, wizard?” Gerard said. “Your execution shall occur with the sunrise,” Ranulf stated.

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Gerard turned away. “I have heard as much from each castle guard. They gloat as if it were they who decided my fate. Is this what brings you to my cell at such an hour? If so, your breath was wasted.” Ranulf stepped farther into the cell, and Gerard looked at him. The man‟s face was pale, and the skin beneath his eyes dark as ash. “I come with a way to redeem yourself,” Ranulf said. Gerard blew out a breath. “I no longer have a reason to live, hence I need no redemption.” “What if I were to tell you there might be a chance for you to be reunited with the prince?” Gerard closed his eyes. “Aye, on the morrow, when I am beheaded, I shall once again meet up with the prince.” “Aye, perhaps. But what if it could come about without the need to lose your head?” Ranulf said. Gerard snapped his head around and narrowed his eyes. “What trickery is this?” “No trickery,” Ranulf said and glanced over his shoulder before pushing the cell door shut. “I hold as much blame in my heart for Tristan‟s death as do you.” “You?” Gerard frowned. “You were not in the Cave of Sorrows when the thief pierced Tristan‟s side with the blade of mine own sword.” “And yet I may have inadvertently led Malcolm to this land,” Ranulf said and dropped his gaze. “I was careless. I realize that now. But I was so filled with excitement.” Gerard closed his eyes. “Old man, you speak in circles I cannot follow. Malcolm hails from another country where they paint symbols on their skin and shave the hair from their heads. His English was poor, and violence hummed within his heart. His arrival was no more your fault than mine.” “Ah, if only that were true.” Ranulf took a breath, then hung the lantern on a hook and sat upon the floor across from Gerard. He noticed Gerard‟s glance toward the unlocked cell door and said, “The castle guard is at the top of the steps. You would not get far.” Ranulf settled himself, then looked up at Gerard and stated, “I knew Tristan his entire life.” Gerard felt a sharp needle of grief pierce his heart, and he turned away from Ranulf‟s gaze. Tristan‟s life had been so short, how could it have ended so soon, so tragically? “I have known his father for more years than I can count, and I have given him counsel as he became the great king he is today. He has accepted my many…eccentricities, shall we say? Because of my close relationship with the king, I had the chance to get to know Prince Tristan well—his likes and dislikes, his temperament, his lazy study habits, his fears and insecurities. I knew him not just as a boy who had grown into a man, but as an entity.”

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Gerard shook his head and let out his breath. “What are you getting at, wizard? My patience with you grows thin.” Ranulf took a breath. “Tristan‟s soul has not crossed over to heaven.” A hot rage engulfed Gerard, and he sat forward, jabbing a finger at Ranulf‟s face. “Liar! Tristan was pure of heart and intent. His soul is at rest. Of this I am certain.” Ranulf held out his hands palms up. “At ease, faithful knight. I understand your protectiveness of the prince, but I do not come here tonight to slander him.” “Then speak your piece and go,” Gerard snapped. “Leave me to wallow in my grief these final hours of my life.” Ranulf hesitated, his dark eyes ticking back and forth as he considered his next words. “Many, many years ago, long before I met King Everard, I was taught by a great man some called a magician. I was but a child, an orphan, much as you were when you came to live in the castle, Sir Gerard. This man took me in, gave me shelter and food when no other felt obliged to help. Some in our village said he was a warlock or a wizard, and others went so far as to call him a demon.” “And which of those things did he teach you to become?” Gerard grumbled. Ranulf spread his hands. “I am a seer. I see things many people cannot—or will not—allow themselves to see.” Gerard put his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. “Aye? And what kinds of things have you seen, old man?” Ranulf paused so long, Gerard opened his eyes to look at him. “This world, Sir Gerard, is not just made of stone and wood, water and fire. It is filled with power we can never comprehend. There are places in our land that hum with the lives of some of those we have thought long vanished.” Gerard let out a sad bark of a laugh. “What craziness you speak, old man. Be wary whom you speak these things to, lest it soon be you who is locked within this cell. You are edging close to blasphemy with your talk of spirits.” Ranulf nodded and dropped his gaze to the floor, his expression tired and sad. But then he looked directly at Gerard and said, “When we die, when our fleshly vessel deteriorates, our souls arise and move on.” “Aye, to God‟s kingdom above.” Gerard sighed. “I have been schooled in the ways of the church.” “Sometimes, however, a person‟s life is interrupted before their purpose can be completed,” Ranulf continued. “When this happens, when a soul is taken from its earthly body before it has had a chance to complete the work planned by fate, by God, if you will, it gets…lost on its way to heaven.” Ranulf cleared his throat. “I have consulted my crystals and my guides on the spirit plane. None there saw Tristan‟s soul pass on the way to heaven. I think he has been reborn in another body, another time, to allow his soul to fulfill its intended destiny.” Gerard squinted and cocked his head. “What is this you tell me?”

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Ranulf got to his knees and leaned in closer. In the flickering lantern light, Gerard could see an intensity burning within the man‟s eyes. “I know Prince Tristan‟s fate better than I know that of his father‟s or my own. He was not intended to die this young. There was still much left for him to do on this earthly world. Because of this, his soul has found another vessel in which to be reborn. Prince Tristan‟s essence, those things that make up his character and his soul, lives in another‟s body.” “You speak of witchcraft and blasphemy!” Gerard hissed with a nervous glance at the cell door. “Does the king know you speak this way?” Ranulf sat back, hands resting on his thighs. “You, Sir Gerard, are speaking to me of blasphemy? How do you make peace with God for your relationship with Tristan?” Gerard lowered his gaze, a blush burning on his face. “I do not know what you mean.” “Oh, but you do, Sir Gerard.” Ranulf moved closer, sitting now in the middle of the dungeon floor. “I understand the depth of your relationship with Tristan. I saw the joy you two shared, the bond that formed between you. I do not come here tonight to judge you.” Ranulf dropped his gaze, and a tired, sad laugh slipped from his lips. “No, I am not worthy to pass judgment on your relationship with Tristan, but know you this: what I speak is the truth. Tristan‟s soul is at this time finding harbor in the body of another. His soul has much left to do, and unless he can be returned to the Algonwick of this time, there is no telling what will befall our kingdom.” Gerard wiped away a tear and looked the man in the eye. “If you understand the depth of my friendship with Tristan, as you so claim, then you must also understand the grief I feel now. I have neither the patience nor disposition for your superstitions. You speak to me of things that sound like heresy. Why do you tempt me with the possibility of Tristan living yet again but somewhere out of reach? Is this supposed to give me comfort? Ease my suffering? Well, blasphemous wizard, your words do neither of these things. Go, leave me in my grief and allow me to go to my execution secure in the belief that I shall see Tristan when my suffering in this life is done.” Ranulf nodded. “I understand your resistance, Sir Gerard, but hear my words: You may yet meet Tristan again. His face will be different, but his heart will be true, and his soul will feel familiar to you.” He stood, moving slowly and stifling a grunt. “I hold some responsibility for Prince Tristan‟s death, and I am off on a quest to make things right. I shall find the one named Malcolm and bring him to justice.” Gerard sat up at the mention of the thief‟s name and watched Ranulf gather his cloaks around himself and take the lantern from the hook. “Where shall you go to track this man?” Ranulf looked down at him. “I have some idea. It is a place I have been to before, and from what I have heard of this Malcolm, it would seem that he followed me back to our beloved Algonwick.”

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Gerard stood and narrowed his eyes. “You led him here?” An expression of nervous concern crossed Ranulf‟s face, and he retreated a step before he nodded. “Yes, Sir Gerard, I do believe I led him to these parts. That is why I undertake this quest.” Gerard stared at Ranulf, and the old man stared right back. Finally Gerard looked away and shook his head as he tried to come to grips with what Ranulf was telling him. The part about Tristan being reborn was, to Gerard, witchcraft and trickery, nothing more, but the mention of finding Malcolm to deliver vengeance kindled a bloodlust within Gerard. He folded his arms and looked at Ranulf. “Tell me of your plan. Perhaps I may give you advice.” Ranulf smiled and stepped closer. The lantern swung in his grip, throwing dark shadows in unsettling arcs around the cell. “I have a better idea. Come with me, tonight, and help me locate this Malcolm so he may be brought to justice. If we were to bring this man before the king for retribution, perhaps your life may be spared.” Gerard frowned. “How am I to go with you if I am locked in this cell?” Ranulf leaned closer. “I have already risked much by coming to your cell on the eve of your execution. You are accused of failing to protect the prince, but I see the grief in your face and your eyes. I know if you could change what happened, you would without pause.” He glanced toward the cell door, then looked back and lowered his voice. “I need your help to set this right. I feel the tides of fate changing already, and you, Sir Gerard, are the only one who can help me.” He stopped and swallowed hard. “What I am going to suggest will most likely bring about my execution, but if my life is the cost for saving Algonwick, then it is a debt I will pay with honor and dignity.” Ranulf set his jaw and nodded with determination. “And you already have a death sentence. What more punishment could be wrought if you were to leave with me tonight? They will not be able to track where we are going, I promise you this. We shall travel many leagues and see many strange things.” “But this Malcolm,” Gerard said, “he will be at our journey‟s end?” Ranulf nodded, and a sadness clouded his eyes. “Aye. Of this I am sure. We shall have to be patient, but I am certain we shall find him.” Gerard looked to the unlocked cell door and then back at Ranulf. “All right, wizard. I will go with you, if only to be sure this Malcolm is delivered back to Algonwick to stand before the king.” Ranulf smiled, and his face relaxed. “I am glad to hear you wish to accompany me on my journey. I was not certain I could complete this quest alone.” “And you will not need to worry about that any longer,” Gerard said. “Come, let us leave this dreadful place.” Ranulf eased open the cell door and peered down the hall. The voices of the castle guards at the top of the dungeon steps came down to them, and he turned to look back at Gerard. “I told the guards I was here to give you counsel. I brought this. I hid it beneath my cloak.” He reached into the hall and retrieved Gerard‟s

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sword within its scabbard. “I thought you could perhaps use me as a shield, and we could make our escape.” Gerard took the sword and drew it from the sheath, then eased past Ranulf into the hallway. For a moment he faced the steps at the opposite end of the hallway with the sword in his hand. He considered Ranulf‟s plan, then shook his head and sheathed his sword, turning back to face the man. “That would bring the entire Royal Guard upon us. We need to be more stealthy.” He crouched down and placed his hands flat on the wall at the end of the hall. With a strong, even push, Gerard slid open a small door built into the bottom half of the rear wall. “What is this?” Ranulf gasped and held up the lantern, throwing light into the passage revealed beyond. “The castle has many secret passages,” Gerard explained, “built by the masons who forged it. They were intended to provide escape routes for the royal family should the castle come under attack.” As Ranulf crawled on his hands and knees into the passage, Gerard closed and bolted the door to his dungeon cell. He fastened the sheath of his sword around his waist and followed behind Ranulf, stopping to ease shut the door to the passage behind him. “Why did they build a passage within the dungeon?” Ranulf asked as he crawled along the dirt floor. “In case the royal family was wrongly imprisoned,” Gerard explained. “As a member of the Royal Guard, I was taught the location of every passage in the castle should the need ever arise to evacuate the royal family.” They crawled in silence for a time, until the flickering lantern light revealed a stone wall. Ranulf sat with his back against the side wall to catch his breath, and Gerard eased past him to press his shoulder against the stones of the dead end. It took several attempts before the wall swung open, and moonlight flooded the passage along with a breath of cool, fresh air. “Where does it open to?” Ranulf asked and blew out the candle in his lantern. “Behind the stables,” Gerard whispered. “We must be quiet to avoid attracting the attention of the castle guard.” They crept out of the passage, and Gerard pushed the wall shut again. He turned and led Ranulf away from the castle and into the winding streets of the inner village, heading toward the main gate. As they walked, Ranulf shrugged out of his cloak, exposing another underneath. He handed the discarded cloak to Gerard and said with a smile, “I brought a spare to help disguise you.” Gerard pulled on the robe and raised the hood to cover his head. “Stay silent and follow me,” Ranulf instructed. Gerard‟s heart pounded in his chest as he followed Ranulf up to the main gate. The moonlight limned everything in a dead white light, bleaching the color from the world around him. He focused on keeping his breathing steady, his thoughts turned

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away from his grief for the first time in many days. The chance to find Malcolm and bring the man back to the king for execution fueled his body weakened by days with no food, and he kept walking behind Ranulf by sheer force of will. At the gate, Ranulf greeted the guard and turned to indicate Gerard. “My friend, Friar Wilbur, is going on a spiritual sojourn. I am seeing him off from the far edge of the village.” The guard looked at Gerard, and Gerard ducked his head lower, listening as the man said, “You‟re certain? There are dangerous people about these days.” “Do not worry,” Ranulf said as the guard unlocked the gate. “The Lord will watch over us.” The guard swung the gate open, and Ranulf led Gerard through to the open road beyond. Once they had reached the cover of the trees at the edge of the village, Gerard lowered the hood of his cloak and let out a quiet laugh. It felt good to laugh again, though he was painfully aware of having once walked along the same moonlit road with Tristan just a few months before. “Tell me, wizard,” Gerard said with some hesitation. “How come you to understand so well the bond between Tristan and myself?” Ranulf turned and gave him a sad smile. “Because I feel the same way for his father.” Gerard felt his mouth drop open and his eyes grow wide. He must have looked comical, because Ranulf tipped his head back and let out a loud laugh. A moment later, Gerard found himself laughing along with the wizard, and they stopped in the road, Gerard with his hands on his knees and Ranulf with his head tipped back, laughing up at the stars. At last both men managed to get themselves under control, and Ranulf wiped the tears from his eyes. “Come, Sir Gerard, we can share our tales during our journey, but first, we must find horses. We have a bit of a ride before our journey truly begins.” “Where are we to ride to?” Gerard asked. Ranulf turned to give him a mysterious half smile over his shoulder. “To the Cave of Sorrows.”

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Chapter Eleven Gerard caught his breath as gooseflesh rose across his skin. “The Cave of Sorrows?” “Aye,” Ranulf replied with a solemn nod. “Named as such by the villagers, for those who venture too deep within its depths vanish. Any who make it back, like Shamus and a handful of others, talk gibberish of a world so different from our own, it cannot be described.” “We were in the Cave of Sorrows when we were attacked,” Gerard said, catching up to Ranulf and grabbing his arm. Ranulf stopped to give him a solemn look. “Aye, I know. And that is where we will find the passage to Malcolm‟s world.” Gerard frowned. “Passage to Malcolm‟s world?” Ranulf turned to wave a hand up the road. “Soon all shall be revealed, young knight. Come, let us continue our walk, and I shall tell you my darkest secret, unknown to any but myself.” Gerard walked beside Ranulf, the moon at their backs. At first his thoughts were too scattered to be able to focus on Ranulf‟s words, but after a time he was able to turn his attention to the story of the wizard‟s meeting King Everard for the first time and the forbidden feelings he had kept hidden from all others until now. “I met Everard when we were young,” Ranulf said. “We grew up in the same village. He was the son of a duke, and we attended classes together. Because he was of royal blood, he was forbidden to socialize with many outside the household, but we held many of the same views and became close. After the man who raised me was thrown from his horse and killed, Everard convinced his father to take me in. I helped in the kitchen and the stables, but Everard and I still attended classes together. As we were close in age, we spent much time together and grew close. “At first I thought of him as only a good friend. He was funny and intelligent, quick with a joke or turn of a phrase, and we would make one another laugh for hours on end with ridiculous stories made up about his family and our teachers. After some time, however, I discovered that my feelings for him ran much deeper. I began to think of him more often, looked forward to seeing him, and missed him when we were apart. He spent a summer in Algonwick, and I thought I would go mad from missing him. Imagine, young knight, if you and Tristan were separated for a summer‟s season.” “It would have been difficult,” Gerard agreed with a nod. “The king never learned of your feelings?”

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“Oh, good heavens, no. I knew my feelings for him had to remain hidden. Sodomy is a sin as instructed by the church and Everard‟s father. I remember one time I dared to debate the issue with Everard, and his vehemence toward sodomites delivered to me a hard and terrible truth: my feelings for Everard must never be spoken aloud, and if I wanted to stay in his life, I would need to be able to accept him as a friend and nothing more.” Ranulf fell quiet, his gaze straight ahead and staring at the past. “That must have been a difficult decision,” Gerard prompted gently. Ranulf blinked and turned to him, looking almost surprised to find Gerard there at all. “Oh. Yes, well, we all make choices in our lives, do we not?” Ranulf sighed and was quiet a moment before continuing. “When the plague took the king of Algonwick, King Reginald, Everard‟s father, Andrew, was next in line for the throne. But days after the king died, Andrew was stricken by the plague and perished as well. Everard‟s older brother, George, the eldest of the seven Fysher brothers, was taken by the plague as well, leaving Everard to ascend to Algonwick‟s throne. It happened quickly, all within a few weeks, and Everard asked me to be his advisor. I decided that Everard was a good man with a bit of a temper who would sometimes need guidance as only I could give him. So I buried my feelings for him as deep within myself as I could and followed him to Algonwick. It was several weeks later when he met Jocelyn at a royal feast, and I listened to him go on about her with a smile on my face and a fracture in my heart.” Gerard looked out over the moonlit forest, thinking back on his fears of losing Tristan to a princess from a neighboring land. “That must have been a difficult time for you.” “Oh, aye,” Ranulf said with a sad smile. “But Jocelyn is a good woman, and to be honest, I believe that somewhere in her heart she knows and understands my feelings for Everard. She suffered several failed pregnancies, and they were childless for many years, while Everard‟s brothers sired children of their own. It was a difficult time for them, but their relationship is strong, and they persevered. Everard‟s brothers sent him letters questioning the strength of his seed and his ability to rule, and soon after he cut off all communication with them. When Tristan was finally born, we all were overjoyed. He was their miracle and a beautiful child. I loved Tristan as if he were my own flesh and blood.” Ranulf eyed him for a moment. “You know, he really, truly loved you, Gerard.” Gerard felt a hot lump in his throat and an icy ache in his chest. He blinked away tears and nodded. “He meant more to me than anyone else. I thought of him at sunrise and sunset and all times in between. When we were apart, I tried to think of reasons to see him, and when we were together, I tried to think of reasons to stay.” He took a deep, shuddering breath that seemed to clear the fog of grief from his head. Turning to look at Ranulf, he stared into the man‟s soft dark eyes for a moment, then nodded and said, “It helps to be able to talk with someone about Tristan this way. I thank you.”

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Ranulf stopped and performed a low, sweeping bow that made Gerard laugh. The man lifted his head to smile up at Gerard and said, “It has been my pleasure, Sir Gerard. And I thank you for listening to an old man ramble about his feelings for much longer than needed.” “It is an honor to be trusted with secrets shared with no other,” Gerard replied. They resumed walking along the road, both men silent for several steps until Ranulf cleared his throat and said, “Returning to our journey at hand, at the back of the Cave of Sorrows there exists a kind of, well, a doorway, if you will, that opens to a different time.” Gerard stopped and threw his hands in the air, turning in a circle in the road. “What is this talk? You seem to move between rational discourse and babbling more quickly than a raving drunkard.” Gerard shook his head and crouched in the road, steepling his fingers and resting his forehead on the tips. “You convinced me to escape the king‟s dungeon to return to the Cave of Sorrows and go through a doorway to another time?” Ranulf crouched before him and reached out to touch his arm. “Sir Gerard, find your patience from our conversation just moments ago and give me fair listen. Recall how accepting you were when I spoke of the forbidden feelings I held for the king. Try to find that same acceptance within you now. Can you do that for me?” Gerard sighed and rose to his full height. “I shall try, wizard. But of time doorways I have no common experience to fall back on, be warned.” Ranulf nodded and stood as well. “Fair enough. Now, tell me about that day in the cave, Sir Gerard. Tell me what you remember about Malcolm.” Gerard looked over the man‟s shoulder at the trees silvered in the moonlight. The fight in the cave was still so clear, it seemed as though it had been etched into his mind. “After Tristan was struck down, Malcolm fled deep within the cave—far back from the mouth, so there was no sight of him. I heard the sound of him running and then a light filled my vision, and I heard his footsteps no longer.” Gerard fell silent, his eyes locked on the trees but seeing instead the darkness of the cave and the sudden emptiness in front of him. Shifting his gaze to Ranulf, Gerard said, “Was that where Malcolm went? Through the time doorway in the cave?” Ranulf nodded. “Aye, Sir Gerard. He is from a time far in the future, a place of great convenience and oftentimes greater brutality.” Gerard closed his eyes and shook his head. “How come you to know so much about this doorway?” Ranulf nodded and turned to walk, waving for Gerard to follow. “A fair question. I took refuge in the cave once on a journey home. It had started to rain, much like what happened to you and Tristan, and I took shelter within the cave. I struck stones together to make a fire and, to pass the time, held a small torch to explore farther. As I passed a certain point, blinding light filled my vision, and all the breath left my body. I was pulled into the doorway and thrown to the ground. It was there I found the Algonwick of the future.”

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Gerard narrowed his eyes. “You have traveled beyond our time?” “I have. There are many new, strange wonders in this time far ahead of our own. Be warned, when you travel through the doorway, your mind may become overwhelmed at all you see. This is why those who have stumbled upon the doorway, with no knowledge of where it leads, may return and appear to be addlebrained. But have no fear. I will accompany you as a guide. Together we can find Malcolm, and perhaps, because of your relationship with Tristan, you may recognize the new body that holds his soul.” Gerard snorted a laugh and stopped, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at Ranulf. “What makes you so certain Tristan‟s soul, if it has not passed on to heaven, will be found in this exact time where this supposed doorway takes us?” Ranulf continued walking. “Tristan‟s soul is tied not only to you, but to the one who caused his untimely death. His soul will have followed this man back to his time.” Gerard was quiet a moment, his mind working to grasp what Ranulf had told him. “But, if Tristan‟s soul followed this man back to his time, will he not be an infant?” Ranulf raised an eyebrow and gave Gerard an appraising look. “You grasp the concept of reincarnation and time travel quickly, Sir Gerard.” He gathered his thoughts a moment, then said, “I do not know this for certain, but here is my theory. Birth is a moment of intense psychic power for a soul. It is the time a soul begins its journey through the physical world. Because of this, when two souls are linked, the moment of birth resonates between them, whether or not they realize it. Tristan was gravely injured by this man Malcolm, who escaped through the Cave of Sorrows doorway back to his own time. When Tristan died before his intended time in our year, his soul, linked now to this Malcolm, moved ahead not to the year Malcolm currently occupies, but the year of Malcolm‟s birth, that most powerful moment of Malcolm‟s life.” Gerard squeezed his eyes closed and pressed the heels of his hands against them. His head hurt from trying to understand the mad ideas Ranulf explained to him. “You talk in circles that make my head ache, old wizard.” He lowered his hands to give Ranulf a tired look. “What is the true goal of this quest?” “Our quest has many goals. We shall find Malcolm and return him to the king for justice,” Ranulf said. “In completing this task, it is my hope the king will bestow pardons upon us both, for now that I have helped you to escape, we shall both be executed upon our return. As important as that is, there is another, more pressing outcome, for many lives hang in the balance.” “Aye?” Gerard grumbled. “And what is more important than justice for Tristan‟s murder?” Ranulf was quiet as he gathered his thoughts, and when he spoke, his words were gentle. “I believe that once we have acclimated ourselves to the time period, you may meet a man who reminds you of Prince Tristan. If this man presents himself, and if anything has changed within the Algonwick of that time, we will

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need to convince him to return to our time with us, to his rightful place in history. His soul will be lost, out of touch with his world, and bringing him back with us will create balance.” Gerard shook his head. “You have quite a list for two men wanted by the king‟s Royal Guard. Believe what you will, old wizard, but I shall focus first and foremost on the opportunity for justice.” Ranulf nodded. “I am grateful for your company either way.” They walked in silence for a time, Gerard‟s head stuffed full of confusing thoughts. He wondered about this man in the future who Ranulf said harbored Tristan‟s soul. Would Gerard be able to recognize Tristan? Would he even be attracted to the man, or the man attracted to him? Would this man have the memories and feelings from Tristan‟s life here? Just as he turned to pose these questions to Ranulf, the old man stopped walking and held up a hand for Gerard to be quiet. Gerard looked up the road to see a stable, and Ranulf smiled at him in the moonlight. “Fate favors us this night. Come, let us borrow horses and ride to the Cave of Sorrows.”

*** Within the mouth of the cave, Ranulf paused to strike flints and light the lantern. The flickering flame extended gentle fingers into the darkness of the cave, and outside Gerard heard the nervous whicker of the horses as they trotted down the road back to their owner. Gerard‟s gaze slid to the place where Tristan had lain, a chill touching his neck at the stain of blood. Ranulf moved deeper within the cave, and Gerard forced himself to look away from the darkened stone, drawing his sword as he followed. They slid through the narrow passage formed by the rocky outcropping, and finally the old wizard came to a halt, placing the lantern on the rocky floor and turning to look at Gerard. “This is the edge of the doorway,” Ranulf said. “Are you ready, Sir Gerard?” Gerard squinted into the deep darkness of the cave before them. He took a steadying breath, returned his sword to its sheath, then set his jaw and nodded. “Aye, I am ready. Let us proceed.” “As you wish, then,” Ranulf said and turned to face the rear of the cave. “We take just a few more steps, and the doorway will do the rest.” Gerard nodded as his stomach clenched. “How does it feel?” He looked back at Ranulf‟s face. “To travel so far through time?” Ranulf took a breath, and his shoulders sagged as though he were exhausted. “It seems to pull the body apart. And just when you feel you should be torn in two, you will come out on the other side. It may take some time for you to regain your balance afterward, but do not worry, Sir Gerard. We shall stay together.” Gerard nodded and turned to face the darkness. “I am ready.” “On the count of three we move forward. A bright light will engulf you and draw you in. Just relax and let it take you.”

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Gerard took several deep breaths to steel himself, then stood with his shoulders back. He listened to Ranulf count to three, then stepped forward, Ranulf walking beside him. Gerard‟s heart pounded loud in his ears, and his legs felt weak. The lantern‟s glow faded behind them, and the chill of the rock walls crept beneath the monk‟s cloak and his dirty linen breeches. Just as he was about to ask Ranulf how much farther, Gerard felt a tingle within his belly. He took another, more tentative step forward, and the tingle spread throughout his limbs. A force had him now, pulling him forward, and he knew he was on the threshold of his ability to turn back. With one last, deep breath, Gerard stepped ahead, and white light filled his vision as his body seemed to stretch. He opened his mouth to scream, but the air was pulled from his lungs as the invisible force snatched him from the rocky tether of his beloved Algonwick and flung him out the opposite side.

Part Two Algonwick, England, 2006

Chapter Twelve Jon Calder awoke with a gasp, eyes wide and heart pounding. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling in the dirty gray light of a chilly dawn, the details of his dream dissolving into smoke even as he tried to chase them down. The images and emotions that did linger were the same as every other time he had had the dream: stone walls, the dim flash of light along a blade, and the feeling of loss. “Same old dream,” Jon grumbled through a yawn. “Same big, lonely bed to wake up in.” He eased a foot from beneath the covers but quickly retreated once he felt the kiss of cold air on his bare skin. Another fifteen minutes wouldn‟t hurt, he decided, and burrowed deeper beneath the double layer of quilts, quickly slipping back to sleep. A room of stone awaited him, a different place than in his previous disturbing dream. The only illumination in this room came from candles secured in sconces on the walls. He could feel someone behind him, strong arms glazed with fine, dark hairs encircling his nude body, the man‟s palms damp with sweat that marked the spots he touched, as if marking Jon as his own. The man pulled Jon back against him, pressing the firm length of his erection against the curve of Jon‟s ass. His lover‟s lips touched his neck, sending chills fluttering through him at the brush of whiskers and the soft, warm touch of his mouth. Jon leaned back against his lover, eyes closed, head tipped back, exposing his throat for the man‟s kiss. One large hand moved slowly up his torso, fingers trailing through the blond hair, skimming over the rugged point of his nipple to caress the skin of his throat. His unseen lover‟s long, soft hair grazed his shoulder as the man shifted his mouth to the opposite side of Jon‟s neck, running the tip of his tongue across the taut, quivering skin. Jon sighed and reached down to grasp the fevered shaft of his cock and slowly stroke himself. “The hours of my day could not pass swift enough until I could come to your bedchamber,” the man whispered, his breath hot as his tongue traced the delicate line of Jon‟s ear. “I felt the same,” Jon heard himself reply, “and nearly stormed to the bunkhouse to demand your attentions.” The man placed gentle kisses down the slope of his neck and along his shoulder, pinching Jon‟s nipples between thick, strong fingers. Jon sighed and turned his head, catching his lover‟s mouth for a deep, slow kiss as he did. The

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intruding tongue tasted of ale, and Jon turned his head even more, wanting to allow as much of his lover‟s tongue into his mouth as possible. Breaking their embrace, the man took Jon‟s hand and led him across the room to a wide-backed wooden chair. He gestured for Jon to sit, and he found himself level with his lover‟s rigid, uncircumcised pole, leaning forward to eagerly suck the offering. A strong, salty taste of sweat exploded on his tongue, fueling Jon‟s hunger and urging him to move his mouth faster along the length. “Your lips embrace me well,” the man moaned, “but I wish to feel you inside me.” His lover stepped away, cock dropping from between Jon‟s lips, and he watched the man‟s back as he crossed the room toward a dark fireplace. The muscles of his back shifted with each step, and the pale, hairy globes of his ass clenched in time. The man leaned over, and the candlelight was just right to afford Jon a winking glance of the rosy circle of his anus. When the man turned to stride back to him, Jon could not lift his eyes from the nodding staff that jutted out from the bushy tangle of dark hair. The man stood before him, a small jar in one hand from which he scooped a slick substance he applied to Jon‟s throbbing length. Jon gasped and leaned his head against the chair back, closing his eyes as his lover‟s hand slowly stroked his now slippery shaft. The touch of the man‟s hand vanished, and Jon raised his head to watch his lover‟s back as the man lowered himself onto Jon‟s cock. A trembling resistance at the threshold of the man‟s ass slowed Jon‟s penetration, and then the plump head of his prick slid past, and the hot, slick muscles of his lover‟s back passage clasped him tight. Jon closed his eyes and gripped his lover‟s sweat-shining waist as the man steadily lowered himself until he sat fully impaled. At the moment the man‟s buttocks touched Jon‟s thighs, his lover let out a low moan, deep and ravenous, and Jon felt his cock jump within him. “I love when you fill me,” the man said, his voice deep and passionate. He leaned back, his back pressing against Jon‟s chest and his long, dark hair grazing Jon‟s face as he turned for a kiss. They sat that way for a time, Jon‟s hard-on buried deep inside his lover, thrumming with need, the man‟s tongue in his mouth as his whiskers rasped across his skin. “I love you,” the man said, “more than anyone or anything.” “I love you,” Jon replied and felt the overwhelming truth of the words like a hot stone in his chest. He was meant to be with this man, to share not just their bodies, but also their ideas, dreams, and fears. This man was his destiny. The man turned his face away and lifted himself up along Jon‟s slippery cock, only to sit upon it again. He repeated the movement until he was fucking himself with Jon‟s dick, and the slick, wet sound of its entry and retreat along with the welltimed grasp of his lover‟s muscles soon brought Jon to climax.

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“Oh, I am there, my love,” Jon gasped and gripped the man‟s hips to pull him down hard onto his cock as it bucked within his depths, and his orgasm surged up from his loins, the shivering ecstasy of it sweeping through his body. As the blush of his climax faded, Jon‟s lover eased himself off his cock and turned to face him and straddle his hips. The man‟s broad, muscular chest was covered with fine, dark hair that traveled down over his flat belly to congregate at the base of his cock. The man reached around behind him to direct the tip of Jon‟s still-firm dick toward the slick center of his ass, then impaled himself again, tipping his head back as he clutched the base of his cock in one hand and furiously stroked himself with the other. Jon stared up at the underside of the man‟s bearded jaw and rolled the hardened points of his lover‟s nipples between his fingers. Moments later, the man sucked in his breath as his hand slowed its motions to a spot just beneath the ridge of the hooded head of his cock, and it jumped in his hand, spraying Jon‟s chest with hot, thick semen. When he had finished, the man leaned down for a gentle kiss, and his tongue slowly circled Jon‟s mouth as he eased himself off his softening cock. “We fit together so well,” the man said, still kissing him. “I taste you on my tongue even when we are apart.” Jon pulled his head back for a glimpse of his lover‟s face, when a slamming apartment door down the hall startled him awake. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling in confusion, his cock a fevered column of arousal. Jon let out a disgruntled breath and, closing his eyes, reached down to take hold of himself. He focused on retrieving the feeling from his dream, the passion and comfort, the sexual freedom and desire as his hand quickened its strokes. Within minutes he felt the surge of his climax and let out a shuddering gasp as he came, feeling the hot splash of cum across his chest and belly and, moments later, the warm afterglow of release. He stayed in bed a few more minutes, eyes closed as he tried to picture his dream lover‟s face, but all he could recall was the dark hair on the man‟s body and the scratch of his beard. “Ah, bugger it all,” Jon said and threw back the covers to dash, shivering and nude, through the living room to the bathroom, where he peed and used toilet paper to wipe up his cum. Standing before the mirror, he stared into his pale blue eyes, then let his gaze follow the line of his jaw down around his pointed chin covered by three days‟ growth of blond whiskers. He yawned and reached up to run fingers through his wavy blond hair in an attempt to dislodge the corkscrews left over from his pillow, then gave up with a sigh and a dismissive wave. Who was there to see him in this condition anyway? After starting the coffeepot, Jon pulled on sweats and thick socks, then raised the blinds on the living room windows. A thick fog had wrapped around the town, limiting visibility to a few meters, and he shivered at the sight. Sitting at the long folding table he used as his workspace, Jon powered up his old laptop, then looked over the artifacts he had collected at the Algonwick Castle site, which he had

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arranged in neat, careful rows. He marveled at the objects, as if seeing them for the first time: a few eating utensils, some nails, a smattering of arrow and spearheads, a rusted horseshoe. Jon touched one of the arrowheads, lightly drawing his finger across the pitted surface, thinking back on his wildly different dreams. The coffeemaker gave a final gurgling sigh, and he fetched a cup of the bitter brew to sip while he checked his e-mail inbox. A big fat 0 sat in the upper right corner of his screen next to New Messages, and he sighed. He had no idea why he logged in every day; he didn‟t really have anyone to communicate with except the grant administration office at the university, and that had just been renewed for another year, so there was no need to expect any mail from them. Jon took a warm shower, dressed in flannel-lined jeans with a T-shirt under a long-sleeve henley, topped by a flannel shirt. The fog and damp chill of the morning could give way to a day of humid sunshine or cloud-covered cool. He filled a travel mug with coffee and peered out at the fog still pressing its gray, damp face against the glass. “Nothing to do but go out in it,” Jon told himself and stepped out into the hall, double locking the door behind him. The damp of the fog on his face made him shiver, and he hunched his shoulders as he crossed the small parking lot to his 1994 Opel Astra. The car was twelve years old, the battery only slightly younger, and it took a few tries to catch the spark. The engine finally coughed to life, and Jon shifted into first and puttered out of the lot. His apartment building stood at the end of a small crossroad of the main street through the downtown of Algonwick, and he paused at the intersection to check for oncoming traffic, just in case someone else might be braving the soupy fog. To the right stood the Roost, the only gay bar in Algonwick and much of the surrounding area. Though it was invisible in the fog, Jon took comfort knowing it was there and waiting for him to return from the castle site each night. It had become a haven for him this past year and was, in fact, the place he had met Abby and Harry, his only friends in town. Abby was a bartender at the Roost and had tipped him off about the available apartment in her building. “Later tonight, mates,” Jon said and turned left toward the castle ruins. As he drove slowly along the two-lane blacktop that cut through farmlands, Jon felt the familiar excitement warm his belly. He loved going to the castle ruins. Each day he visited the site, he discovered some other new detail about life in medieval Algonwick. And something about this particular site made him feel as if he were home, more than any of the other sites he had worked. It was this feeling of completeness that had convinced him to remain after the other members of his team had left. He now worked the site on his own, driving the five kilometers every morning, weather permitting, and digging out the details of life in the castle before it had fallen into ruin. He had started his work in the castle kitchen, it being the best-preserved room of the site, and had worked his way back around the castle to a stone foundation on the far side of the grounds where, he had recently decided, the stables had once

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stood. He had staked out the foundation for the knights‟ bunkhouse to the right, outside and to the rear of the kitchen door, which was where he had uncovered the arrow and spearheads. He had been focusing his attention on the excavations aboveground, effectively putting off venturing down the dark, moss-slick stone steps into the dungeon to see what he might find there. His slight claustrophobia encouraged him to save that investigation for the last. The fog was heavier out by the castle, probably from the moors that were slowly being filled in to allow for construction of condominiums and strip malls, and Jon slowed down to turn into the bumpy track that led up a low rise to the castle site. He parked in his usual spot a few yards down the rise from the fallen castle walls and, taking his coffee, got out to pop the trunk and retrieve his backpack filled with short-handled shovels, brushes, picks, notebooks, a variety of pens that might or might not work, and flashlights. Turning, Jon smiled as he looked up the rise at the site shrouded in fog. “Honey, I‟m home,” he whispered and stepped forward. As was his custom, Jon set his pack down at the crumbling main gate and walked around the entire site, sipping his coffee as he looked it over as if for the first time. The four towers that had once stood proud and tall—one in each corner of the castle—had fallen some time ago. Three of them had collapsed inward onto the main building itself, crushing the roof and blowing out the walls. The fourth tower, the one that rose from the roof of the kitchen and which, Jon believed, had contained the royal bedchambers, had fallen backward, crushing what he had decided was the knights‟ bunkhouse and armory, and strewing heavy blocks of stone across the flagstone courtyard. The outer wall containing the kitchen doorway had miraculously been spared, but the kitchen roof had pulled away, leaving behind jagged stones like medieval teeth trying to take a bite of the sky. Jon came around the back of the castle and stepped into the kitchen area, then stopped, a cold fist of anger tightening his gut. A large stone stood in the center of the kitchen, more than likely used as a food preparation counter by the servants preparing the meals, similar to a butcher block island in modern homes. Exposure to the elements had left the stone pitted and coarse, covered across the top and along the sides with moss. Now, however, a legion of swastikas had joined the moss and dirt, freshly spray-painted some time the night before. Beer and liquor bottles lay shattered about the room, and a large fire had burned in the one remaining cooking hearth. “Bloody goddamn white supremacists,” Jon said through gritted teeth. He took a breath and let it out, then turned away from the graffiti and trash to walk around the site again, willing his heart to slow and his temper to abate. Nothing to do about it at the moment; the damage was already done. He needed to check the rest of the site and make sure there had been no other vandalism. When he had finished his inspection, Jon had found no other sign of damage and, sadly, considered himself lucky to get off with just the one room ruined. Of course, he had not checked the dungeon, but with the thick fog and the still, chill air

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of October lending an eerie mood to the site, he decided to put off that exploration. He had enough work to do topside, especially now that the white supremacists had left their mark on his site. His site, as if he owned it. Some mornings when he came to the castle, it did indeed feel like he was returning home after a long absence. And just like back at his apartment, there was no one to welcome him. Just the ghosts of those who had lived and died here hundreds of years ago. Jon reached out and placed his palm against a stone, trying to read the history of the place through touch. He closed his eyes and conjured up an image of the castle in the days when it had thrived. When he focused hard like this, he could almost hear the voices of the villagers making their way through the outer courtyards of the castle. He could smell the clean air and, underneath that, the cooking fires and manure. There was time here, time to think and wonder and dream, with no Internet or mobile phones or automobiles. There were chamber pots and a town well for clean water, but most of all, there was Algonwick Castle, standing tall and intact, a monument to the imagination and achievements of men. The four towers threw shadows across the courtyard, and banners flapped from poles on top of each one. In the tower that stood at the corner above the kitchen, the royal family rose from their beds to begin another day. He could see it all so clearly, it sometimes felt as if he were recalling a memory. The sound of a plane overhead brought him back to current day, and Jon shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Ah, you crazy old wanker,” he mumbled to himself, “you feel more comfortable amid the fallen majesty of a castle than with actual, living people.” He finished his coffee and, deciding to put off cleaning up the kitchen until later, picked up his pack and headed for the stables to look for more buried treasure.

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Chapter Thirteen The Roost was quiet that evening when Jon stepped in the door. A handful of men sat spaced along the bar, and Abby stood behind it, laughing with two of them as she polished a glass. “Evening, Abs,” Jon said as he perched on a stool. “Can I get an ale?” Abby gave him a wink and grabbed a clean glass. “One for me too, eh, Abby?” a man asked as he eased his overweight frame onto the stool to Jon‟s left. He smiled at Jon and touched his arm. “Hi, Jon.” Jon smiled back. “Evening, Harry. How‟s tricks?” “No tricks for me tonight,” Harry said with a sigh and turned to look around at the few men in the bar. He shook his head at the poor selection, the lights above gleaming off his bald pate, then turned back to Jon. “How goes ancient history?” Jon sighed and looked into his ale. “Oh, not good. I found beer and liquor bottles in the kitchen area and the remains of a fire in the hearth, so someone had a party last night.” “Shame they didn‟t invite you, eh?” Harry laughed, then took a drink of the ale Abby placed before him. “Do you think it was a group of kids or something?” Abby asked, tucking a dark curl of hair behind her ear. “Did they wreck anything?” Harry licked the foam from his lips and asked, “Since it‟s technically already a „ruin,‟ could someone really wreck it any more?” Abby waved at him to keep quiet. “There‟s something more, Jon. What is it?” Jon took a breath. “It was a white supremacist group. They painted swastikas and slurs across the big stone counter in the center of the kitchen.” His voice caught in his throat, and he looked down into his ale, fighting back frustrated tears. “Oh, God,” Abby reached out to pat his hand. “I‟m sorry, Jon. I know that must just tear you up inside. That place is like a second home to you.” “It feels like the only home sometimes,” Jon admitted and took a drink. “I‟m just so pissed off. I mean, what gives them the right to go to this site filled with history and deface it like that? You know? Why would anyone even do that? That castle is hundreds of years old!” Abby patted his hand again, then moved off to serve a few men who walked in the door. Jon saw Harry check out the three new arrivals farther along the bar; then the man took a deep breath and let it out. “Not up for the chase tonight, Harry?” Jon asked with a grin.

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Harry shook his head, his eyes still on the men down the bar. “Not right now.” He looked at Jon out of the corner of his eye, then waved a hand up and down his large frame. “When you carry a few stone more than you should, it‟s best to let them get good and pissed first, eh?” Jon laughed and nodded, and they talked as more men arrived. Once the bar had filled up a bit more, Harry moved off to “patrol the perimeter,” as he put it, and Jon sat alone, watching the reflections of men in the mirror behind the bar as they cruised back and forth. A few men stopped to talk—some he knew and others who introduced themselves—but Jon felt surly, and he quickly shut down the conversations. At one point, Abby stopped in front of him and said, “If you don‟t let someone in soon, you‟re going to spend the rest of your life alone.” Jon frowned and asked for another drink. She set a fresh ale before him, then leaned on the bar. “What‟s going through that blond head of yours,” she asked, “besides the dimensions of that fallen-down castle?” Jon smiled and shrugged. “I don‟t know. Not much. Just don‟t feel very social tonight is all, I guess.” “Tonight, last night, the night before that. You need to open up, Jon. I worry about you.” “Yeah, I know,” Jon said. Abby turned away to serve some new arrivals, and Jon watched her work, marveling at how easily she interacted with all the people who stepped up to the bar, men and women alike. She joked with and insulted them, but she also knew most of them by name and which drink they favored. As Jon‟s upstairs neighbor, she was always willing to share her breakfast or coffee, and she checked on him at least every other day to make sure, as she liked to put it, a “big old ancient rock” hadn‟t crushed him. Harry squeezed in beside him to lean on the bar, and Jon shifted over on his stool to make some room. He clapped the man on the back and asked, “How was the perimeter patrol?” Harry shrugged and finished his ale. “Same as it always is. They want someone younger or someone older, someone richer or someone not as well off, someone more handsome or someone less attractive. They want anyone other than me.” “Oh, Harry.” Jon put an arm around the man‟s shoulders to give him a quick squeeze. “You‟ll find someone someday.” “How about you, Jon?” Harry asked, turning nervous, hopeful eyes up to him. “We‟ve known each other quite a tick. What do you think? I cook very well.” Jon squeezed Harry‟s shoulders again and released them. “I‟m sure you do, Harry. But I‟m looking for someone very specific.” “Aye,” Abby broke in as she picked up Harry‟s empty glass. “Jon‟s waiting for a knight in shining armor.” “Sounds like you‟re spending too much time up at that castle,” Harry said. “Now, now,” Jon said and shot Abby a dark look. “I just know what I want.”

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“Yeah,” Abby replied, “like I said: a knight in shining armor to ride up on a white steed and sweep you off your feet. You, Jon Calder, are a hopeless romantic.” “Hopeful romantic,” Jon corrected. “I admit, I am waiting for that sweep of emotion when I‟m with someone. And yes, maybe I‟ve had my nose stuck in books about the Middle Ages and lived among the ruins of castles for too many years now, but I really do believe that true love exists and that somewhere out there is the man I‟m supposed to fall in love with. I‟ll know him when I see him, and it will just…happen.” Abby cocked an eyebrow and looked at Harry. “See? Hopeless.” She looked back at Jon. “So, okay, this knight rides up on his white steed and whisks you away to his tower bedroom.” She leaned on the bar. “Which one of you is the bottom?” Jon leaned in, seeing Harry follow suit beside him, and said, “If he‟s the perfect man, he‟ll be versatile.” They all laughed together, and Abby moved off along the bar. Jon tossed a few bills on the bar and slid off the stool, allowing Harry to take his place. As Jon turned to go, Abby waved for him to wait and hurried over. “You be careful walking home,” she said. “Those supremacist bastards make me nervous. I know this bar is high on their target list.” Jon nodded and raised a hand in thanks. “I‟ll be careful. You too, aye? Get someone to walk you home.” Abby tipped him a wink. “I might get lucky tonight. The women show up around eleven.” Jon smiled and crossed his fingers for luck for her, gave Harry a farewell pat on the back, and then turned to thread his way through the crowd to the door. Once out on the street, with the smoke, loud music, and shouted conversations behind him, Jon paused to take a deep breath of the cool night air. He pulled his coat tight around him, pushed his hands into his pockets, and walked off along the dark street, passing vacant storefronts behind iron gates. As he rounded the corner onto his street and crossed the parking lot, Jon saw a small figure slink out of the shadows near the door. A hoarse meow greeted him as he approached the steps, and he crouched down to pet a big black cat as it twined around his ankles. “Hey there, Bart,” Jon said as the cat purred and bumped his fingers with his chin. “You hungry tonight, boy? Okay, meet me upstairs. Go on. You know where to go.” The cat trotted off around the corner into the dark alley, and Jon let himself into the building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Once inside his apartment, he shrugged out of his coat and turned on lights as he crossed the living room to enter his small, narrow kitchen. He pushed up the big double-hung window above the small café table, and Bart stepped in off the fire escape and onto the table.

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He talked to Bart as he opened a can of cat food and scooped the contents into a bowl that he set on the floor. As Bart ate, Jon powered up his laptop and checked his answering machine. No messages waited on either one, and with a sigh, he returned to the kitchen to find Bart sitting on the windowsill, cleaning himself. The cat turned sleepy green eyes to him, meowed once, then, with a flick of his tail, vanished into the dark. “You‟re welcome,” Jon said quietly into the night and closed the window. He pulled the blinds on all the windows and started undressing in the living room, finally ending up nude in the bathroom, where he dropped his smoky clothes in the hamper. He took a quick shower and dried off before crawling nude between his flannel sheets.

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Chapter Fourteen Jon struggled out from another nightmare, and as he gasped awake, the details of it slipped away like smoke, leaving behind the familiar feeling of danger and loss. He lay twisted within the sheets, a sheen of sweat coating his body, and stared at the ceiling as his breathing slowed. He had had the same dream all his life, but usually once, maybe twice a year. This year, however, the dream had come to him more regularly, and this last time had been the fourth consecutive night. These last few instances of the dream had seemed more realistic. The finer details stood out more, and even after awakening, a deep sense of loss and grief lingered with him all day. “Bloody fucking hell,” he grumbled and ran his hands over his face, trying to dislodge the heavy feeling of grief. “I much prefer the sex dreams.” Jon forced himself out of bed, leaving behind a tangled knot of sheets as he hurried through the chilly apartment. He used the bathroom, adjusted the thermostat, then started the coffeepot and his computer before getting in the shower. Jon ran soapy hands over his torso, trailing his fingers through the dark blond hair on his chest, then lower, across his flat stomach. Working at the site, being on his feet, and repeatedly bending down to dig or inspect items had kept him in shape. That and skipping lunch and, more often than not, supper as well. As if with a mind of its own, his hand moved lower to fondle his cock and balls. His cock twitched at his touch, and Jon closed his eyes as he conjured up his fantasy lover, the man from his dreams: strong and virile, with a deep-rooted sense of loyalty and honor, most likely a knight. He could almost taste the salt on the man‟s skin, feel the brush of beard when they kissed. He could feel the feathery tickle of the knight‟s chest hair as he slowly moved his lips down the man‟s hairy torso. Above him, the knight would sigh and groan as Jon held his thick, uncut member in his palm, using gentle fingers to ease back the foreskin and reveal the smooth, glistening prize beneath. Using the tip of his tongue, Jon would paint the head with his saliva, then open wide and take the man down his throat. His lover‟s hips would pump, the stout shaft filling his mouth and retreating as the man fucked Jon‟s face. Reaching up, Jon would take hold of the soft globes of the man‟s balls and pull them until, with a deep grunt, his lover would come, and Jon would hungrily swallow every thick, ropy drop. With a grunt of his own, Jon narrowed his strokes to the magic spot just beneath the head of his cock until the pulse of climax sent shudders through his

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body. When he had finished, Jon turned to face the shower and lathered up a final time, washing away the remnants of his fantasy just as the hot water ran out. Not long after, dressed and carrying his travel mug of coffee, Jon left his apartment and found the day free of the thick fog he had endured yesterday. He caught himself humming as he drove to the site and decided a morning wank was just the thing to cure his blues. He parked his Opel in the usual spot and retrieved his pack from the trunk, but after a few steps toward the site, he came to a stop, his humming abruptly cut off. Two men stood at the doorway to the kitchen, rough brown cloaks draped about them and knee-high leather boots on their feet, looking like extras from some sword-and-sorcerer movie. One of the men was older, with gray hair down to his shoulders and a long gray beard. But it was the other man that gave Jon a start. This man was young and muscular, his brown hair long and complemented by a thick brown beard, physically similar to the man from his dreams. A shiver crawled up his spine as Jon watched the two men look around the site, unaware of his presence. They peered inside the kitchen doorway; then the younger man pointed excitedly to something inside and stepped out of sight, followed closely by his older companion. Anger burned away the shivery fascination of the younger man‟s resemblance to his dream lover, and Jon narrowed his eyes. “Bastards,” he muttered. “Not on my watch.” He pulled a short-handled shovel from his pack and walked quickly to the kitchen doorway, then paused just outside to listen to their conversation. “Are you certain he carried these marks?” the older man asked, his voice strong and his words flavored with an odd accent. “Aye, quite certain,” the younger man replied, his deep voice waking a dormant attraction within Jon‟s heart. “They match those burned into his neck here and here. Malcolm has been here, Ranulf, I can feel it.” “We mustn‟t jump to conclusions, Gerard. That will only lead to hasty decisions, and our quest is too important to rush things. It may take us months, perhaps even years to fulfill all we need to accomplish.” “But you said the last time you came here the castle had been intact. What if the Algonwick we know is running out of time because of that bastard?” Jon frowned. The castle had been intact? Did the younger man, who the older man had referred to as Gerard, mean that it had not been vandalized? “Patience, Gerard. We will find Malcolm. We just need to be patient, you most of all. Let us study these writings. Perhaps they contain some clue as to Malcolm‟s location.” Jon decided it was time to announce himself and, holding tight to the handle of the shovel, stepped into the doorway. “Oi!” The two men whirled, and the fierce expression that blazed in the younger man‟s eyes caused Jon to take an uncertain step back. He noticed the man‟s hand drop to his side, and then a frustrated expression crossed his face, and Jon

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wondered if he usually carried a gun. Then the older man stepped forward, his hands raised to show he was unarmed. “Please, we mean no harm,” the older man said. “My friend and I were only looking around. That is all.” “You weren‟t going to paint more swastikas?” Jon asked. The men frowned at each other; then the older one looked back at him. “Begging your pardon, sir, but we are not certain what you mean by…swastikas?” Jon pulled back his head and frowned himself. He barged into the kitchen, glad to see the men jump aside at his approach, and used the blade of the shovel to point at the symbols on the center stone. “These! Swastikas. You know, white supremacists, Nazis, all that?” He looked at the men in turn and felt a mix of frustration and amazement at the confusion he saw on their faces. “Seriously? You don‟t know what a swastika or a Nazi is?” “We are not from around here,” the younger man offered in a halting voice, his gaze darting to the older man as if for confirmation. Jon snorted a laugh. “Yeah? And by here do you mean the planet Earth? Because every English citizen is painfully aware of the Nazis.” “We are from a small village,” the older man said with a nervous smile. “Where we do not know of these swastikas and Nazis.” His smile widened, and wrinkles folded up the corners of his dark eyes. “Really?” Jon lowered his shovel and shook his head. “Never thought I‟d live to see the day.” He held on to the shovel but turned to rest his butt against the mossy surface of the stone. “So, what are you two doing here?” The younger man spoke up, his voice thick with emotion. “We wanted to see the…the castle. We were curious what had become of it.” Jon narrowed his eyes. “You‟ve been here before, then, have you?” The older man gave him an anxious smile. “We are familiar with the site, yes. We traveled here once, long, long ago, and we wanted to see what had become of the castle and grounds.” “Well, it‟s probably looked about the same for the last four hundred years.” Jon waved toward the stone he leaned against. “Except, of course, for the graffiti.” The older man nodded and smiled nervously. “Of course. The…graffini.” Jon frowned, then laughed. “Come on now, you‟re having a bit of fun at my expense, right?” The men gave him blank stares. “Graffiti,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable. “You don‟t know what graffiti is?” “Graffiti,” the younger man repeated slowly and nodded as if satisfied with himself for pronouncing it correctly. “Of course we know what it is. It is…that.” He waved to the stone Jon leaned against. “The swasticulas.” Jon cocked his head and was quiet a moment before correcting him. “Swastikas?”

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The men nodded in unison; then the older man said, “Yes, of course. The graffiti and swastikas.” Jon waved the conversation away. “Never mind. Look, sorry I sort of jumped all over you like that. It‟s just… I found this graffiti yesterday, and it‟s got me bloody angry.” “Aye,” the younger man said and gave the stone a forlorn look. “There is a lack of respect for things here.” Jon nodded. “Aye, that‟s the truth.” His gaze met the younger man‟s, and a small spark of attraction flared within the pit of his stomach, sending warming fingers into his loins as he extended his hand to the younger man. “My name is Jon Calder. Who might you be?” The man gripped his hand tight, and at his touch, a reactive shiver made Jon catch his breath. The man had felt it as well—Jon could tell by the surprised expression that flashed across his face. His hand was tough and callous, strong and warm, even in the chill of the day, and Jon‟s cock stirred with interest. “Sir Gerard Fogg.” Jon smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Sir, is it? Have you been knighted by the queen?” Gerard frowned. “Queen? You have no king?” Before Jon could reply, the older man stepped up to him, hand extended, and said, “I am Ranulf Godfrey.” Jon turned away from Gerard to shake hands with Ranulf. “Well, it‟s good to meet you both.” He nodded to the older man, “Ranulf,” then turned to grin as he looked into Gerard‟s warm brown eyes. “Sir Gerard.” Beneath the smudges of dirt, a blush bloomed on Gerard‟s cheeks, and the man dropped his gaze. Jon noted how handsome Gerard was beneath the dirt, long beard, and long, dirty hair, and his cock shifted as it hardened more. “Do you visit this place often?” Ranulf asked and gestured at the ruins with a wave of his hand. “Every bloody day,” Jon replied with a sigh. “Rain or shine. And in these parts, it‟s mostly rain.” “And what is it you do when you come here, Mr. Calder?” Ranulf asked. “Please, call me Jon. I‟m researching this site. I dig through different sections and uncover items from the past. When I find an artifact, I carefully clean and catalog it. Then I write up a monthly brief on my findings, which I send to the university and grant office to prove I‟m actually working out here and not just wanking off.” “I see. And what have you accomplished?” Ranulf asked. Jon laughed and folded his arms, looking up at the cloudy sky as he considered his response. “That‟s a bloody good question, Ranulf. To be honest, I‟m not entirely sure what I‟ve accomplished, besides going home dirty at the end of every day and

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counting out my coins to buy milk.” He shrugged and glanced between the two men. “I like to think I‟ve got a good grasp on what life in Algonwick was like in the Middle Ages.” “Middle Ages,” Ranulf repeated, and a thin, sad smile flickered across his lips. “Aye, medieval times,” Jon said. “Based on my research, I believe I may have figured out what caused Algonwick to fall into ruin.” Gerard took a step closer, an intense look in his eye as he practically demanded, “Explain yourself.” The man seemed to hear how the tone of his voice sounded and made a conscious effort to relax his shoulders. “My apologies. We are very intrigued by this site, sir…Jon. And so we are also interested in your thoughts on what brought about its downfall.” “You do seem quite interested,” Jon said. “I‟m not used to people asking me this many questions about what I do up here all day.” He paused a moment, relishing their rapt attention—especially Gerard‟s—then said, “From what I have been able to piece together, Algonwick failed due to a combination of drought and disease.” “Drought?” Ranulf said with a glance around at the damp ground. “Disease?” Gerard whispered, and he looked around the kitchen with a stricken expression. “I beg your pardon, Gerard?” Jon said and leaned toward him, but Ranulf snagged his attention with a hurriedly spoken question, “Sir… Pardon… Jon, are you certain of the drought?” Jon kept his gaze on Gerard a moment, then turned to the older man. “It‟s just a theory, Ranulf. But I‟ve based it on what I‟ve been able to find in written accounts discovered in neighboring villages. My theory is that a drought that lasted at least two seasons struck this area. The crops failed at the end of the first season, and most of the villagers could no longer afford to pay their taxes to the king, so they began to steal away in the night. According to written accounts discovered at Audenbaine and other nearby sites, disease followed soon after and ravaged the weakened population. I believe that this was the final straw, if you will, and the village was abandoned. Soon after that, the castle was vacated as well.” He waved at the fallen walls. “The ruin of the castle happened over time due to lack of maintenance and upkeep. The elements here can be cruel, especially the winters.” “Aye,” Gerard said quietly and shifted his gaze around the site. “The winters are cold and unforgiving.” Jon watched him a moment, then said, “King Everard saw a difficult time at the end of his life. From the timeline I have established, the drought and plague struck just after his only son, Tristan, died under mysterious circumstances.” Gerard gasped, and Jon glimpsed the shine of tears in the man‟s eyes just before he turned away. Jon looked at Ranulf and was surprised to find a stricken expression on the older man‟s face. “I‟m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

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Ranulf tried to smile, but it appeared forced and sad. “We just…we have recently lost someone close to us also named Tristan. Hearing the name has name brought back the painful memory. That is all.” “Oh, I‟m so sorry.” Jon turned to Gerard‟s back, feeling helpless and guilty. “Gerard, accept my apologies, please.” Gerard kept his back to him but nodded and replied in a voice thick with emotion, “No need for apology, Sir Jon. You were not to know of this loss.” “I feel so…” Jon let out a breath and turned, catching sight of the graffiti. Then an idea hit him, and he said, “I know… Since the two of you seem to be quite interested in this site…” Gerard finally turned to face him again, eyes haunted with grief as he nodded. “Aye, that we are.” “Well, I‟m not sure if you need the work,” Jon said carefully, not wanting to insult them, “but since you‟re out here in the middle of the morning on a work day, I assume you have no employment.” Ranulf nodded. “You are correct.” “I have a small stipend in my grant money that allows me to hire an assistant. It‟s not much, and I don‟t know your living situation, but I could split that amount between the two of you if you want to come up here each morning and help me around the site. You can see it needs to be cleaned up, but once that‟s done, I could use help cataloging any items I find, maybe even do some light digging.” “We would be honored,” Gerard said quickly and gave a sharp nod. “Aye, Gerard speaks for us both.” Ranulf nodded as well. “Brilliant!” Jon clapped his hands together. “I don‟t have any supplies with me today, but can you come tomorrow?” “At first light if need be,” Gerard said. Jon laughed. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Gerard, but I don‟t wake that early. If you could be here by ten a.m., that would do just fine.” “Ten a.m.,” Gerard repeated and glanced at Ranulf. “Ten a.m. is fine,” Ranulf said with a nod. “And now, I am afraid we have taken up too much of your time, Jon. We shall leave you to your work and meet you here tomorrow morning at ten a.m.” “All right, I will see you tomorrow.” He shook their hands, relishing again the rough warmth of Gerard‟s strong grip. The image of Gerard‟s strong, rugged hand gripping his cock flashed through Jon‟s mind, but he pushed the thought away. The men stepped out of the kitchen and looked around the site again before turning to walk down the access lane to the main road, where they turned toward town. “Bloody hell,” Jon muttered to himself. “They‟re walking back to town.” He thought about going after them, then decided to give his charitable side a rest for the day. They had found their way to the site that morning; they would be fine getting home.

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He retrieved his pack from where he had dropped it and set to work in the cordoned-off area of the knights‟ barracks. As he worked, Jon thought about Gerard‟s handsome, haunted features and strong hands, wondering idly what the man might look like cleaned up.

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Chapter Fifteen “Psychos,” Abby said with a shake of her head. She stood behind the bar, hands planted on the polished surface, forehead wrinkled from her frown. “They could be psychos. For all you know, these blokes could be the same ones who painted the swastikas.” Jon shook his head. “Gerard and Ranulf are not skinheads—far from it. Their hair is quite long. It‟s like they‟re the complete opposite of skinheads.” Abby pushed off from the bar and walked away to serve a new customer, calling over her shoulder, “I don‟t care, I still don‟t like it. Ask for ID or immigration papers or what have you, just to see. You‟re going to be all alone up there with them, okay? I worry about you.” Jon nodded. “Good point. I will be alone up there with them. Okay, I‟ll ask to see their IDs, and I will write down the information. Right?” Abby nodded once, then moved off to the other customers, leaving Jon sitting on his own. He stared down into his ale, thinking about the warm brown of Gerard‟s eyes, the wild tangle of his hair and beard, and the sincere emotion he had seen during their conversation that morning. He also thought about the spark he had felt at the touch of the man‟s hand. Something had passed between them, but what it had been exactly, Jon had no idea. His romantic side leaned toward an attraction, but the more logical side of him passed it off to the damp chill and the friction of Gerard‟s rough cloak. Besides, Ranulf and Gerard seemed to have a very intense, codependent relationship. They dressed alike, they were in need of a good scrubbing, and they had an odd way of speaking. He swallowed the last of his ale as the door to the street opened behind him. Jon looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Gerard and Ranulf standing just inside the door, their expressions wary as they looked around the bar. They were dressed in jeans and button-down shirts beneath jackets that appeared too light of weight for the season. “Hello!” Jon called as a warm flush washed through him. He waved to the men, and Gerard strode across the room to grab his hand tightly in greeting. “It is good to see you, Jon Calder,” Gerard said, then looked around the bar, still clutching Jon‟s hand. “Do you frequent this alehouse?” Jon laughed and reluctantly slipped his hand free from Gerard‟s hearty grasp. He nodded to Ranulf, who had stepped up behind Gerard, then looked back to the younger man‟s bright eyes and broad smile. Gerard had washed up, and he looked good. His face was free of dirt, his beard was clean and freshly trimmed, and his hair had been washed and pulled back into a ponytail. Jon cleared his throat and

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turned away from his study of Gerard‟s full lips beneath the trimmed beard. “I do frequent this alehouse. Welcome to the Roost.” He leaned in between the two of them and lowered his voice. “You do know this is a gay bar, right?” Gerard and Ranulf exchanged a look; then Ranulf asked in a low voice, “A happy bar?” Jon threw back his head and let out a loud laugh. “Well, that would depend on the crowd that is in here.” He gave them a quizzical look, then asked, “I‟m talking about homosexuals. You know that, right?” Ranulf leaned over and whispered something in Gerard‟s ear that Jon thought sounded like, “sodomites.” Gerard‟s cheeks turned pink with a blush, and Ranulf‟s eyes glittered with interest as he looked around, scanning the faces of the men sitting at the bar and talking in small groups. Jon admired the man‟s profile, noting his strong nose, his freshly trimmed gray beard and hair, the mischievous tilt of his mouth. Now that Ranulf had cleaned up, Jon could tell he was a handsome man. Ranulf turned back to Jon and said, “Yes, gay. We thought this might be a gathering place for men who are…gay. Back in our village, we do not have places such as this.” “Yeah, well, that‟s not unusual for small English villages,” Jon said as he turned back to his drink. “Algonwick is just large enough for this one to have taken root. Though not everyone in town likes it.” “And who might these blokes be?” Abby asked as she walked up from serving the men at the other end of the bar. “Abby Hobart, I would like you to meet Gerard Fogg—” Jon stopped himself and put a hand on Gerard‟s arm, feeling the man‟s biceps tighten beneath his touch. “I beg your pardon, Sir Gerard Fogg.” Abby smiled and reached out to shake Gerard‟s hand. “I‟ve never met a true knight to the royal family.” Gerard blushed and smiled but kept silent as he shook Abby‟s hand. Jon then turned to his other side. “And this is Ranulf Godfrey.” Abby reached out to shake Ranulf‟s hand. “Queen didn‟t favor you with a title yet, Ranulf?” Ranulf smiled. “I am afraid I am just a lowly adviser.” They all laughed, and then Jon ordered three ales and asked Abby to put the charge on his tab. When the glasses had been placed before them, Jon held his up, and Gerard and Ranulf followed suit. “To new friends.” “To new friends,” Gerard and Ranulf repeated and took drinks. Gerard blinked in surprise and smiled at Jon. “It‟s cold!” Jon laughed. “Yeah, they‟ve got all the latest stuff here.” Someone clapped Jon on the back, and he jumped, turning to find Harry Templeton standing behind him. “Oi, Harry, you scared six years off my life.”

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“Sorry, bloke,” Harry said. Then he noticed Gerard and Ranulf, and his eyes widened. Jon could only imagine what Harry might say next, so he quickly spoke up, introducing them before Harry could say anything inappropriate. “Harry Templeton, this is Gerard Fogg and Ranulf Godfrey. I hired them this morning to help me up at the site.” Harry shook their hands, then looked at Jon with wide eyes. “You hired them this morning and brought them here this evening?” “We happened upon this alehouse,” Gerard explained. “Jon did not bring us.” “I see.” Harry smirked at Jon before looking back at Gerard. “You do know this is a gay bar, right?” “We are quite aware of the kind of people who frequent this business,” Ranulf said. “Oh my,” Harry chuckled. “You two are bloody brilliant.” He looked back at Jon. “Did you hire them to act like this?” “Harry, they‟re from a small village north of here with no electricity or mobile phones or things like that.” Jon cocked an eyebrow. “Go easy on them.” Harry muffled his humor, then nodded to Gerard. “It‟s good to meet you blokes. Jon here is a good man.” “Aye, that he is,” Gerard said with a nod and gave Jon a smile that boosted his heart rate a little. Abby placed an ale before Harry and, after he had taken a deep draft, looked at Ranulf. “Where did you blokes say you were from?” “A small village north of here,” Ranulf said with a friendly smile. “I am quite sure you have never heard of it. We are quite removed, you see. No electricity, water, or mobile phones.” “Sounds like Scotland,” Harry said with a smirk. “We‟re not Scots!” Gerard exclaimed, then looked around as he realized how loud he had been. Harry blinked in surprise at Gerard. “Sorry, Gerard. Just having a bit of fun is all.” “My apologies, Harry,” Gerard said. “I meant no disrespect.” Jon and Harry exchanged looks again, and Harry made a face to show he was impressed. Jon smiled in response. Ranulf then stood up and asked Jon, “Where are the convenience rooms located?” Harry chuckled and set his empty glass on the bar. “Looking for the loo, Ranulf? Come on. I‟ll show you where they are.” “Harry…” Jon said in a low, threatening voice. “No worries,” Harry assured him. “I‟ll make sure he uses a stall and washes his hands. Order me another ale, and don‟t be dipping your fingers in it.” Harry put an arm around Ranulf‟s shoulders. “Come on, Ranulf. Let‟s skip to the loo.”

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“Loo?” Gerard asked after Harry and Ranulf had walked off. “The water closet.” Jon continued when Gerard frowned. “Bathroom? Toilet? Um, chamber pot?” Gerard‟s face brightened. “Chamber pot! It‟s also called the loo?” “Right,” Jon said. “So, Gerard, where are you and Ranulf staying?” “We have found space at the Algonwick Shelter for Men.” Gerard slowly pronounced each word as though he had had trouble memorizing it. “That is where we were able to bathe and choose new clothes from their donations.” A small, icy ache formed in Jon‟s chest at the thought of the two men at a shelter. “Oh, I‟m sorry. I didn‟t realize you were having such a hard time of it.” Gerard nodded and looked down into his ale. “No worries, Jon. Ranulf convinced me to accept this form of charity for now, until we can find a place within our means.” “You have no money?” “Not yet,” Gerard explained. “We needed to find work and receive a wage. And we were lucky we met you at the castle site.” Gerard sipped his ale, and Jon reached out to touch his arm. “Gerard, you know… I wasn‟t aware you were staying at a shelter. It has strict rules about its residents not drinking. Maybe you shouldn‟t finish that. I‟m sorry.” “I do not remember that rule,” Gerard said but pushed the glass of ale away. “I was a little distracted by the beds and the clothes and the number of men there.” “I‟m sorry. I didn‟t know you were so hard up for money,” Jon said. “Maybe I can give you each a little more, but I don‟t get much from my grant. Most of that money goes to my food and rent and any tools I need.” “I appreciate your concern, Jon.” Gerard put a strong arm around Jon‟s shoulders. “Ranulf and I will make do. And we will meet you at the castle tomorrow morning as planned.” “Oi, I know!” Jon said just as Ranulf and Harry returned. Jon looked back at Ranulf and continued, “I‟ll pick you two up tomorrow morning and drive you to the castle. How does that sound?” “We will be able to find our way,” Ranulf replied. “But it‟s quite a walk, and the mornings are so cold and damp,” Jon said. “No argument. You be out front of the shelter at nine thirty, and I‟ll be there to pick you both up and drive you to the site. And when we‟ve finished work for the day, I‟ll drive you back.” “That is most kind of you,” Ranulf said with a smile and a nod. He looked at Gerard. “We should take our leave, Gerard.” “Aye, you are right.” Gerard slid off the bar stool and looked down into Jon‟s eyes. “We are well met, Jon Calder.” Jon stared into Gerard‟s warm brown eyes a long moment, and the sounds of the bar seemed to fade away. A dizzy feeling of déjà vu swept through him, and he

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gripped the edge of the bar to keep from falling off the stool. Finally Gerard blinked and smiled, breaking the moment, and the sounds of the bar flooded back. Jon smiled, somewhat stupidly, he felt, and managed to pull his gaze away from Gerard‟s to reach out to Ranulf. “Tomorrow morning,” Jon said. “Nine thirty,” Ranulf replied, and he turned for the door, Gerard following him. “What the bloody hell was that?” Abby asked. Jon turned to her, still feeling dazed. “Sorry?” She leaned in over the bar, and Jon sensed Harry leaning in close beside him. Abby spoke slowly. “I said, what the bloody hell was that?” Jon tried to feign ignorance. “What do you mean?” Abby narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean. That moment between you and the Jesus impersonator who has no bloody ID!” Jon laughed and shook his head as a blush burned in his cheeks. “I have no bloody clue.” “Oh bloody hell,” Harry said and smiled at Abby. “Our little Jon‟s finally gone and taken a tumble into the love pit. And with a homeless man, no less. Who knew that was all it took to get his attention.” Jon shot Harry a dirty look. “Oh, bugger off.” “I don‟t like those two,” Abby said. “They seem nice enough, and I know a lot of people are going through hard times, but there‟s something they‟re not telling you.” “I‟m sure there are a great number of things they‟re not telling me,” Jon said. “I just met them this morning.” “Yeah, and look at you!” Abby exclaimed. “You‟re all goggle-eyed over this man you just bloody met.” Jon nodded as he considered Abby‟s words. “You‟re right. I need to be more cautious. I don‟t know why I‟m letting myself get swept away over him. It‟s just… He feels familiar.” Jon shook his head. “I‟ll try to maintain a better sense of balance. Maybe it‟s just been too long since I‟ve met someone new.” Jon finished his ale and took a deep breath, then smiled at her across the bar. “I‟m off.” “Not so fast,” Abby said and turned around to grab a slip of paper. “You owe me some coin.” “Oh, right.” Jon grimaced at the total and dug the exact amount from his pocket. He gave her a sheepish look. “Sorry, Abs, it‟s all I‟ve got. I don‟t have any left over for a tip.” Abby rolled her eyes and slid half of the money back to him. “We can‟t have you going hungry now, can we?” “Thanks, Abs.” Jon put an arm around Harry‟s shoulders to give him a squeeze. “Careful on your way home, Harry.”

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Harry waved him off, and Jon turned to push out the door into the cold night air.

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Chapter Sixteen Jon watched Gerard move around the site, a garbage bag in one hand as the man picked up trash. Now and then Gerard would stop and look around the castle ruins, his face sad and his shoulders slumped. Gerard‟s actions reminded Jon of news clips shown from the sites of most natural disasters—a person standing with a garbage bag in one hand, picking through the rubble that was his life, stopping now and then to look around, eyes glassy with exhaustion and grief. Hunching against the chill, Jon resumed skimming layers of dirt from around the foundation stones. He knelt in the area he had decided had been the knights‟ bunkhouse and used a thin-bladed shovel to remove the dirt. As he worked, Jon‟s mind drifted back to how he had awakened kicking beneath his sheets that morning. It had been the nightmare again, only this time he could recall more details after he awoke. He remembered being inside a cave, had practically felt the cold, rough stone walls beneath his fingers. Someone had been with him, a man he trusted, with long brown hair that seemed to float in the air as he spun, a sword in his hands. “Spending too much time up here,” Jon said to himself and glanced over his shoulder at Gerard‟s broad back. The man crouched to pick up a piece of litter, and Jon‟s gaze dropped to the curve of Gerard‟s firm ass. Jon closed his eyes and fought back a stubborn erection, turning back to his work as his mind conjured up an image of Gerard sprawled nude across the large center stone in the kitchen. The man‟s legs were raised, and he looked down along his hairy, muscular body, then fixed Jon with a smoldering gaze. Bending over, Jon opened his mouth to take the man‟s cock between his lips and savored the uncut shaft as he slowly stroked his own hardened member. Releasing Gerard‟s cock, Jon moved lower, tasting the man‟s balls, then moved lower still to burrow the tip of his tongue deep into the damp, fragrant center of his asshole. Gerard groaned, the sound intensifying Jon‟s hunger and encouraging him to feast on the soft ridges of the pulsing muscle. “Begging your pardon, Jon.” Ranulf‟s voice shattered Jon‟s fantasy, and he turned to look up at the man, feeling a blush heat his cheeks. “Sorry, Ranulf, you caught me woolgathering. What can I do for you?” “I require a new bag.” Ranulf gestured to the bulging rubbish bag sitting by his feet. “The one I began with is full.” Jon got to his feet, trying to hide his erection with the small shovel as he crossed to the box and pulled out a fresh bag. He handed the bag to Ranulf, then

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looked around for Gerard, but the man was not in sight. Curious, Jon walked toward the line of stones that had once supported the royal bedchambers. He rounded a pile of rubble and stopped when he caught sight of Gerard crouched on top of two stones, peering down into a narrow gap between his feet. “How‟s it going?” Jon asked. Gerard started and looked up with a somewhat guilty expression. “Hello, Jon. I was picking up trash as you asked, but then I saw something between these stones. I thought it might be trash, but now I am not so sure. I was about to call for you to come over.” Jon climbed up beside him and peered into the dark space between the roughhewn stones. “I don‟t see anything.” “Lean more toward me,” Gerard said. Jon did as instructed, feeling the warmth of Gerard‟s body as he leaned closer to the man, and trying not to think about the fantasy Ranulf had just interrupted. A quick sparkle of light flashed within the narrow opening between the stones, and Jon stopped, his attention suddenly riveted. “Did you see it?” Gerard asked. “I did,” Jon replied and leaned down, swaying back and forth as he tried to catch a better look at the object. Whatever it was, it caught the meager daylight once again, and Jon stopped. He squinted down into the narrow space, then abruptly stood up. “Don‟t leave this spot,” he said and jumped off the stone. After trotting back to his pack, Jon grabbed his flashlight, then climbed up beside Gerard again. The flashlight beam revealed the edge of what appeared to be a medallion, coated with dirt, and Jon felt a shiver of excitement at the sight. “I think this might be something big.” Jon looked up at Gerard with a smile. “How in the world did you find this?” Gerard waved toward the half-filled garbage bag on the ground below. “I ascended these stones to cross to the other side and look for rubbish, and I happened to see the reflection of it between my feet.” “Well, it‟s a great find, however it happened.” Jon considered the stone they stood on. “Not sure how we‟re going to get to it, though. These stones weigh a ton.” He tapped a foot on the rock and sighed. “The stone may not be lying on it,” Gerard said. “Might we try a stick of some kind to hook the chain?” “There‟s a chain?” Jon frowned and crouched again to shine the beam of his flashlight into the opening. “I thought I caught a glimpse of a chain,” Gerard said quickly. “Do you have anything long and thin in your pack?”

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“Not really,” Jon said and looked out over the site as he considered his options. He swept his gaze back and forth and smiled when it fell upon his car at the bottom of the rise. “I‟ve got an idea. Stay here.” A few minutes later, Jon again knelt beside Gerard. He held the unspooled length of a metal clothes hanger from the trunk of his car and eased the hooked end into the gap between his feet. Gerard knelt close beside him, holding the flashlight and giving quiet directions. “Lower. Lower. Good. Now, toward you. Too far, back toward me.” Jon felt the hook catch on something and gasped. “Was that it?” Gerard dropped to his belly, his face pressed to the gap, the flashlight beside his ear. “It looks to be! Gently now, lift it up.” Holding his breath, Jon slowly raised the length of coat hanger until the hook slid into view. A length of chain made up of large links of what appeared to be silver followed, and Jon let out his breath. As more of the chain came into view, Jon felt whatever hung at the end catch between the stones. “Bloody hell,” Jon whispered. “Hold on. It‟s stuck.” He slowly twisted the hanger, spinning the chain. After several attempts, the chain was positioned just right, and it slipped free of the stones, pulling behind it a large, dirt-encrusted medallion. “Oh my God,” Jon whispered as he laid the chain across the stone. A circular medallion hung at the end of the chain, and even through the centuries of dirt and dust, Jon could tell the piece was exquisite. “Oh my God.” He looked at Gerard and was surprised to see tears in the man‟s eyes. “Gerard? Are you okay?” Gerard nodded and wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. “I think it is just… I think it is beautiful, that is all. It is a good find, Jon.” “Bloody hell, Gerard.” Jon let out a laugh. “This is more than a good find. This is a bloody fucking amazing find! Do you know what this means?” Ranulf walked up as Gerard shook his head. “Tell me.” “It means the university may find something useful about my research on this site after all.” Jon laughed again and looked down at the medallion. “I can‟t wait to clean it up”

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Chapter Seventeen After dropping Gerard and Ranulf at the shelter, Jon drove the six blocks to his apartment building and ran up the steps two at a time. He burst into his apartment, dropped his coat and pack on the floor by the door, then laid the medallion, wrapped in a soft cloth, on his worktable and switched on the lighted magnifying glass. Rain began to patter against the window glass as Jon heated a can of soup, pacing from the stove to his worktable and back as he waited for it to boil. When the soup was finally heated, he dumped the steaming contents into a bowl and carried it to the table, taking bites now and then as he began to work on the medallion. Sometime later, not long after he had finished the soup, Jon heard a tap on the window in front of him that sounded harder than a raindrop. He started and looked up and out the window at the dark, rainy night. Another tap made him jump, and he caught a glimpse of something ticking off the glass. He got to his feet, reached out to switch off the light on the magnifying glass, and peered down into the parking lot. A man stood below, long hair wet from the rain, face a pale oval peering up at him, the lower half concealed by a dark beard. Jon let out a gasp as a hot stone of excitement formed low in his belly. “Gerard?” he asked and moved around the table to push the window up and call down, “Gerard? Is that you?” “Aye, Jon, it is I,” Gerard replied. “What are you doing here?” Jon then realized the man was standing in the pouring rain and said, “Sorry. Come through the door. I‟ll buzz you in. I‟m on the third floor.” It took a few tries for them to get the timing right, but finally Jon heard Gerard climbing the steps at the end of the hall, and moments later the man stepped through his open door, rainwater running off him and his eyes bright as he looked around Jon‟s apartment. “How did you know where I live?” Jon asked, peeling the wet coat off him and tossing it into the bathroom. “Ranulf and I went to the Roost, and when you didn‟t show up, I asked Harry if he thought you would be by, and he told me to come ask you myself.” Gerard turned to look at Jon with a worried expression. “Is it all right that I came unannounced?” “Yeah, that‟s fine,” Jon said, eyeing Gerard‟s wet clothes. “Look, this is going to sound bad, but you need to get out of those clothes or you‟ll catch your death of cold.

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I‟ll get you some sweats to put on. Go into the bathroom. There are towels you can use to dry off.” He switched on the lighted magnifying glass mounted on the side of the table and looked down at the dirt-encrusted medallion and chain. Jon let out a soft breath, then felt the warmth from Gerard‟s body as the man leaned in over his shoulder to peer down at the medallion. “It is beautiful,” Gerard said. “How do you clean it?” “With this.” Jon grabbed a soft-bristle toothbrush from a pencil holder. He straightened up and turned, distracted by the medallion, and found himself nose to nose with Gerard. The warmth of Gerard‟s breath caressed his face as Jon pressed against the firm, muscular swell of his chest beneath the flannel shirt. Jon gripped Gerard‟s arm to steady himself, and the man‟s biceps flexed, causing Jon‟s cock to swell in an instant, painfully bound within his undershorts. “Oh, sorry,” Jon managed and sidestepped around him. “I forgot you… Sorry, I was in work mode. I, um, need a small bowl of water and maybe a little vinegar. I‟ll be right back.” He fled into the kitchen and, out of Gerard‟s line of sight, reached down to adjust his hard-on. He then leaned on the counter to catch his breath. A soft scratch at the window brought his head up, and he saw Bart sitting on the fire escape, batting at the glass. “Hey, boy.” Jon crossed the room to raise the window. The cat stepped onto the small table and meowed at him, purring as he rubbed against Jon‟s hand and hip. “Who‟s this?” Gerard asked from the kitchen doorway. “This is Bart.” “Bart?” Gerard stepped closer, and Bart sat on the table, regarding the man with calm green eyes. “Well, hello there, Bart. He is quite a cat.” “Yeah, he‟s a stray I‟ve taken to feeding,” Jon said as he opened a can of food and scooped it into a bowl. “His fur is very thick,” Gerard said. “It looks like he has a full black beard.” Jon thought he heard a note of sadness in Gerard‟s voice, and when he turned with the food, he found Bart resting comfortably on the man‟s shoulder. “Oh wow. I never thought he would let anyone else pick him up.” “He climbed onto me,” Gerard explained and carefully set Bart back on the table, where the cat began to eat. Gerard looked over at Jon, dark eyes contemplative, then said, “You are a good person, Jon.” Jon shrugged and averted his gaze as he poured distilled water from a jug into a small glass bowl. “Ah, we all fall on hard times, right?” The words were out before he could stop them, and Jon winced, then turned to look at Gerard. “I‟m sorry. I hope you didn‟t take that the wrong way. I didn‟t mean anything about your situation or…”

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Gerard shook his head. “I understand what you intended. No worries. We all occasionally fall on hard times.” Jon grabbed the bottle of white vinegar and carried it and the bowl of distilled water back to his worktable, Gerard following. Jon instructed Gerard to pull up an extra chair, and they sat with their heads together as Jon dipped the tips of the toothbrush bristles into the water, then carefully cleaned the dirt from the medallion. “Oh my God,” Jon breathed as the underlying surface began to show through the dirt. “This may be more valuable than I had first thought.” “What kind of stone do you think it is?” Gerard asked. “Emerald?” “Aye, and a bloody big one at that.” Jon stopped cleaning and turned the medallion, inspecting the six large stones set around an even larger circular center stone. “If all six of these outer stones are emeralds, I wonder what this center one is?” “Ruby?” Gerard offered. Jon looked up at him, suddenly aware he was sitting with a man he barely knew, cleaning a priceless piece of ancient jewelry. On the heels of this realization came the calm understanding that he could trust Gerard, not just with this jeweled medallion, but with his life as well, and this comprehension settled in the middle of his chest. He blinked and found Gerard still looking at him, the man‟s dark eyes warm and curious, and Jon cleared his throat, turning his mind back to the medallion. “If these are actual emeralds sitting around a ruby of this size, this could be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds.” Gerard smiled. “And it was just lying there beneath the stones all those years.” A wave of dizziness rushed over him, and Jon put a hand to his forehead as he closed his eyes. “Jon? Are you all right?” He nodded, unable to speak because his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He licked his lips and forced himself to breathe. “I‟m fine. I just… It‟s a little overwhelming to suddenly stumble on a find like this. All along it‟s been arrowheads and rusted nails and utensils, but this…” Jon shook his head as he contemplated the repercussions. “This could change the way this site is viewed by the grant board at the university. This could mean a real team is dispatched to work here.” “Would you like that?” Gerard asked. Jon considered the question, then smiled and nodded. “It would be good to work with a group of people all dedicated to the same purpose. I thought I liked working alone up at the site, but having you and Ranulf up there today helped me see how lonely it is.” “You spend much time alone,” Gerard said, looking around the apartment before returning his gaze to Jon‟s face. “Why is that?”

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Jon looked into Gerard‟s eyes. “A lot of it is the nature of my work. But I have cut myself off from the population at large. I think I got used to doing that at university. I never felt like I fit in anywhere before, not even on all those other digs. I never got on with my roommates in the dorm, and I didn‟t make close friends in my classes. I just kind of drifted through university without leaving a true mark. I always felt awkward, never really comfortable anywhere or with anyone. After my parents died, I was alone, and I just sort of…moved from one dig to the next. But even at those sites, doing what I truly loved, each of those places seemed like a waste of time, that I was meant to be somewhere else, I just couldn‟t seem to find it. It was almost as if my life was a dream and my dreams my real life, which I could never get back to.” He shrugged, embarrassed at revealing so much. “It wasn‟t until I came up here to Algonwick that I felt like I had found a place where I belonged. No one else wanted to come to this site, so I just took it on myself.” “The site fits you,” Gerard said. “You understand the land and its history.” “Thanks.” Jon bent back to his work on the medallion. “When I first arrived at Algonwick, I had a really strong feeling of déjà vu. It was like I knew the place.” Jon gently brushed away the dirt and revealed the fire red surface of the center ruby. “You were right. It is a ruby. Good guess. Blimey, this is amazing—truly amazing.” “It is good to see you this happy,” Gerard said, his voice soft. Jon felt the air in the room change, and he was suddenly very aware of Gerard‟s proximity—the heat of his body, the salty smell of sweat from the day‟s labors and the damp of the rain in his hair, the sound of his breath. Jon stopped his hand in midstroke, the brush trembling above the glossy red circle of the ruby. He lifted his head to look into Gerard‟s eyes, and a shiver worked its way up from his belly. He leaned in closer, drawn toward the man as if acting outside of his own free will. The distance closed between them, and Jon felt Gerard‟s breath on his face, the warm blush of his skin. Bart let out a cry from the kitchen, and the sound pierced the moment, draining the tension between them. Jon pulled back and abruptly stood up. “He probably needs water,” he managed to say before fleeing into the kitchen. “That‟s Bart for you,” Jon heard Gerard mumble behind him.

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Chapter Eighteen In the kitchen, Jon scratched Bart behind the ears, then set a bowl of water outside the window on the fire escape. After the cat stepped out the window, Jon shivered in the cold air coming through and eased it shut. He returned to the worktable and flashed Gerard a smile he hoped didn‟t look half as nervous as it felt before bending back to his work. “You are very gentle,” Gerard said softly. The timbre of his voice rattled through Jon‟s body and seemed to settle in his balls. “You are very good with your hands.” “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Jon said and let out a nervous bark of a laugh that he quickly cut off. “Have men told you that before?” Gerard asked. Jon sat up and turned to look at him. He let his gaze rest on Gerard‟s face, trying to memorize every detail of the moment before it progressed to the next level. Right now they were merely two men who seemed to share a strong attraction. If either made a move toward the other, that dynamic would be irreversibly altered. They would become two men who had been intimate with each other, and there would be no turning back, and each time that had happened in the past, it had ended badly. “You seem uneasy,” Gerard said and reached out to take his hand. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” Jon smiled and nodded. “Yes, Gerard, you do, but in the most arousing manner possible.” He cleared his throat and took a breath to clear his head, intending to explain the bad luck he had had the few times he had tried his hand at a relationship. The words were there, floating around inside his head; he just needed to get them out, to warn Gerard and, most likely, prepare himself for the eventual failure of whatever it was they were about to embark upon. But then Gerard touched his cheek, his palm warm and rugged, and before Jon could speak, before he could think to pull away so he could say his piece, Gerard‟s lips met his, and a surge of emotion rushed through him. The kiss was light and tentative, almost a physical request for permission to continue. Gerard‟s lips, soft and warm beneath the gentle brush of his whiskers, awoke a sudden feeling of discovery inside Jon, and he surprised himself by leaning into Gerard and kissing him back. Kissing the man made him feel as if he were returning to the one place he considered home after a long time away, finding everything he loved waiting there for him exactly where he had left it. It felt even more like a homecoming than when he had first stood on the Algonwick Castle site.

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The kiss deepened, their lips parted, and tongues collided, rolling together. Gerard groaned, and the sound seemed to rumble from within him to nest inside Jon‟s chest. Finally Jon sat back and reached up to cover Gerard‟s hand where it still rested against his cheek as his heart hammered and his cheeks burned. He looked into Gerard‟s eyes and was relieved to see not just lust simmering within them, but something much deeper. Perhaps the emotions currently flooding his logic and reason did not belong to him alone. “This could be a bad idea,” Jon said. “Do you wish to stop?” Jon kissed him again. “No.” He got to his feet and, taking Gerard by the hand, led him into the bedroom. They stood in the dark beside the bed, illuminated by the glow of the streetlight sneaking in through the blinds as they kissed and slowly undressed each other. Jon lowered his mouth to place a gentle kiss against the pulse beating in the side of Gerard‟s neck, the taste of his sweat fueling his hunger for the man‟s body. He felt as if he had been deprived of a favorite food for so many years, dreamed of it every night until finally finding a veritable feast of it laid out before him. This man was who he had been waiting for all his life. He had no idea how he knew it, but Jon felt something shift within him, open him up to Gerard like he had never been able to open up to another man before. “I have wanted to kiss you since the day we met at the castle,” Gerard said. “The protective glint in your eye when you thought we meant to further damage the site.” Gerard placed gentle kisses on Jon‟s eyelids. “The determined set of your jaw.” He lowered his lips to Jon‟s chin and kissed the small dimple at the point. “The way you tightened your grip on that shovel.” He held Jon‟s hands and raised them to his lips. “It was all I could do to keep from taking you in my arms. I knew at that moment that I had found you.” Jon eased his hands from Gerard‟s and pulled the sweatshirt up over his head, exposing Gerard‟s hairy chest, and dropped it to the floor. He dipped his head and ran his tongue around the rugged points of his nipples, then pressed his face into the middle of Gerard‟s chest, breathing in his scent. “God, you smell good.” Jon sighed and lifted his head for another kiss as Gerard‟s fingers unbuttoned his shirt. “I have not bathed since this morning,” Gerard replied between kisses. “And I did much work at the site.” “I hear your boss is a real bastard,” Jon said and smiled when Gerard chuckled. “Anyway, I like the way you smell.” Jon shrugged out of his shirt and sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling Gerard around to stand before him and leaning in to place a kiss over his navel. “Oh, Jon.” Gerard sighed. “You have no idea how far I have come to find you.” “I know. I feel the same way,” Jon said as he loosened the strings at the waist of the sweatpants and pushed them down to his ankles, exposing the thick, uncut

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length of Gerard‟s cock. Jon wrapped his fingers around the stout base, and Gerard sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Is my hand cold?” Jon asked, looking up at his face. Tears in the man‟s eyes reflected the moonlight as he shook his head. “No, not at all. It is simply… I never thought I would feel like this again.” Jon kept his eyes on Gerard‟s, holding the man‟s gaze as he leaned in and parted his lips to take the cock into his mouth. The salty taste of Gerard‟s skin burst across his tongue, and Jon closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He tightened his lips around the hard shaft, then slowly pulled back to gently hook the thin foreskin between his teeth. Jon pulled the foreskin taut, then released it and dipped his tongue beneath to cover the rounded head with saliva before taking the full length into his mouth. After a time, Gerard pulled his hips back, his cock dropping from between Jon‟s lips, and he knelt between Jon‟s knees. They kissed as Gerard fumbled with the catch and zipper of his jeans until Jon laughed and opened both himself, then pushed the denim down his legs so Gerard could pull them off. “You‟re not very smooth with the disrobing portion, are you?” Jon teased. Gerard smiled and kissed him as he massaged the long, hard length of Jon‟s cock through his undershorts. “I have been practicing other areas of relations.” “That‟s encouraging.” Jon kissed him again, groaning into Gerard‟s mouth as the man fondled him. “Oh Gerard, where did you come from?” “You would not believe me if I told you,” Gerard said, then tore Jon‟s undershorts in half to expose his throbbing length. Jon gasped, and his cock jerked as the material split. “Oh my God, that‟s fucking hot.” Gerard lowered his head and swallowed Jon‟s cock, pressing his nose into the dark blond bush at the base. Jon put his head back and groaned, then fell on his back across the mattress as Gerard hungrily sucked him. The heat of the man‟s mouth and the ferocious sucking pushed shudders of ecstasy through him. When he came up for air, Gerard pumped his fist slowly along the spit-slick shaft and examined Jon‟s cock. “You have been circumcised.” He looked up at Jon with a frown. “You are a Hebrew?” Jon laughed and raised himself up on his elbows. “No. My mum and dad just decided to have me cut when I was born, that‟s all. It‟s a more common practice in the larger cities, not just for religious reasons anymore.” Gerard nodded and flashed him a smile before saying, “It still tastes the same.” He lowered the wet heat of his mouth over it again, and Jon fell back across the bed with a groan. After a while, Jon said, “Come up here on the bed. I want to suck you as well.” Gerard stood up, his cock bobbing with the motion, and stretched out on the mattress with his head near the foot. Jon turned toward the head of the bed, and

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they feasted on each other. Jon ran his tongue over the furry surface of Gerard‟s balls, then eased the man‟s legs apart and pressed his lips against the spot right at the base of the delicate orbs. “Oh, yes.” Gerard sighed. “That feels good right there.” He stroked Jon‟s cock as he moaned, then resumed sucking him, his mouth pistoning faster. Jon sucked at the sweet spot beneath Gerard‟s balls and continued to stroke the man‟s cock. As his hand sped along the throbbing length, the force of his suction increased until Gerard gave a deep grunt and a tremor ran through his body. Jon felt the hot splash of Gerard‟s release across his chest and a moment later realized he was close too. “Oh, I‟m coming,” Jon gasped, his words muffled as he pressed his face between Gerard‟s legs. “Oh, yeah.” Gerard bobbed his head even faster, and a moment later, Jon exploded. Each blast pushed a grunt up from his sternum as he came into the slick warmth of Gerard‟s mouth. He was surprised and incredibly turned on at the man‟s hunger and lack of caution. When he had finished, Jon kissed the insides of Gerard‟s thighs, ran his tongue over the man‟s balls, then rolled onto his back to catch his breath. When he could talk, Jon raised his head and looked down to where Gerard lay with his head resting on his thigh, fingers splayed around the base of his cock. “You swallowed my spunk,” Jon said. “Aye,” Gerard replied and turned his soft brown eyes up to him. “I like the taste of your seed. Does that disgust you?” “Well, no,” Jon replied. “Far from it. I find it very erotic, but have you never heard of safe sex?” Gerard lifted his head and frowned. “What is safe sex?” Jon put his head back, looking at the ceiling as he let out his breath. “Bloody hell, you really are from a small town, aren‟t you?” He again looked down at Gerard. “How many men have you had sex with?” “Including you?” Gerard asked. “Two.” He moved up to place a kiss on the pink, rounded tip of Jon‟s cock and repeated, “Two.” Jon‟s eyes widened. “Two? Including me?” Gerard sat up cross-legged and rested a hand on Jon‟s thigh. Jon noticed that Gerard could not seem to keep from touching him, and felt a surge of warmth. The five men he had been with before Gerard had considered basking in the afterglow of sex to be searching for their socks so they could bolt out the door. “Aye, just two.” Gerard blushed and dropped his gaze. “Was I not experienced enough?” Jon shook his head and ran his fingers through the man‟s semen drying on his chest. “Oh no, not at all. I just… You‟re so handsome and have such a kindness about you, it surprises me that there has only been one other man.”

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Gerard slid off the bed, and Jon expected him to gather his clothes to leave. But instead Gerard held out a large, rugged hand to pull Jon off the mattress and up against him to hold him tight for a moment. Gerard then pulled down the sheets and slid into bed, then held up the covers for Jon to get in too. After Jon lay down beside him, Gerard wrapped strong arms around him and pulled him close, the heat of his hairy, muscular body soaking into him. “This is nice.” Jon sighed. Gerard kissed his temple. “Aye, that it is. My prior love and I seldom had the opportunity to spend the night together.” Jon‟s heart seized the word “love” and held it close inside his chest like a small treasure. He felt a flutter of apprehension at the feeling of comfort and completion that soothed him as he lay alongside Gerard. Rationally he knew this could all be a fluke, just a flash-in-the-pan affair sparked from the desire of two desperate men hungry for male companionship. But being with Gerard felt different from the other times he had been with a man. Gerard‟s touch, his voice, his kiss, and his body all felt familiar and came together to center Jon, making him feel connected to someone at last. They exchanged short, closed-mouth kisses that lingered until Jon could no longer help himself and brushed the tip of his tongue along the line of Gerard‟s lips. It was all the invitation the man seemed to need, for he rolled onto his back, pulling Jon over to lie on top of him as he did. Gerard swept his tongue through Jon‟s mouth and ground his rekindled erection against Jon‟s throbbing hard-on. With his eyes closed, Jon felt his mind spin from the passion and intensity of Gerard‟s kisses. Gerard moved his mouth to Jon‟s ear and slipped the tip of his tongue inside, his breath hot as he whispered, “I want you inside me.” Jon pushed himself up and looked down into Gerard‟s earnest, open face. Even in the sparse moonlight, he could see love simmering within the depths of Gerard‟s eyes. “Are you sure?” Gerard nodded and lifted his head to kiss him again. “I am sure.” As his cock bucked excitedly at the prospect, Jon pulled open the drawer to his nightstand and removed a condom and a bottle of lube. He pushed back the covers and knelt between Gerard‟s legs, stroking the man‟s solid cock as he slid a lubeslicked exploratory finger into the hot center of his hole. “Aye, that feels good.” Gerard moaned and lifted his legs, then held them up with his hands behind his knees. “The lard is thin but slick. I like how it feels.” Jon snorted a laugh. “It‟s lube, not lard. I like this brand a lot.” Jon added another finger alongside the first. “I know not what is this lube. I have only used lard,” Gerard said. “It was all we had back home.” Jon shook his head as he pushed a third finger into him. “That was probably bloody impossible to clean up after.” He could feel the clench and release of Gerard‟s muscles deep inside his ass, and his cock throbbed with excitement. Carefully

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maneuvering his fingers, Jon located the hard nut of Gerard‟s prostate and gently stroked it. “By God,” Gerard gasped, and his muscles went rigid. “You have found the spot.” Jon smiled. “Your other lover never helped you off like this?” Gerard lifted his head to look down at himself, and Jon followed his gaze to see a dribble of thick, white cum ooze from the tip of his cock. Jon eased the pressure on Gerard‟s prostate, not wanting to push the man over the edge too soon, and carefully slipped his fingers from the tight confines of his ass. “My other lover was many years ago,” Gerard whispered, “and we both were inexperienced.” He fixed Jon with a serious look. “I want you inside me, Jon Calder.” “Think you‟re ready for me?” Jon asked. Gerard nodded, and Jon opened the condom. He could not remember the last time his cock had been this hard, and the generous precum drooling from the tip helped the condom roll easily along the shaft. Gerard watched him apply the condom and asked, “Is that what you meant by safe sex?” “Aye,” Jon replied and moved up to touch the tip against the ridged circle of Gerard‟s anus. “I‟ve never done it bareback, but I‟ve heard it feels much better.” Jon eased his cock into Gerard, holding the man‟s ankles and closing his eyes at the sensation. The muscles of Gerard‟s passage clenched tight around him, and Jon paused halfway in, then pulled back. He slid in again, deeper, feeling the muscles relax and part around him, a hot, slick swirl that embraced him. “Oh, Jon. You feel so good inside me.” “You can say that again.” Jon sighed and leaned down for a kiss. Steadily increasing the thrust of his hips, Jon soon pumped full-force into Gerard, and the man growled encouragement as he ran his rough hands over Jon‟s torso, squeezing his muscles and tweaking his nipples. Jon closed his eyes, losing himself in the feeling of penetration and withdrawal, unable to discern where his cock ended and Gerard‟s body began. That odd feeling of connection came over him, even more strongly than when they had been kissing. Jon felt sure he had made love to Gerard before this night. The slick grip and release of Gerard‟s muscles, the smell of his sweat, the pattern of his breathing, and the soft touch of his beard when they kissed sparked images in his mind that had the feeling of memory. He could see himself lying on his back across a tall featherbed, his legs lifted to allow Gerard between them. Candlelight flickered over Gerard‟s naked torso, his kiss strong and urgent as he slipped his hard cock into him. Even as Jon pumped himself into Gerard, as his restraint fell away and his semen burst into the tip of the condom, he could feel the fevered fantasy-memory penetration as Gerard slid into him. Beneath him, Gerard stroked himself to a gasping climax, muscles clamping around him tight as Jon slowed his hips. The image and sensation of being fucked by Gerard faded until all that remained was the whisper of the experience, a faded memory,

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really, of Gerard braced above him and staring straight into his eyes as he loosed his seed within him. As he caught his breath, Jon could see in Gerard‟s gaze, both above him in his mind and below him in his bed, the passion, attraction, and honest love the man held for him, and he wondered if it was too soon for him to think along those same lines.

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Chapter Nineteen Afterward, Jon took Gerard by the hand and led him to the bathroom, where they showered together. Jon shampooed Gerard‟s long hair, then worked some of the lather through his beard. They used body wash to scrub away the dried cum and lube, slipping soapy fingers into each other as they kissed beneath the hot spray, the gently insistent push and retreat of Gerard‟s fingers inside him bringing Jon back to full mast in minutes. “Be careful what you start,” Jon said, “or we could both wind up dehydrated.” Gerard grinned and leaned in to kiss him, his fingers slipping deeper as his tongue took command of Jon‟s mouth. The odd feeling of déjà vu blew through Jon again, and he felt a momentary vertigo, his knees going weak so that he had to lean against Gerard for support. “Jon?” Gerard asked, his voice edged with concern. “Are you not well?” The vertigo passed, and Jon smiled up at him, then reached around to shut off the water, shivering as the chill of the bathroom sneaked in around the shower curtain. “I‟m okay. Just swooning, I guess.” They dried off together, and Jon found he was having a difficult time meeting Gerard‟s gaze. He wasn‟t sure what had caused his sudden withdrawal from the man, but a quiet urge to retreat had nested within his chest. “You are very quiet,” Gerard noted, wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping up to take Jon by the shoulders. “Have I offended you in some manner?” Jon looked up along the man‟s muscular, hairy torso, his cock stirring even as the need for solitude flooded his system. Something was definitely off, but he could not put his finger on the pulse of it. He forced himself to meet Gerard‟s gaze and smiled as genuinely as possible. “No, you have not offended me. I think…I think this is just happening very fast, and the emotions I feel when we‟re together are…overwhelming.” Gerard kissed his forehead and smiled at him. “I feel the same way.” A knock sounded on the apartment door, soft, tentative, and Jon adjusted his towel as he stepped around Gerard to open the bathroom door. He shivered in the chill of the living room and stopped with his hand on the knob of the door to the hall. “Who‟s there?” Ranulf‟s hesitant voice came through the door. “It is Ranulf Godfrey. I do not mean to intrude, but should Gerard wish to spend his night at the shelter, the time of curfew swiftly approaches.”

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Gerard had stepped from the bathroom and stood close by, rolling his eyes. “That wizard worries like an old woman.” “Wizard?” Jon frowned at him. “Why do you call him that?” Gerard seemed flustered as he turned to stomp toward the bedroom, saying over his shoulder, “Look at his appearance and how he dresses. Some people have called him that. He doesn‟t like it much, though, so don‟t tell him I said it.” Gerard disappeared into the bedroom, and Jon unlocked the door. He pulled it open to look around the edge and smile shyly at Ranulf. “Gerard is…almost ready. Come in, won‟t you?” The older man was wet from walking in the rain, and he nodded and stepped through the door. Jon closed it behind the man, then, holding his towel tight around his waist, said, “Please, make yourself at home. I‟ll be right back.” Ranulf smiled, and his eyes sparkled as he glanced up and down Jon‟s nearly naked form. It wasn‟t a lecherous look, though, more like the happy look of someone greeting an old friend. “I understand. Please, take your time.” Jon retreated into the bedroom and found Gerard sitting on the bed, dressed except for his socks and boots. He had pulled his hair back into a ponytail, and he sat with his hands between his knees, his eyes on the floor. At the sight of the man in this manner of deep thought, the tension in Jon fled, and his chest warmed with affection. Suddenly he wanted Gerard to spend the night, to sleep in the warm strength of the man‟s arms, but Ranulf was here, and Jon realized he had not known Gerard that long. “I can drive you both to the shelter,” Jon said quietly and turned away slightly to drop his towel and pull a clean pair of undershorts from a drawer. He smiled at the memory of Gerard tearing his previous pair in two. “Aye, that would be nice,” Gerard said, his voice low and remorseful. “The rain still falls, and it is colder now.” He turned to look at Jon, a forlorn heat burning in the depths of his eyes. “I do not regret making love with you tonight. I trust that you feel the same?” A jolt of desire flushed through Jon, and he had to stop himself from rushing to the man and stripping him of his clothes. Instead he sat beside Gerard on the bed, placed a hand on the man‟s thigh, and gave him a gentle kiss. “I do not regret it either. And I look forward to the next time.” Gerard smiled and leaned in for another kiss, then finished dressing and extended a hand to Jon. “You dress so you may drive us home.” Gerard left the room to join Ranulf near the front door. As Jon dressed, he could hear the men talking quietly and wished he were able to make out their words. Once he was dressed, Jon slid into his jacket, grabbed his keys, and led the men down the steps and out to his car. The drive to the shelter was quiet, the only sounds the putter of the car engine and the sound of the rain on the roof. Jon pulled up to the curb, and the men

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thanked him and stepped out. Gerard leaned down to peer in at him. “Will you require us at the castle tomorrow?” Jon practically shouted yes, then stopped himself when he heard how desperate he sounded. He continued in a lower voice. “Of course, unless it‟s raining again. I‟ll pick you up outside the shelter like I did this morning.” “We shall be waiting,” Ranulf said from over Gerard‟s shoulder and nodded to him. “Good night.” Gerard looked at Jon a moment, and he could feel the man‟s reluctance to close the car door and go inside the shelter. He wanted to tell Gerard to get back in the car and come home with him, but the more logical part of him resisted, and there was Ranulf to consider. Things were becoming complicated, and he had only known the men a day and a half. Only a day and a half! With that thought, Jon took a breath and smiled at Gerard. “I shall see you in the morning, Gerard,” Jon said. “Sleep well.” Gerard nodded his understanding. “Until the morrow, Jon Calder.” He closed the car door and stood in the rain with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, watching as Jon pulled away. Once he was back in his apartment, Jon made sure the door was locked tight; then he switched off lights. He paused at the worktable to cover the medallion with the soft cloth and turn off the lighted magnifying glass. He started to go into the bedroom, then turned back to carefully pick up the medallion and take it with him. He placed it in the top drawer of his nightstand, amid several notepads and a cluster of pens and pencils. He stripped out of his clothes and, shivering, slipped beneath the flannel sheets. Pulling close the pillow Gerard had rested his head on, Jon then hugged it tight and breathed in the smell of the man. His cock stirred lazily, though too spent to be of much use, and Jon closed his eyes, recalling the images and sensations he had experienced while having sex with Gerard. The mirror image of their intercourse was arousing and curious: Jon sliding into Gerard here in his own bed countered with Gerard taking him in a strangely familiar four poster bed. Both acts had the hint of memory to them, as if all that Jon was experiencing with Gerard had already happened. It was erotic déjà vu, and Jon was confused and intrigued by the strength of emotion he felt for this man he barely knew. The image of Gerard bracing himself above him, his intense dark eyes lit with a passionate lust Jon had never before seen reflected in a lover‟s gaze. The thought of Gerard‟s expression roused a deep-seated yearning in his groin. He longed to be taken by the man, to lose himself to the insistent push and retreat of Gerard‟s cock, let the man command his body and thrust him to orgasm as no other had before. Gerard Fogg was not just a handsome transient with a gentle, scarred soul, but maybe, Jon thought, the love of his life. His stomach trembled with anxious excitement at the thought, and he forced himself to abandon his ponderings. He rolled over, trapping his hardened cock beneath him, and drifted to sleep.

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Chapter Twenty The days passed in a haze of conversation and sex. Each morning, Jon would pull up in front of the shelter to pick up Gerard and Ranulf. Gerard would sit in the front and turn to stare at his profile with a sexy half smile as Jon drove them to the castle site. Always conscious of Ranulf‟s presence, Jon tried to ignore Gerard‟s blatant stares and avoided touching him too much as they worked. He wondered about the two men sometimes, whether they had been intimate in the past and if Ranulf was the other man Gerard had been with. More than once Jon had felt the question on his tongue, but he never seemed to get the words past his lips. And as he watched the interaction between the men, he noticed a certain rhythm to their relationship, a pattern of speaking and subtle glances that was less akin to lovers, current or ex, and more like trusted companions. With this in mind, Jon engaged both men in conversations about the site, noting how their thoughts built on each other‟s as he sketched out their ideas for the castle‟s layout, and when he would study the drawings later, he could see a logic to their suggestions. Gerard had questioned Jon‟s theory that the bunkhouse had been built outside the kitchen, suggesting that it might have been the stables. “But I found arrow and spearheads during my excavations,” Jon explained. “I figured it was the knights‟ bunkhouse with an armory attached.” “An armory could not have been attached to the stables?” Gerard had asked with a smirk, and Jon had had no response to his question. As the two men talked about the site, their enthusiasm and interest boosted Jon‟s, and he let his gaze move slowly around the mossy stones, almost able to see what it must have looked like as a vibrant, successful kingdom. It was as if a brightly colored image overlaid the gray ruins, and Jon could feel the pull of the castle‟s majesty. He wished, not for the first time, that he could have seen Algonwick Castle at the height of its day. During these conversations, Jon explained his ideas on how Algonwick might have been able to weather out the droughts so long ago. He led them to the river less than a kilometer away and suggested that an aqueduct, similar to those the Romans had constructed, might have helped the crops survive. Gerard and Ranulf both had been intrigued at this idea and discussed it with him in some detail. When the weather did not cooperate—when it rained or was too cold—Gerard often showed up at Jon‟s apartment door, lust simmering within his dark brown eyes. Their lovemaking grew even more intense, infused with a passion that Jon had never imagined he would feel with a partner. Gerard had been ecstatic to learn Jon was a versatile lover who enjoyed not only performing as a top but also as a

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bottom, and after some help from Jon with the application of his condom, Gerard proved to be a long-lasting, inventive, and skilled lover. One time, Gerard surprised Jon by lifting him up off the mattress, still impaled on the solid girth of his cock. He balanced Jon on his hips as he worked his pelvis with quick, short strokes, each thrust angled perfectly to nudge his prostate. Jon closed his eyes and rode Gerard‟s prick, his legs wrapped around the man‟s waist and hands locked around his sweaty neck. He stole several openmouthed kisses until Gerard‟s quickening penetrations stoked that magic spot enough to push Jon over the edge. His cock jumped, spurting cum onto his sweat-drenched torso, and Gerard slowed his hips and returned him to the bed, kissing him the whole way down. “Did you come?” Jon gasped. “Not yet,” Gerard said and, easing himself from Jon‟s slick, well-worked hole, stripped off the condom to crawl up on the mattress and kneel beside his chest. Jon reached a hand around the man‟s legs to take hold of his balls from behind and slipped a finger into his sweat-slicked hole. Gerard stroked himself to a shuddering climax, his hot, thick spunk spraying across Jon‟s torso to mix with the puddles of his own. When he had finished, Gerard leaned down to place a kiss on Jon‟s lips, then rubbed his fingers through the semen, mixing it together and into Jon‟s skin. One rainy afternoon, after making love, they showered together and lay on the couch beneath heavy quilts, watching old movies on the telly, the mechanics of which Jon explained a couple of times to Gerard. Later, dozing together on the couch as the gray, rainy day faded into a dark, rainy night, Jon found himself within the all too familiar nightmare, but this time he recognized the man with him: it was Gerard. They were inside a cave, both of them damp and chilled, and Jon sat between Gerard‟s legs with his back against the man‟s chest, Gerard‟s arms around him. A heavy rain fell outside the mouth of the cave, but heat spread through him from Gerard‟s body. He could feel the warmth of his breath on his neck and smell Gerard‟s sweat. It all seemed so realistic and good and right, until Jon heard a new sound within the dream—an unsettling, high-pitched giggle that floated out of the dark depths of the cave. In his dream, Jon‟s muscles stiffened, and on the couch with Gerard, his body gave a small start, and he awoke, his heart racing as he clenched the quilt. At first he didn‟t know where he was, and he looked around the dark living room in frightened confusion. The rain pattered against the window glass, but there was another sound beneath that, something that had brought him up from sleep. The sound came again, a soft scratching followed by a miserable meow. “Oh no, Bart.” With careful reluctance, Jon extracted himself from Gerard‟s arms. The floor was cold, and he shivered as he tiptoed, naked and barefoot, into the kitchen. Bart sat on the fire escape outside the window, his fur flattened by rain, his green eyes narrowed in misery.

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“Oh, poor baby.” Jon pushed the window up just enough for the cat to step on the table, where Bart immediately shook the rain off, soaking Jon, the tabletop, and refrigerator door. “Oh, very thoughtful, Bart. Thanks much for that.” Jon used a dish towel to rub the cat dry, opened a can of food, and let him eat it on the table. He heard Gerard stirring in the other room and went in to sit on the arm of the sofa behind his head and stroke his hair. “Hi there,” Jon said in a gentle voice. “We slept a long time.” Gerard reached up to grab his hand and pressed it to his cheek. “We wore each other out.” Jon leaned down for a kiss, the touch of Gerard‟s lips sending a warm shudder through him. Each kiss from Gerard seemed like a memory, and the sex was like a dream. Everything about the man confused and calmed him at the same time. Something in the way Gerard looked at him made him feel like they had been together for months, years even, and not just a fortnight. Had it really only been two weeks? “Where have you gone?” Gerard asked, sitting up and smiling at him in the light thrown from the kitchen. “Pardon?” “You look thousands of leagues away right now,” Gerard said. “Tell me what it is you are thinking.” Jon took a breath. “I was thinking that it‟s been two weeks now since we‟ve met, but a part of me feels like it‟s been much longer.” Gerard nodded, his expression suddenly serious. “Aye, I feel it too. There‟s a deep connection between us, Jon Calder.” Jon stood up and crossed to the window, then peered out the open blinds at the falling rain. “I really enjoy spending time with you, and I wish we could be together more often. But it‟s difficult with Ranulf and the shelter and all.” The touch of the man‟s hands on his shoulders made Jon sigh, and he leaned back against Gerard‟s firm, bare chest. “Ranulf is a good traveling companion,” Gerard said, “but I have no loyalty to him. If you should decide we are able to be together, I shall honor your wish.” Jon could not help a light laugh. “You can‟t move in here. We‟ve only known each other two weeks. I know nothing about your past, just that you come from some small, nameless village north of here that has no running water, electricity, or cars.” He turned to face Gerard and searched the man‟s face, which lay half in shadow from the kitchen light. “Tell me about yourself. I need to know what happened to make you the man you are today.” Mild panic crossed Gerard‟s face, and Jon pulled his head back in surprise. “What is it?” he asked, suddenly unsure if he wanted to know the answer. “You ask many questions I have difficulty answering,” Gerard replied. “May we save this conversation for another time? Perhaps an evening not so dreary?”

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Jon nodded and flashed him a small smile, but a quiet uncertainty had taken seed inside his chest. Perhaps Gerard was hiding something from him, something important that would change the way he felt about the man. He took a breath and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. “Of course. It‟s late anyway.” A meow from the kitchen doorway made them both look over to find Bart sitting on the linoleum just inside the kitchen, green eyes serious as he watched them in the darkness of the living room. “Well, hello, Bart,” Gerard said with a grin. “Good timing, as usual.” The cat yawned, then jumped onto an old armchair and curled up on one of Jon‟s sweatshirts to clean himself. Jon chuckled. “Looks like he‟s settling in for the night. He does that sometimes if it‟s raining or really cold.” “Can you blame him?” Gerard asked. “Nobody wants to go back out in that rain.” He pulled Jon against him, strong arms holding him close, and whispered in his ear, “Nobody.” Jon kissed Gerard‟s chest, the hair tickling his nose. “Yes, I suppose. Even those people who have beds waiting for them someplace else?” Gerard ran his tongue around the swirls of Jon‟s ear. “That would free up a bed for some other unlucky traveler with nowhere dry to lay his head.” A shudder of excitement trembled through Jon, and he dipped his head to take Gerard‟s nipple in his teeth. Though Gerard‟s avoidance of discussing details about his past gave Jon pause, he still found himself trusting the man more than he could explain. Something in Gerard‟s manner calmed him, made him comfortable. Gerard groaned as Jon pulled the hard nub of his nipple taut between his teeth before releasing it and lifting his face for a kiss. “I want you inside me,” Gerard said, breathing the words into Jon‟s mouth. “I want your cock to fill me up.” Still kissing, they moved slowly toward the bedroom, staffs fencing as they quickly lengthened. They fell across the bed in a tangle of limbs and lay laughing and kissing for a moment, the kitchen light shining through the door just enough for Jon to be able to make out the shape of Gerard‟s face. “You make me feel like no other,” Gerard whispered. Jon took a breath, his heart beating as though it wanted to burst from his chest. The low light in the room and the indistinct line of Gerard‟s face reminded him of his recurring dream within the cave, and something inside him, some final barrier, finally fell away, and his heart lay open and exposed to the man beside him. Jon hesitated, then closed his eyes and let himself say the words trapped inside him. “I think I‟m falling in love with you.” Gerard took his face between his hands, and the kiss he gave was so tender, it took Jon‟s breath away and left him disoriented. When their lips parted, Gerard whispered back, “I have been in love with you from the moment we met at the castle. Before then, even.”

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Jon stopped his words with a kiss, afraid to hear any more for fear of losing himself inside the man. He had said he had been falling in love, but Gerard had jumped right into being in love, and when he thought about it, when he really looked at how Gerard made him feel and how absolutely right it felt to be with him, Jon had to admit he was in love as well. They kissed and touched and whispered “I love you” over and over, rolling back and forth across the mattress as the rain washed across the window. Jon slid down Gerard‟s body, his tongue on the man‟s skin, tasting the salty flesh of his armpits, breathing in the musky scent of him as his cock jumped and precum drooled from the tip. Moving lower, Jon flicked his tongue over Gerard‟s nipples, then gripped them with his teeth until they were hard rubies of flesh that he pinched and tugged once his mouth had abandoned them. Lower still, he took Gerard‟s cock deep in his throat, his lips clamped tight around the hot shaft, sucking him slow as his fingers worked the man‟s nipples. Gerard groaned and writhed beneath him, gasping an “I love you” every so often. Jon released Gerard‟s nipples and gripped his spit-slick cock, stroking in time with his sucking. He worked up to a fast pace that took Gerard to the edge of his orgasm but stopped before he could push the man over the brink. Running his tongue down the shaft, he then sucked Gerard‟s balls, breathing in the heady, musky aroma of him, so much stronger here than in the woolly valleys of his armpits, and gently stroked the man‟s pulsing cock, smiling as it bucked in his palm. Jon lifted Gerard‟s legs to drape them over his shoulders and moved his mouth even lower, down through the furry canyon of his ass. He spread the firm, hairy globes and swirled his tongue around Gerard‟s anus, dipping the tip into the dark, twitching center. Gerard moaned, head turning back and forth on the mattress as he twisted and tugged his own nipples. Precum dripped from the hooded head of his cock, leaving sticky trails in the hair on his belly. Jon pressed his thumbs to either side of the trembling ring of Gerard‟s anus to pop it open and push his tongue into the hot, swampy center of the man. He lathered a generous amount of saliva into the tight, eager hole, then sank a finger into him as Gerard grunted encouragement. Jon slid another finger alongside the first, slowly pumping them in and out. Just after Jon added a third finger, Gerard raised his head to look down at him, eyes glassy with lust in the dim light of the room. “Get your cock in me, Jon,” Gerard demanded. “I must have you inside me.” Jon removed his fingers from Gerard‟s hole and reached for the nightstand drawer. He pulled out the lube and a condom, but Gerard stopped his hand and took the condom from him. “I don‟t want you to wear this,” Gerard said. “I want nothing between us tonight.” Jon had never engaged in bareback sex before, neither as a top nor a bottom, and his cock jumped with excitement at the prospect. “Are you sure?”

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“I trust you,” Gerard said. “I trust that you would tell me if you had a disease. Do you trust me?” Jon swallowed hard and found himself nodding. “I do. I trust you more than anyone, Gerard.” He moved up to kiss the man hard, then positioned himself between Gerard‟s legs and applied lube to his erection and the man‟s anus. Jon aimed the fat, glistening head of his cock at the dark, tight threshold of Gerard‟s body, paused for just a moment to savor the anticipation of this next, important step in their relationship, then slowly, deliciously slipped inside unprotected. The slick muscles parted around him, their tight embrace more fevered than their previous couplings when he had worn a condom. Jon closed his eyes and pushed into the yielding flesh of his lover, the sensation of his invasion sending shivers through him. When he had fully penetrated the man, Jon leaned down to kiss him, Gerard‟s muscles clenching and releasing around his length as their tongues danced together. Gerard broke their kiss to look at him, his eyes nearly alight from within with the intensity of his emotion. “I am so in love with you, Jonathan Calder. I cannot imagine my life without you. You are my breath, my heart, my soul. If you only knew how far I have traveled to find you.” Jon kissed him and closed his eyes as his cock throbbed inside Gerard. His head spun, and the room and mattress seemed to fall away, leaving only Gerard‟s tongue and the hot grip of his ass around Jon‟s cock. Their kiss deepened, and Jon moved his hips, the feeling of Gerard‟s slick muscles excruciatingly wonderful without the dampening effect of a condom. The sensation urged Jon on, and he plunged faster into Gerard as their tongues swirled. His orgasm arrived quickly, and Jon let out a gasp as his hips took control, driving him deep into Gerard as he achieved release. He lay with his forehead against Gerard‟s, eyes closed, mouth open, speechless from the sensation not only of the act of sex, but the emotions and images that rolled through his mind. With his eyes closed, Jon could see a stone fireplace and the feather mattress of a wooden canopied bed. Candles flickered about the room, and a tall wooden armoire stood to one side of the dark fireplace. Gerard kissed his cheek and broke the spell, waking him from his mindless wandering. Jon turned his head to kiss Gerard‟s lips, then started to slowly withdraw from him. “No, stay inside me,” Gerard said quietly, stroking himself with one hand and reaching out with the other to touch Jon‟s body. “I want to feel you inside me at my release.” Jon sat up, his cock shifting inside the man, and Gerard moaned, closing his eyes as his strokes quickened. It did not take long before he let out a guttural grunt of pure animal pleasure, and Jon felt the man‟s internal muscles clench moments before he came. Jon ran his fingers through the thick, slippery puddles and lifted them to his mouth for a taste. “You taste good,” Jon said.

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They kissed as Jon slid out of Gerard. They cleaned up with towels and lay together beneath the sheets, drifting off to sleep as the rain tapped against the window glass.

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Chapter Twenty-one “You are not holding it properly,” Gerard said, his voice amused and slightly irritated. “You must command respect from the sword, or it will not do as you wish.” Jon sighed and lowered the long tree branch he held. “Well, see, that‟s the thing, Professor Fogg. It‟s not a bloody sword, is it? It‟s a bloody tree branch.” Gerard shook his head and lowered his gaze with dramatic disappointment. “I cannot train you. You are too stubborn to learn.” “Okay, Yoda, let‟s drop the high dramatics and get back to practice.” Jon raised the tree branch in both hands. “Or are you afraid I‟ll win this time?” Gerard smiled at him, then cocked his head and asked, “Who is Yoda?” Jon rolled his eyes. “Forget it! Come on. Let‟s see those brilliant sword-fighting skills of yours if you know so much.” Ranulf approached from around a pile of stone and stopped at the sight of the two of them squaring off with tree branches at the ready. “Be easy with him, Gerard.” Jon glanced at Ranulf from the corner of his eye. “Oi! You too? Come on, how hard can this be?” Gerard moved in quickly, striking Jon‟s branch with his own and sending it flying from his grasp, and Jon stood staring at him with narrowed eyes. “You cheated.” Gerard laughed and held a hand to his chest. “I cheated? And how did I cheat?” “I don‟t know, but it feels like you cheated.” Jon retrieved his tree branch and readied himself again. “Come on.” Gerard waved him off and turned his back. “After disarming you so many times in a row, it is becoming more tiresome now than anything.” “Tiresome?” Jon moved forward quickly, intending to poke Gerard in the ass with the point of his branch, but was surprised when the man spun and deflected his thrust. They circled each other, feinting and parrying, Jon watching Gerard‟s hips as the man had told him. He blocked several of Gerard‟s advances and very nearly disarmed him at one point, but Gerard got the better of him, and Jon suddenly found himself on his back, the point of Gerard‟s branch lightly poking his stomach. “And thus, I have slain you,” Gerard said with a smug smile. He extended his hand and helped Jon to his feet.

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“Tell me again why you wanted to do this?” Jon asked as he brushed grass and mud from the seat of his jeans. “I wanted you to understand what it was like for a knight,” Gerard said. “It is not easy, and much of it involves working with a sword much heavier than these branches.” Jon cocked his head, glancing at Ranulf before looking back at Gerard. “You‟re doing it again.” Gerard frowned. “Doing what?” “Speaking in the present tense and as though you were a knight.” Jon moved quickly, holding his branch with both hands and swinging hard at Gerard‟s weapon. The branches connected with a hard, dry slap, and Jon was surprised to see Gerard‟s tumble away across the grass. Jon stood before him, the point of his branch in the ground, both hands cupped over the end. “And yet, I was able to disarm you.” Gerard laughed and grabbed him in a bear hug that ended with a hard, wet kiss. Trying to be considerate of Ranulf, Jon pulled back from Gerard‟s kiss but remained in his arms, warm and secure. “You are a tricky Middle Ages specialist,” Gerard said. Jon shook his head, then pulled out of his embrace. “Well, I got lucky, and you were distracted.” He practiced a few moves that Gerard had taught him, and even waved his branch in Ranulf‟s direction. “Oh, do not pull me into your war,” Ranulf said with a laugh as he took several steps back. “I am not a man of battle.” “And yet you fight every day to keep Gerard in line.” Jon shared a laugh with Ranulf, then turned to look over his shoulder at Gerard. “Are sword-fighting lessons completed for the day?” Gerard nodded. “Aye, we are completed. You have learned much, my pupil.” “Why thank you, Professor Fogg.” Jon gave an elaborate bow. “Now, shall we continue with our work on the bunkhouse?” Ranulf looked up at the position of the sun. “Do not forget, Jon, that Abby is expecting us at the Roost tonight for the Halloween party.” Jon pulled his mobile phone from a pocket and checked the time. “Thanks for reminding me, Ranulf. What costume will you be wearing tonight?” “I would rather not explain it with words,” Ranulf said with a small smile. “I would prefer that you see it with no expectations. Harry and I have crafted costumes of a theme.” “Okay, I‟m only slightly terrified to see the results of that,” Jon said with a laugh, quietly pleased that Ranulf seemed to have taken a liking to Harry. Whether it was romantic in nature or not, he was glad for the both of them. Turning to look over his shoulder at Gerard, he said, “And you, Sir Gerard?”

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Gerard came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing the side of his neck. “I like Ranulf‟s answer as well. I prefer that you see me with no expectations.” Jon sighed and shook his head. “Fine. All right, then. Let‟s gather up the tools and things, and I‟ll drop you off at the shelter. Then I guess I‟ll see you both later at the Roost.”

*** The Roost was crowded when Jon arrived, and it took him a bit of time to work his way to the bar through the mob of people, a great majority dressed as the opposite sex. He found a small open space at one end of the bar and leaned over it to see Abby wearing a dark-haired wig cut short and slicked back, sunglasses, and a tight-fitting black vinyl jumpsuit. Two plastic guns rode in holsters crisscrossed over her hips. “Holy shit,” Jon said and waved to get her attention. “Well, look who‟s making an appearance!” Abby exclaimed as she leaned across the bar to give him a hug. She stepped back and assessed his costume of a pith helmet, pipe, round glasses, and khaki shirt and pants. “Dr. Livingston, I presume?” “By George, you‟ve got it!” Jon threw his arms out, nearly striking a man dressed as Sarah Ferguson. “Blimey! Watch it, you wanker!” the man snarled in a deep voice, and Jon waved an apology, then turned back to Abby, and they both laughed. “You look great!” Jon said. “You‟re that girl from The Matrix, right?” Abby nodded as she drew him an ale. “Trinity. I‟ve always had a bit of a thing for her.” She leaned in over the bar and smiled. “I have a special friend here tonight, so I thought the tight costume might help me get shagged.” She smiled, and Jon caught sight of a blush in her cheeks. “She‟s telling people‟s fortunes in the back corner.” Jon‟s eyes widened. “The blowjob corner?” “No, you think I‟m crazy? She‟s on this side of the dance floor.” She smiled and blushed again. “She read my palm. Told me I was going to get lucky tonight.” “Go Trinity,” Jon said and hugged her again. “I‟m happy for you.” Abby opened her mouth to reply, but someone behind him caught her attention, and the words seemed to die in her throat. Jon turned to look over his shoulder, and a chill shot up his spine at the sight. The crowd had parted behind him, the men standing back to stare lustily at the figure that stood facing him. It was Gerard, dressed in the clothes he had been wearing the day they had met at the castle, now cleaned and pressed, with the rough brown cloak thrown around his shoulders. At his hip hung a leather sheath out of the top of which Jon could see a silver hilt that reflected the colored lights from the dance floor at the other end of the bar. Gerard‟s long hair fell in gentle

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waves around his shoulders, his beard had been freshly trimmed, and his brown eyes caught and held Jon‟s gaze. “Oh my God,” Jon whispered, turning around to face him. “Look at you. You‟re…” Gerard dropped to one knee and held his fist to his heart as he bowed his head. In the crowd of men standing agog around them, Jon heard someone say, “Bloody hell, I think I just came.” Gerard raised his head and looked into Jon‟s eyes. “By your pardon, good sir. May I have this dance?” Jon could not remember how to speak—all he could do was nod. Gerard stood and took his hand, then led him to the dance floor, where the deejay was playing something upbeat and loud. Gerard made his way through the couples swaying and jerking beneath the spinning lights until he reached the center of the dance floor. Then he turned to Jon and pulled him close, resting one hand on the small of his back and holding the other extended. “This is a fast song,” Jon said into his ear. “I do not care,” Gerard replied and pulled Jon more firmly against him. Jon closed his eyes and rested his head on Gerard‟s shoulder as they slowly turned in the midst of the costumed revelers beneath the mirror ball. Gerard clasped Jon‟s hand out to the side, the palm of his other hand pressing against Jon‟s hip. With a stoic straightening of his spine, Gerard began to walk Jon around the floor, his feet sure and the strength of his arms and hips guiding Jon along with him. Jon was surprised at the grace and fluidity of the man‟s steps. He had some familiarity with medieval dances from a class with a ridiculous title, something like Medieval Society from Aristocracy to the Royal Court and the Lower Classes, and Gerard was a fine dancer. The hilt of Gerard‟s sword bumped his hip a few times, and Jon was surprised to feel the heft of the thing. It was made of some kind of metal, not plastic like he had first thought. He would have to ask later where Gerard had acquired it. “Where‟s Ranulf?” Jon asked. “He is about,” Gerard replied. “We met Harry on the way in, and they struck off together.” “What‟s his costume?” Gerard chuckled in his ear, and Jon shivered at the touch of his lips and warmth of his breath. “A wizard.” Jon laughed and tightened his arm around the man, closing his eyes and swaying in time, aware of the line of the man‟s erection against his thigh. They danced through four songs, other couples spinning and swaying around them, until Jon lifted his head from Gerard‟s shoulder and kissed him. “I‟m thirsty,” he said. “Come on.” “Oi!” a voice called from the shadows near the dance floor as they walked past, and Jon jumped, turning to find a woman sitting at a small table on which sat a

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glowing plastic crystal ball. She was dressed as a gypsy, with scarves in her hair and a long flowing skirt, and Jon realized this was Abby‟s crush, playing the part of a fortune-teller. “Care to have your fortunes told, young lovers?” the woman asked, raising her voice over the music. “No, but thank you,” Gerard said and started to move away, but Jon grabbed his hand and pulled him up to the table. “I would,” he said and sat in the chair across from the woman, Gerard standing behind him, rugged hands resting on his shoulders. “I‟m a friend of Abby‟s.” A sly half smile touched one corner of the woman‟s mouth as she reached out to take Jon‟s hands. “I know. I am Madam Corrine.” The moment she touched his hands, Corrine‟s expression changed. The half smile vanished, and a frown furrowed her brow, her eyes widening as she stared at his face. “You are… I see twins.” Jon pulled his head back and smiled nervously. “Twins? Sorry, I‟m an only child.” Madam Corrine shook her head, her expression troubled. “No, not siblings, something other than that… Very unusual, very…” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze flicked up to Gerard for a troubling moment, then back to Jon. “I see…two vessels vying for the same soul. A panicked energy surrounds you.” Her eyes grew wide and moist with concern. “You are lost, and a voice inside calls for you to find your way back. But to where?” Jon‟s stomach knotted at the intensity of Madam Corrine‟s expression, and he tried to pull his hands free, but she held him fast and leaned across the table, her brow creasing with concern. “There are…stone walls surrounding one who is in agony.” She shook her head. “I have never seen these kinds of… I do not know what to make of this vision, but know this: the one you search for is nearer than you think.” He jerked his hands free and fisted them in his lap, staring at Madam Corrine over the ridiculous glowing crystal ball. A ball of tension made his stomach shudder. “Who are you?” Madam Corrine looked from Jon to Gerard and back again, her stare even more intense. “I sense powerful forces coming together around you. You must be careful.” Jon pushed back his chair, bumping into Gerard, then got to his feet and stood looking down at the woman for a moment before he turned and pushed his way through the crowd to the bar. Gerard was right behind him, and once they reached the bar, he had his arms around him. “Are you all right?” Gerard asked, his voice soothing and warm in his ear. Jon was surprised to find he was trembling and turned to look at Gerard. “Did you hear what she said?”

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Gerard glanced back toward the dark corner they had just fled. “I could not hear her over the music.” He leaned in, his expression darkening as he touched the side of Jon‟s face. “You look frightened. What did she say to you?” Jon shook his head and turned to signal Abby for a drink. “Nothing. Never mind. It doesn‟t matter. She just… I guess it really got to me, that‟s all. I‟m okay.” He laughed and dropped his gaze to his feet, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Gerard‟s chest. “Sorry, I‟m being silly. It‟s Halloween, you know, so it‟s all spooky and cold and mysterious.” Abby brought them both ales but ran off to serve more people before Jon could talk to her about Madam Corrine. Jon drank half his ale and closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. The woman had been so intense, and the things she had said about stone walls had truly startled him. Had she been referring to the cave from his recurring nightmare? How could she have known that specific of a detail about his dreams? Was being inside a cave really that common of a dream location? “Well, Dr. Livingston, I presume!” Jon came blinking out of his contemplation and found Harry Templeton and Ranulf standing beside them. He flashed what he hoped was a genuine smile as he looked them over. Ranulf wore the hooded cloak from the day they had met at the castle site, but he had added a pointed hat covered with silver stars and clutched a long, knobby stick like a wand. Harry was dressed as Harry Potter, complete with lightning-bolt-shaped scar, dark wig, black-framed round glasses, and school robes. He also held a stick for a wand. “Oh my,” Jon said with a laugh and a shake of his head. “Aren‟t you two a sight. Did you get together on these costumes?” Harry shrugged and exchanged a smile with Ranulf. “I talked to Ranulf about it last week while you and Gerard were cleaning the medallion, as you archaeologists like to say.” “Harry lent me the hat and the stick,” Ranulf said. “I figured it was the least I could do.” Harry put an arm around Ranulf‟s shoulders. “Come on, Professor Dumbledore. I‟ll buy you an ale.” Jon and Gerard traded places with the men so they could order their drinks. As they stood on the outskirts of the steady flow of costumed revelers heading toward or off the dance floor, Jon could not help glancing every so often at the dark corner where Abby‟s psychic friend waited for her next victims. A few men walked away, laughing and carrying drinks, as if what they had just heard was amusing and nothing at all like what she had said to him. “You are still bothered by what that woman told you,” Gerard said in his ear. Jon tried to give him a reassuring smile but could tell he failed. “It was really odd.” “Tell me what she said to you,” Gerard said. “I want to know.”

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Jon looked around. “It‟s too loud in here to be able to talk about it.” “Let us return to your apartment, then,” Gerard said. “But you and Ranulf just got here.” Gerard looked over at the bar, and Jon followed his gaze to see Ranulf talking with Harry and two other men. Ranulf was telling a story, laughing as he spoke, and the other men were laughing as well. “Ranulf looks very content without our presence,” Gerard said. “Come, you are troubled. Let me try to help you. You have helped Ranulf and me so much.” Jon took a breath, then relented with a nod. “All right. I‟m sorry about this. It‟s your first Halloween in Algonwick. I wanted it to be special.” Gerard softly kissed his lips. “I am with you. That makes it special.” Gerard leaned in to whisper in Ranulf‟s ear, and the man turned to give Jon a knowing smile. “It was good to see you, Jon,” Ranulf said. “Shall we wait outside the shelter tomorrow morning again?” Jon shook his head. “Let‟s take tomorrow off, if that‟s okay.” Ranulf nodded. “Of course. Be well.” Jon followed Gerard as he made his way through the crowd. Just before they had reached the door, Jon caught Abby‟s eye behind the bar and gave her a wave. She returned his wave, then went back to serving drinks. The cool October air felt good after the crowded bar‟s, and Jon paused to draw a deep breath. Parked cars lined both sides of the street, and those just arriving at the bar were walking up from blocks away, where they had been forced to park. Gerard stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, the other pressed against the small of Jon‟s back. “Where did you find the sword?” Jon asked, turning toward his apartment building. Gerard paused, seeming to consider his answer, then replied, “I have had this sword for quite a while now. It is one of my most prized possessions.” “Really? May I see it?” “When we reach your apartment, yes.” They took a few more steps in silence; then Jon asked, “Is it a family heirloom of some kind?” Gerard shook his head. “No, it is something I earned on my own.” “Earned?” Jon smiled. “Really? That‟s an intriguing thing to say. How did you earn the sword?” Another few steps of silence, then Gerard said, “Back in my village, I was part of a group of men who wanted to be knights. We had contests of skill, and I was one of those selected. So I earned the right to carry this sword.”

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Jon frowned. “When you say you earned the right to carry the sword, it almost sounds like you would patrol the streets or something, like a type of policeman.” Gerard tipped his head back and forth, considering Jon‟s observation. “In a way, I suppose we were like your policemen. Our village was small and did not have a force of its own.” “You say your village was small and have used past tense before when you talk about it. Was your village abandoned or something?” “Aye, there was no industry for the people who lived there to earn a wage, and so many left the village. Soon, all were gone, leaving only empty homes which fell into ruin.” “Bloody hell,” Jon said quietly. “That‟s awful. I‟m sorry to hear that, Gerard. So now there‟s no one left there at all?” “None remain,” Gerard replied. They walked in silence to Jon‟s apartment building and climbed the steps to the third floor. Once inside the apartment, Jon tossed his pith helmet, glasses, and pipe onto the table, and as he started to unbutton his shirt, Gerard placed a hand over his and leaned in to kiss him. “Let me do that,” he said, his voice low and seductive. Jon kissed him back, sliding his hands down Gerard‟s torso until he felt the hilt of the sword at his hip. With a tug, Jon pulled the sword free of the scabbard and stepped back. A tingling jolt raced up his arms as he held the sword in his hands, and a sudden, sizzling pain flared in his right side. Jon gasped and closed his eyes, images of cave walls and light flashing along blades ricocheting through his mind. The tingle in his arms faded, and the pain in his right side abated, and Jon slowly opened his eyes to consider the sword in his hands. The lamplight blazed along the polished edge, and he stared at it with wonder, his gaze tracing the delicate line that had been engraved along the length of the blade, appearing to curl from top to bottom and side to side. The pommel at the base of the handle was nicked and scratched in places, and the handle itself had a ridge midway. Three letters had been engraved in scripted type on the crossguard: GWF. This sword was not some stainless-steel knockoff; this was a true medieval bastard sword, and his reaction to its touch confounded him. “Bloody hell!” Jon gasped and looked up at Gerard to find the man gaping at him with surprise. “This is a real bloody sword!”

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Chapter Twenty-two Jon marveled at the spotless blade in his hands, swinging it back and forth and feeling a dangerous, giddy joy at the clean whoosh sound the sword made as it cut the air. Gerard stepped closer to him but remained out of range of the arc of his swings. “Aye,” Gerard said with a nervous half smile. “It is a real sword.” “It‟s amazing.” Jon turned the blade and watched the light play along the edge. He started to reach up to touch the edge, but Gerard‟s quick warning stayed his hand. “Careful! It‟s very sharp.” Gerard approached and put his hand over Jon‟s on the handle. “May I?” Jon allowed Gerard to take the sword and stepped back, watching him swing it, the man‟s motions fluid, effortless. It was obvious he was skilled in sword handling, and Jon wondered what other surprises lay buried inside him. “May I try again?” Jon asked. Gerard turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised. “Do you feel you can handle it?” Jon narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Yes, I can handle it. I have held longswords before, you know. I do have a degree in medieval studies.” He smiled and whined, “Come on, I want another turn.” Gerard laughed. “Come here, then, and stand in front of me.” Jon stood with his back to Gerard, and the man pressed up against him, the hard spike of his erection nestling into the crack of Jon‟s ass. “Which sword should I handle?” Jon asked with a grin. “First, the metal one,” Gerard replied, then leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Later, the one of flesh and blood.” Jon‟s cock hardened in response, and he forced himself to focus on the sword Gerard brought around in front of him. “You keep your hands one atop the other,” Gerard explained. “Some prefer to hold at the bottom near the pommel. Others want a higher grip near the crossguard. The shape of the handle allows you to use one or two hands, but I recommend two hands for now.” Gerard held the blade before them both, and Jon curled his hands over the man‟s, feeling the heft of the sword as Gerard swung it back and forth. Gerard removed first one hand, then the other, and rested his fingers lightly on Jon‟s forearms as Jon held the sword on his own. The tingle shot up his arms again,

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though it was not as strong as when he had first grasped the blade, and a dull ache started in his right side. He pushed these reactions aside and studied the sword, slowly swinging it back and forth. It wasn‟t very heavy, two and a half kilograms at most, and for the length of the blade, it had excellent balance. Jon had held medieval swords before, just never one in as fine shape as this one. “It‟s beautiful, Gerard,” he said quietly. “Aye, it is a remarkable blade, as bastards go.” Jon smirked and lowered the blade, turning to face him. “I always loved that these longswords were called bastards.” “As were many of the men who carried them,” Gerard said with a wry smile. “Shall I bring this with me the next time we go to the castle site?” “I would love that,” Jon said. “But, how did you get this into the shelter? I‟m sure they wouldn‟t have allowed you to bring in a sword.” Gerard shook his head and slid the blade into the scabbard at his hip. “Alas, they would not. There is an abandoned building near the shelter, and I found a safe hiding place inside.” He removed the belt that secured the blade around him, then held it out to Jon. “I would rest easier, however, if you would allow me to leave this within your care.” “Really?” Jon asked. “You want to leave this with me?” “Of course,” Gerard said. “I trust you, Jon. With my life, my heart, and the possession I treasure most.” Jon took the sheathed sword from him, his cock hardening as he felt the weight of the blade in his hands. He passed his arousal off to the immense trust Gerard placed in him and turned to look for a place to store it. He wanted the sword out of sight and safe, so he opened the small coat closet by the front door, being careful with the knob, as it was tricky and tended to fall off if he pulled too hard on it. He leaned the blade inside its scabbard point-down in the back corner and closed the door. With the sword put away, Gerard guided Jon to the sofa and pulled him into his arms. When they were settled, Gerard said quietly, “Now, tell me what the woman at the bar told you.” Jon repeated the things Madam Corrine had said as best he could remember and was glad to feel Gerard‟s muscles stiffen in response. He sat up and turned to look at his troubled expression. “So it isn‟t just me,” Jon said. “Those things sound creepy to you too.” Gerard nodded, his gaze distant as he said, “Yes, they are unsettling.” Jon reached out to place his hand on the man‟s chest and felt the slightly accelerated beat of his heart. “Hey, you okay?” Gerard smiled at him. “Quite. I just do not like to see you upset.” “Well, thanks.” Jon turned his back to Gerard and lay against his chest. “It was very strange. It was like she knew what I‟ve been dreaming all my life.”

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“She spoke of your dreams?” “Her mention of stone walls struck me because I‟ve had this recurring dream for as long as I can remember of being inside some kind of cave.” Beneath him, Jon felt Gerard jump, and the man tightened his arms around him. Jon tried to sit up again so he could turn to look at him, but Gerard held him fast. “Are you okay?” Jon asked. “Yes, I am fine. Please tell me more about this dream of yours.” Jon let out his breath and settled back against Gerard‟s chest. “Well, I‟m always inside a cave. It‟s raining heavily outside, and I‟m wet, and someone with whom I feel very comfortable and connected is there too. We‟re sitting close together to stay warm, like how we‟re sitting now. I‟ve never actually seen the man‟s face, but lately I‟ve been catching glimpses of him from the corner of my eye, and he looks a lot like you. Imagine that.” “Go on,” Gerard urged, his voice quiet but intense. Jon shrugged. “Not much left to tell, actually. Sometimes there is another man there, someone who frightens and angers me, who I know intends to hurt me. And lately I‟ve been hearing this really creepy laugh, more like a high-pitched giggle, and it makes my skin crawl.” He shuddered at the memory of the laugh, and Gerard held him tighter still. “Anyway, the dream starts out kind of comforting, but soon it becomes more sinister, more dangerous.” Jon sighed. “So that‟s my dream, and Madam Corrine seemed to pick bits and pieces of it out of my head. Weird.” He played with the hair on Gerard‟s forearms a moment. “You know, she said something else as well. She said that the one I search for is nearer than I think.” Jon snickered. “What do you think about that?” When he did not receive a response, Jon pulled away to sit up and look back at the man. Gerard turned miserable eyes up to him, tears spilling down his cheeks, his lips pressed tight together. “What‟s wrong?” Gerard pushed himself off the couch and crossed the room to stand before the worktable, then stared out the window at the dark parking lot and street below. Jon went to him and put his arms around him from behind, hands on Gerard‟s chest and his lips pressed to the knobs of the man‟s spine as the hitch of Gerard‟s breath trembled up through his fingers. He asked no questions, just held Gerard tight and allowed him to cry. Finally Gerard turned to face him, an embarrassed smile on his face, tears tangled in his eyelashes. “Forgive me,” he said. “My heart lies open when I am around you, and it is difficult for me to control my feelings.” Jon gave him a gentle kiss. “Don‟t be embarrassed. I‟m glad you feel that comfortable with me. Tell me what‟s troubling you.” A sigh escaped Gerard‟s lips. “A thousand things trouble me, but mostly the concern that I might lose your heart.”

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Jon pulled his head back and frowned. “Gerard, I love you. You know this. Why do you question it?” “I just hope you trust me enough not to think me crazy,” Gerard said. “Of course not. Why would I think that?” Gerard shrugged. “It is of no importance now. Just know that in my heart I love you, and I have traveled many miles and countless years and found no other like you.” “And here we are.” Jon put his arms around Gerard‟s neck and kissed him. “Just two lost souls, together at last.” Their kiss deepened, and moments later, Gerard surprised Jon by sweeping him up into his arms. They kissed as Gerard carried him into the bedroom and laid him on the bed. Gerard pulled Jon‟s clothes off, sending buttons flying into the dark corners of the room, and Jon felt a thrill of lust at the intensity of the man‟s need. When Jon lay naked before him, Gerard stripped, then knelt between Jon‟s legs and swallowed the full length of his cock. “Oh God,” Jon gasped, fingers clenching the sheet beneath him. Gerard sucked him hungrily, lips clamped tight around his shaft. He gripped the base of Jon‟s cock with one hand while gently probing the sensitive ring of his asshole with a finger of the other. Jon lifted his legs, and Gerard moved his mouth lower to lick and suck at the ridged muscle of his anus, sending waves of pleasure flooding through Jon‟s system. It had been such a long time since someone had rimmed him. Using his spit as lubricant, Gerard slipped a thick finger into him, and Jon moaned encouragement, gasping at the addition of another finger. “You are tight,” Gerard said. “Your muscles grip my fingers as if you do not want to let me go.” “I want you inside me,” Jon said, lifting his head and looking with unmasked passion at the man kneeling between his legs. “I need you to fuck me right now.” “As you wish,” Gerard said. He opened the nightstand drawer and took out the lube, spread some along the thick log of his cock, then used a finger to push a good amount into Jon‟s hole. Standing, Gerard then grabbed Jon‟s ankles, adjusted his position, and slowly pushed into him. A fleeting sense of fullness made Jon wince, but it quickly passed, and moments later, Gerard‟s cock lay completely within him. Jon marveled at his body‟s ability to handle the man‟s full length, and he looked at Gerard standing at the edge of the mattress between his legs, large hands holding his ankles, dark eyes fixed on his face. “I love you,” Gerard said. “I love you too,” Jon replied. Gerard pulled his hips back, then pushed forward, steadily increasing his pace until Jon lay gasping for breath beneath his thrusts. The solid girth of Gerard‟s cock filled him as no other man ever had. It was as if Gerard was the perfect match to an empty spot inside him, as if the man were able to flip a switch Jon had no idea he

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possessed. Closing his eyes, Jon saw flashes of light behind his lids, felt the familiar pressure of his building orgasm, and craved hearing Gerard‟s grunt of release as he pushed into him. A moment later, Gerard seemed to answer Jon‟s unspoken request and let out a sound like a cross between a growl and a grunt, saying, “I am close.” “I am too,” Jon said. A few more strokes was all it took for both of them. As Jon‟s prostate pulsed with his orgasm, Gerard‟s cock bucked inside him, and the man‟s face tightened. Jon imagined the flood of Gerard‟s semen filling him, coating the slick walls of muscles, soaking into him and binding them together as his cum splashed across his belly. When they had finished, Gerard lay on top of him, his cock still nestled snugly within as Jon‟s cum mixed with their sweat. They kissed, and as his tongue circled Jon‟s mouth, Gerard slipped out of him. A shared shower left both men hard again, but when they returned to bed, Gerard let out a yawn, and Jon copied him. Instead of having sex, Jon reached over to lift the cloth-covered medallion still in the drawer of his nightstand. He rested it on his knees and carefully peeled back the protective cloth. The jewels shone rich with color in the glow of the bedside lamp, and Jon caught his breath. “It‟s just amazing,” Jon said. “I still can‟t believe it‟s real. I haven‟t told the university yet because I just keep waking up expecting it to be a fake or something.” He grinned at Gerard. “Plus, I don‟t want to give it up just yet. It feels familiar to me, like coming across an old Christmas ornament or a favorite toy in the attic, you know?” Gerard propped himself up on an elbow and gazed down on the medallion with a mysterious sadness in his eyes. “I know what you mean. It is a beautiful piece.” “I just wish I knew whose it was.” Jon sighed and folded the cloth back over the jewel again. He returned it to the drawer, shut off the light, and kissed Gerard good night before laying his head on the man‟s chest. With a breath, Jon slipped into sleep.

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Chapter Twenty-three Something woke Jon, and he lay in the dark for a moment, warm and muddled from sleep. Then a shout from the street followed by a cry of pain brought him out of bed before he was fully awake. The cold nipped at his bare skin, making him gasp, and he hugged himself on his way to the window, where he peered through the slats of the blind. Shadows crouched in the parking lot, thick and mysterious, but all seemed peaceful until movement farther up the street caught his eye, near the corner where Jon turned to go to the Roost. A group of men were gathered near the wall of the building at the corner, kicking and punching at a lump of something on the ground. His first thought was of Bart, and a fist of terrified anger gripped his stomach, but then a cold rush of adrenaline flooded his system as he realized they were kicking a man. He spun from the window to grab his clothes, talking as he hopped on one foot to pull on jeans. “Gerard! Wake up!” Gerard jumped in the bed and sat up, his eyes glassy but alert as he turned to look at him. “Jon? What is it?” “Someone‟s in trouble outside. A gang is beating up someone.” The covers flew back as if taken by a strong wind, and Gerard was suddenly at the window. Jon struggled to get a sweatshirt over his head, then stood beside Gerard and raised the blinds to push the window up. The sounds of the attack intensified, and Gerard spun away from the window as Jon leaned out and shouted, “Oi! I‟m calling the cops!” One of the attackers turned to look toward him, taking a moment to find him at the window before raising his middle finger and shouting back, “Fuck you!” “Help me!” the man on the ground cried, and the breath left Jon‟s lungs in a rush. “Harry!” Jon cried, his voice cracking into a scream on the second syllable. He turned from the window, saying with disbelief, “It‟s Harry! Oh my God, it‟s Harry! Hurry, we have to hurry.” Gerard was already dressed, and he rushed from the room without a word, Jon following quickly behind. In the living room, Gerard stopped and spun on his heel, searching. “What are you doing?” Jon asked, his voice nearing hysterical as he pulled open the door to the hall and dialed 999 at the same time. “My sword,” Gerard replied. Jon‟s mind went blank, and then he remembered and pointed. “The closet!”

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Gerard moved to the closet and pulled, his hand coming away with the knob in it. Jon heard a thump from inside the closet as the knob on the inside dropped to the floor, and he let out a groan. “Bloody fuck! It‟s a wonky knob. We‟ll never get it open now. Come on!” They ran down the stairs, tears burning in the back of Jon‟s throat and his lungs heaving as he shouted for help at the emergency dispatcher, who answered, then disconnected the call. His muscles trembled, and an eerie chill seemed to settle on the back of his neck, as if spiders made of ice had landed there. They pushed out the door of the building and sprinted across the parking lot toward the group at the end of the block. Jon saw two men deliver vicious kicks to Harry, who cowered beneath them, and tears flooded his eyes as his stomach twisted even tighter. Gerard was ahead of him, long hair flowing behind as he raced quietly forward to deliver a savage punch to the back of one man‟s head. The attacker dropped to the ground and lay still as the momentum of Gerard‟s run sent him past the rest of the group. Jon ran up and turned to deliver a side kick to the nearest man‟s knee, which sent him writhing to the ground, and he shouted obscenities as he rolled on the cement, clutching his knee. Four men remained, two turning toward Jon and the other two toward Gerard. Jon raised his fists, his stomach a pool of acid as his body screamed for him to run. He was not a fighter. In all his life, he had been in one fight, and that had been on the playground when he was in primary school, but he stood his ground, teeth clenched, knees slightly bent. Harry needed him, and he would never abandon a friend. The streetlamp across the road threw the men‟s faces into shadow, keeping Jon from seeing the detail, but he felt their hatred as if it were a physical thing, rolling at him in cold waves. “Another fucking faggot wants to play,” one of the men said, his voice craggy and harsh. “Aye,” the other said. “Too bloody many of them around these days.” The men rushed him simultaneously, swinging their fists. Jon ducked one blow, but his head rocked back when the other connected with his jaw. His vision went black for a moment, and he stumbled across the road, his feet struggling to find even ground as though he were drunk. The men were on him immediately, kicking and punching him, shouting hate-filled slurs, their breath soured with liquor and cigarettes. Jon fell to the ground and rolled away, lashing out with his feet and surprising himself as he connected with another knee, causing the man to crumple to the road. Still on the ground, Jon kicked the downed man in the jaw and felt a cold satisfaction when the man rolled away, holding his face and groaning. The remaining attacker tried to stomp on his shin, but Jon pulled his leg back, then scuttled away on his hands and knees. He fled across the street, footsteps close behind him. A trio of dented metal rubbish cans stood against the wall, and Jon got to his feet and wrenched the lids off two of them. He turned to face his attacker with both held up like shields. “Does the faggot need shields?” the man sneered.

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“Does the closeted faggot need to attack people in groups?” Jon shot back. The man moved in, swinging his big fists. Jon blocked the blows with the rubbish can lids and smacked the man in the face with one of them, sending him stumbling back into the road. The streetlamp exposed swastika tattoos on the man‟s neck and an eye the blue of a cold ocean. The man held a hand up to his nose and looked at the blood there, then fixed him with eyes filled with hate. “You‟re going to regret that, faggot.” “Not really,” Jon said. “Felt pretty bloody good.” “Yeah? I killed the last faggot who hit me in the nose.” Jon‟s body went cold, and the spit in his mouth dried up. The urge to run intensified to a screaming need to flee, but he planted his feet and tried not to look scared. The man lifted his fists for another attack, but the sound of a siren in the distance stopped him. Cocking his head, the man hesitated a moment, then pointed at Jon. “This ain‟t over, faggot.” Before Jon could reply, the man turned and ran off with the rest of his gang, passing by Gerard, who stood not far off, catching his breath and slowly lowering his fists. The gang left behind the man Gerard had felled first, who lay unconscious by Harry‟s still form. “Harry,” Jon breathed and dropped the rubbish can lids on the sidewalk. As he crossed the street, Jon stopped in his tracks, and a cold shiver shook his spine. A laugh floated on the night air, a high-pitched giggle that lifted the hairs on the back of his neck and plunged him into the depths of his recurring dream. It was the same laugh, down to the quiver of malicious, giddy glee that infused the mirth with a lurking, violent menace. Jon turned to look after the gang and saw Gerard rush to the corner and stop, out of breath, his fists clenched and his body tense as he glared down the street after the men. “Malcolm!” Gerard shouted, his voice raw with emotion as it ripped from his throat. “I will find you! I swear this to the last of my breath!” The laugh came again, farther away now, and Jon turned his attention to Harry, kneeling beside the man. Icy dread filled him as he realized he knelt in a pool of Harry‟s blood. He reached out but stopped, hands hovering over Harry‟s still form, afraid to touch him for fear of hurting him worse. Harry‟s chest rose and fell, and Jon could hear his labored, phlegmy breathing over the nearing sirens. “How fares he?” Gerard asked, kneeling beside him. Tears blurred Jon‟s vision, and he fought them back. Crying would not help Harry now; he needed to stay focused. “Really fucking bad. Bloody hell, Gerard, look at him. They‟ve almost killed him.” “Oi! Get away from him, you bastards!” Jon and Gerard started at the voice and turned to see Abby standing at the corner, a baseball bat in her hands. When she recognized them, she lowered the bat and rushed up, Ranulf right behind her, both of them gasping at the sight of Harry.

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“By God, I just parted ways with him not ten minutes ago,” Ranulf said, and Jon saw tears streak down the man‟s cheeks. “Bloody hell,” Abby said. “Who did this?” “The same men who defaced the castle.” Gerard‟s voice was low. Jon caught a glance Gerard shared with Ranulf, and frowning, turned to the man to ask, “How do you know that? And you called one of them Malcolm. How did you know his name?” Abby stood up and pointed the bat at Gerard. “You know who did this?” Gerard got to his feet, the knees of his breeches stained with Harry‟s blood. “I know the name, the face, and the laugh, but not the man.” Abby looked down at Jon, then back to Gerard, and said with a frown, “What the bloody hell does that mean?” Before Gerard or Ranulf could respond, police cars and an ambulance screeched to a stop at the corner, and chaos erupted around them. They were pushed back and made to stand away from one another as they answered questions. Jon kept an eye on Gerard, watching him grow more flustered as he tried to respond to the policeman‟s string of questions. Jon finally asked the man questioning him, “Would it be all right if we talked with that man over there together? He‟s visiting from a small village and is very much out of his element.” The policeman gave a reluctant nod, and they approached Gerard. As the two policemen talked, Jon squeezed Gerard‟s arm and said, “It‟s okay. Just relax and tell them what you know.” Gerard tightened his lips and nodded. “I will. Thank you.” Jon and Gerard walked through the details of the attack with the police, giving the men as much description as possible. Jon was increasingly distracted, however, by the medics working on Harry, and when the men lifted him onto a stretcher, Jon excused himself to walk over and watch Harry loaded into the back of the ambulance. Abby handed Jon the baseball bat. “I‟m going to ride with him.” She climbed into the ambulance, her tight vinyl bodysuit creaking with her movements and earning appreciative looks from the policemen. “We‟ll meet you there,” Jon called before the doors closed. He watched the ambulance pull away, then turned back to the policemen. “Anything else?” “No, you‟re free to go,” one of the men said. “Just don‟t leave the area for a few days in case we have more questions.” Jon and Gerard walked back to the apartment building, and Jon let them in with the key he had almost neglected to bring with him. They climbed to the third floor and entered the apartment, both tense and exhausted. Once he had closed the door, Jon dropped the bat and leaned into Gerard, crying into the man‟s shoulder. “Why Harry?” Jon sobbed. “He‟s such a gentle soul.”

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“These men thrive on the weak and gentle of the world,” Gerard said, his voice cold and distant. Jon pulled away to look into his face, and Gerard stared back, his eyes flat and cool, hungry for vengeance. A frightened chill skated up Jon‟s spine, and he took a few steps back from him. “How did you know that man‟s name?” Jon asked. “The one who laughed like the man in my dream.” Gerard took a breath. “His name is Malcolm, and he is a member of the group you call white supremacists. I have met him before in my travels, and I know him to be a brutal, cold-blooded killer.” Gerard‟s eyes filled with tears, and he turned away. “Hey, what is it?” Jon put a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me.” Gerard took a shuddering breath and let it out. “It was long ago. In another lifetime, if I were to speak the truth. Malcolm came to my village and saw how we lacked the modern comforts of your world, and he took advantage of that. He robbed travelers on the road, killing some and making off with their valuables. I was part of the guard charged with bringing him to justice, but I did not, and…” He stopped and took another breath, then turned to face Jon, his gaze moving around the room as he talked, looking everywhere but in his eyes. “He…he murdered the man I loved.” Jon‟s chest went cold, and tears filled his eyes as he recalled Malcolm‟s boast during their fight. “I killed the last faggot who hit me in the nose.” “Oh, Gerard.” “His name was Tristan, and we were in love. No other knew of our relationship. In our village, a love such as ours was considered a sin, and they would have… We would have suffered for it. Tristan‟s father was powerful in the village, a king.” Gerard‟s choice of words made Jon frown, but he remained silent, allowing Gerard to continue. “Tristan‟s father would have never understood how we felt about each other, the depth of our love. Tristan was a kind soul, a free spirit who wanted nothing but the best for his people and the village. We were in the fields outside of town, near Moorland Mountain, when it started to rain, and we took shelter inside a cave. “It was cold in the cave, and we huddled together to stay warm, talking quietly, waiting out the storm. But then we heard the laugh—his laugh—in the darkness at the back of the cave. We had stumbled upon Malcolm and his men. We fought them, and Tristan fought well, but Malcolm…Malcolm stabbed him. He used my sword to do it, and then he—” Jon swallowed hard, his arms crossed tight over his chest, his mind spinning as he picked out odd words and phrases from Gerard‟s story. The stone walls of the cave, the laugh… It was as if Gerard was echoing his dream. He swallowed past the fear lodged in his throat and asked, “He what?” Gerard‟s eyes jumped back to Jon‟s face, and he tensed, as if realizing he had said too much. His gaze darted away again, and he said, “He got away.”

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Jon moved closer and reached out to take his hand. “Your grief is so close to the surface. Tonight must have brought all that back up for you.” “Aye.” Gerard nodded. “That it did.” Jon cleared his throat. “You said a few things about Tristan that really stood out.” Gerard glanced at him over his shoulder, his hair hiding half of his face. “Did I?” “Yes,” Jon said. “You called Tristan‟s father a king, and you referred to the residents of the village as Tristan‟s people. What did you mean by that?” It took a long moment, but Gerard finally raised his head and looked Jon in the eye. “It meant that I have not been honest with you, Jon Calder, and if you are to understand the danger you are in now, I must tell you everything, no matter if you believe me or not.”

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Chapter Twenty-four The emergency room was quiet, and Jon hugged the tote bag to his chest as he stopped at the desk to ask about Harry. He was directed to a lounge farther down the hall, and his shoes squeaked on the white tiles until he came to a stop and peered into the dimly lit waiting room. Abby slouched low in a corner chair, her eyes closed and her vinyl-clad legs splayed out in front of her. “Abs?” Jon said quietly. She jumped and looked up at him in momentary confusion; then the memory of where she was and the reason seemed to come back to her, and she sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. “Jon, hi. Did you bring my clothes?” Jon set the tote bag by her feet. “Right there. I think I got the right items.” “Brilliant. Thanks.” “How is he?” he asked, afraid to hear the answer. “Last I heard, still in surgery,” she said through a yawn. “One of his ribs punctured his lung. His nose is broken, and his jaw is fractured.” She shook her head and looked down at her hands, and Jon reached out to rub her back, the black vinyl cool and slick beneath his palm. “Harry‟s built like an ox, right?” Jon said. “He‟ll pull through. Just believe in him.” “Yeah, I know, it‟s just… It‟s Harry.” She looked at him, her eyes agonizing over Harry‟s fate. “You know what I mean?” Jon nodded and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “I know.” “Ranulf was here for a while. I think he went down to the cafeteria or something.” She shook her head. “God knows what he‟ll bring back from there.” They shared a sad, quiet laugh, then sat in silence a moment, the sounds of the hospital sneaking in through the door. Finally Abby stood up, her vinyl jumpsuit crinkling with each movement and causing them both to dissolve in fits of hysterical, exhausted laughter. When her giggles had abated, Abby touched Jon‟s cheek, then picked up the tote bag and headed down the hall to find a restroom so she could change. Jon leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, thinking about Gerard and the story the man had related in his apartment. It was completely implausible and brought to light the unsettling possibility that Gerard was, most likely, somewhat unstable. Gerard‟s claim that he was from the year 1456 and had come through a time doorway at the back of a cave in the low mountains near the motorway was so outlandish, it made Jon angry at himself for so rashly falling in love. The man was

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a transient with a head full of secrets and, apparently, fantasies of medieval England and time travel. What the hell had he been thinking? And yet… And yet there was a small voice that whispered underneath Jon‟s madly spinning thoughts of disillusion and self-loathing. This voice pointed out how the story explained much about Gerard that Jon had found difficult to understand: the fact that Gerard knew, or acted as if he knew, so much about the castle and its history; his ownership and skill with the sword that still stood in the back corner of Jon‟s hall closet; and his lack of knowledge about so many things in the modern world. It also explained the odd physical reaction Jon had had upon touching Gerard‟s sword. According to Gerard‟s story, it had been his sword that had delivered the fatal wound to Tristan. “Bloody fool,” Jon muttered to himself and got to his feet to pace the room. “You‟re just a bloody, ridiculous, romantic fool.” He paced and thought back on Gerard‟s explanations, recalling the words and trying to make some sense of them. “Tristan and I were lovers,” Gerard had said. “We lived in the castle you are researching. I was a knight of the Royal Guard, sworn to protect the royal family at all costs, and Tristan was the prince of Algonwick, only son to King Everard Fysher and Queen Jocelyn.” Jon had frowned. “I don‟t understand. Are you saying this was a past life that you believe you have lived?” Gerard had given his head a sad shake. “Alas, no. It is the life I left behind to travel to your time.” Jon had felt the disbelief and caution come to his eyes without warning, and Gerard had seen it and turned away. “This is what I had feared—that you would think me unstable. But believe this if nothing else I say here tonight: I am in my right mind, and I love you as I have no other, including Tristan.” He had taken a breath and continued. “Ranulf was…is advisor to the king. I had been locked in the dungeon, awaiting execution for failing to protect Tristan, and Ranulf came to my cell one night. He told me… Well, he told me many things, and one of those had been about the doorway at the back of the cave. He said that he had stumbled upon it once and used it several times to travel to this time and visit the future. He convinced me to leave the cell with him, to come to this time in search of—” Gerard had stopped himself, an embarrassed and almost frightened look on his face. “In search of what?” Jon had asked, not certain he wanted to hear the answer. Gerard had straightened his stance and had a determined look on his face. “We came on a quest to locate the man who had slain Tristan. This man was one of those who attacked Harry tonight, one of the men you fought. He has a shaved head and swastika tattoos on each side of his neck and goes by the name Malcolm. His laugh is very distinctive, as you heard tonight—”

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Jon had shuddered at the memory of Malcolm‟s laugh, the high-pitched giggle he had also heard in his dream. “And his malice runs deep. He came to my time through the doorway, most likely following Ranulf after one of his sojourns. He realized the people of the village and travelers along the road outside the cave were easy prey and started robbing them. Soon he had gathered a group of like-minded thieves around him, and the robberies turned to murder. He killed several villagers, one time a father and son held hostage in the road while Bart and I stood watching.” “Bart?” Jon had asked, thinking of the cat. Gerard had given him a sad smile. “Not the cat you think of. He is a big man with a bushy black beard. Another member of the Royal Guard. A good friend. “But I should explain better so you may understand.” Gerard took a breath and paused to collect his thoughts. “To better prepare Tristan for his future role, I was asked by his father, King Everard, to train Tristan in the ways of battle. I was, to say the least, overjoyed to be able to spend so much time with him at the behest of his own father. We spent the summer outdoors, going through lessons in swordfighting, combat on horseback, other battle techniques. We made love and grew closer than I had ever hoped possible. But then, on an autumn day, Tristan decided we should travel farther from the castle than usual. Harvest approached, and it would soon be too cold for us to be alone outdoors, and he had an urge to see the Cave of Sorrows, so feared by the villagers. We dismounted in the fields at the base of Moorland Mountain and began our practice, interrupted by a sudden shower that forced us to seek shelter inside the cave.” “The cave,” Jon had whispered, his lifelong recurring dream flashing to mind. “You were wet and cold and held him against you to warm him up.” Gerard had stepped toward him, eyes alight with excitement. “Aye! You have seen this in your dream, Jon. You have told me so yourself. Does that not prove to you that I speak the truth?” Jon had moved a few steps away from him. “Yes, I have told you about my dream, but you could be fashioning this story from those details. Go on with your tale.” Gerard had watched him sadly a moment, then nodded and continued. “We heard movement farther back in the darkness of the cave, and then Malcolm‟s laugh. I drew my sword and tried to get Tristan to back out of the cave to avoid the confrontation, but he wanted to stand and fight. We killed the men Malcolm had with him, but Malcolm stabbed Tristan and fled. As I turned to tend to Tristan, a sudden, strong light left me momentarily blind, and I could hear him no longer. Malcolm had vanished. “I focused again on Tristan. He was injured, most likely dying, and needed to return to the castle. I rode as fast as I could, holding him in front of me, begging him to stay with me, but…”

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Jon had touched his left side and said quietly, “His injury was on the left side. The blood was dark, almost black.” Gerard had stared at him, tears on his face. “Aye, the blood was dark, but the injury was on the right side. Was that in your dream as well?” Jon had looked up at him, still uncertain but wavering. His statement about the position of Tristan‟s injury had been a test to see if Gerard would simply agree with him or correct him; he had passed the test. “Sorry, you‟re correct. It was on the right side. And yes, that has been in my dream, and I felt a sharp pain in my right side when I first touched your sword.” “You did not tell me these details,” Gerard had said. “Was that a test?” Jon had not responded, and Gerard had nodded and continued. “Tristan‟s injury was on the right side, and the blood was dark. They kept me from him, would not allow me to see him in his final…” His voice faltered, and he paused to collect himself. “His wound was deep and he was…gone by nightfall. There was nothing the surgeon could do to save him.” Gerard had taken a breath and begun to pace the room. “I was imprisoned in the dungeon, sentenced to execution for failing to protect a member of the royal family. I spent many days in that dungeon, marking them off on the wall, wanting only to die so I could be with Tristan again. And then, in the middle of the night, Ranulf came to my cell to ask me to accompany him on this quest.” “To find Malcolm?” Jon had asked. Gerard had nodded, his gaze shifting between Jon and the floor. “Aye. To find Malcolm. But also for another reason. I will try to explain this as best I can, but Ranulf understands this better than I. Malcolm was out of his place in time when he murdered Tristan. Because of this and because it was not Tristan‟s time to die, their souls became linked. This also changed the future. Algonwick is not supposed to lie in ruin as you see it. Ranulf has seen the castle during previous trips to this time. It was intact, well preserved, quite the opposite of its condition today.” He paused to take another breath. “We came here not only to track down Malcolm and bring him to justice, but to find the reborn soul of Tristan. We came to find you, Jon.” That had been when Abby had called Jon‟s mobile and asked him to go to her apartment and bring her a change of clothes when he came to the hospital. “Jon,” Gerard had said after Jon had hung up, his voice pleading. “You must believe me, please. I would never lie to you. I am in love with you.” Jon had stepped away from Gerard and gone to the door, stopping with his back to the man and his hand on the knob. “I need to focus on supporting Harry right now. He‟s in bad shape.” “Let me come with you,” Gerard had said. “I would like to be with you right now. I need to feel close to you again. I am afraid I have lost you.”

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“It‟s not a good idea,” Jon had replied. “I need some time to… I need some time, okay?” He had looked over his shoulder at Gerard. “I would appreciate it if you would not be here when I get back. Please.” Gerard‟s face crumpled, and he fell to his knees. “Jon, please, do not do this. I love you. I cannot lose you again.” A blade of ice seemed to slide into Jon‟s gut at the sight of Gerard so distraught kneeling before him, but he held his ground and shook his head. “Gerard, I don‟t want you to be here when I return from hospital. It will probably be a couple of hours at least, so you have some time to pull yourself together. Let‟s take a couple of days off, all right? I need to think about all of this, and…I just need some time to think about it. Please.” He had left Gerard sobbing in his living room, also starting to cry as he climbed the stairs to Abby‟s apartment to collect her change of clothes. Now, in the dimly lit waiting room of the hospital, Jon stood with his hands on his hips and tears on his cheeks as he felt the cold crack of heartbreak in his chest. Gerard‟s words echoed in his mind, crazy ramblings that rang true in some dark corner of his heart that had not lost the ability to dream. The sound of women‟s shoes approached from the hall, and Jon turned away from the door to wipe the tears off his face. The new arrival stopped outside the waiting room door, and curiosity overwhelmed Jon‟s need for privacy, urging him to turn and look over his shoulder. Madam Corrine, Abby‟s psychic friend from the bar, stood in the doorway, still dressed as a gypsy fortune-teller, her eyes wide and liquid as she stared at him. Jon rolled his eyes and turned away, letting out a forlorn laugh. “Well, of course,” Jon mumbled. “Because the night wouldn‟t be complete without more bloody psychic hoo-ha.” “Sorry, I was looking for Abby,” Madam Corrine said. “I‟ll leave you to your thoughts.” Jon sighed and turned, but the doorway was already empty. “Damn, she‟s fast.” He went to the door and looked down the hall at the woman‟s retreating back, scarves floating behind her. “Oi! Madam Corrine!” She turned, and that intriguing half smile turned up one side of her mouth. “Away from my crystal ball, you may just call me Corrine.” Jon smiled in spite of himself and stepped out into the hall, bowing and waving for her to enter the waiting room. Corrine glided past him, the smell of bar smoke and some exotic perfume wafting along behind. Jon looked up and down the hall but saw no sign of Abby, so with a breath, he stepped into the waiting room and sat a few seats apart from Corrine. “How is Harry?” Corrine asked. Jon shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “From what Abby has told me, he‟s in surgery. A rib punctured his lung, his nose is broken, and his jaw fractured. We‟re still waiting for word.”

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She shook her head, and a silence fell across them both. Finally she looked over at him, her gaze surprisingly intense, and said, “You are troubled by my session earlier tonight.” Jon let out an exhalation and put his head back, closing his eyes a moment before looking at her. “I really don‟t think this is the right time for this discussion.” “When is the right time? All we have to do now is wait.” Jon hesitated, then said, “You knew many things that could not have been guessed.” Corrine shrugged modestly. “It is a gift.” “Or a curse.” She nodded agreeably, then moved to sit in the chair next to him. “Jon Calder, I can see many things in people, but the visions I have when I am around you are the first of their kind.” Jon shifted his weight to lean away from her and gave her a sick smile. “You‟re welcome.” Corrine shook her head and reached out to place a hand on his arm. “No, Jon, you do not understand. You are a man out of place in this world.” “Look, don‟t lay that twin mumbo jumbo on me again,” Jon snapped. He felt blood heat his face and fresh tears in his eyes. “I got it from you earlier, then from Gerard after Harry‟s attack. I think I need a break from all of this.” “I do not know what Gerard told you,” Corrine said, “but within you I see turmoil, a soul floundering, trying desperately to find its rightful place.” Jon leaned forward and put his head in his hands. “Gerard said I was the vessel for the soul of his lover, murdered in 1456 by one of the men who attacked Harry tonight. He said I was Prince Tristan Fysher in this previous life and that I had died too soon, and now the history of Algonwick is askew.” Corrine sat back, her face serene and calm with understanding. “A man from this time took your life in your own time. Yes…yes, that would create a tear in the fabric of history.” She rose to pace the room, and Jon slumped down in his seat, feeling a cold certainty that he was dreaming as he listened to her ramble on. “And your soul, the soul of Tristan Fysher, would have latched on to the energy of the soul that had extinguished the life flame of its vessel in 1456, this man Malcolm from our current year of 2006. That bond could have pulled the soul of Tristan Fysher to the year of birth for the soul of Malcolm, his murderer.” She turned to face him, her smile radiant and beautiful. “Jon Calder, you and Malcolm are the same age, and I would wager that you share the same date of birth.” Jon gave her a pained smile and a feeble wave. “Oh, well, of course. It‟s so obvious.” Corrine rushed across the room to sit beside him and grip his arm, startling him so he jumped in his seat and sat up straight. She fixed him with an intense

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stare. “But don‟t you see? It does help! It explains how this could have occurred. Your soul, released from its earthly vessel before its time, fixates on the only other soul out of place, Malcolm‟s, and follows it back to the year of his birth. When were you born?” Jon sighed and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “You aren‟t going to let this go, are you?” Corrine sat back and looked at him in surprise. “Are you not the least bit curious?” He sighed again, then glanced at the door to see if perhaps Abby might show up and rescue him, but the doorway was empty. Going against his better judgment, Jon said, “April fifth.” She smiled. “An Aries.” Jon nodded. “Aye, an Aries. The sign of Mars, the god of war.” Corrine looked impressed. “You know astrology.” Jon shrugged and blushed. “I dabbled.” In truth, he had found the subject fascinating after working an Egyptian ruin for six months. The stars and planets truly guided that culture, and for a time, he had delved into the world of astrology. He knew his sign pointed to adventure and travel and competition, and from the way he had spent these last few years bouncing from site to site, he could see that side of him. “And in what year were you born?” Jon gave her a tired smile. “That‟s a bit personal, don‟t you think?” Corrine returned his smile but kept silent, and he finally rolled his eyes and reluctantly said, “Fine. I was born on April fifth, 1979.” “So you are twenty-seven years old.” She nodded and sat back. “And then so is this Malcolm.” She leaned close to him again and lowered her voice, her expression serious. “Be warned, Jon. He will be drawn to you and you to him.” Jon grimaced. “He‟s really not my type, thanks.” Corrine shook her head. “Not in a sexual manner, but as an irresistible force, like two orbiting heavenly bodies. There is unfinished business between the two of you, and before the break in time can be repaired, this business must be completed. You must be cautious. Much has been altered by this imbalance.” Before Jon could reply, Abby stepped into the room, followed by Ranulf. Abby had her tote bag over her shoulder, and Ranulf held a tray with coffees and sandwiches. Abby had changed into jeans, a sweatshirt, and running shoes, and when she saw Corrine sitting beside him, Jon saw her blush. “Oh, Corrine. Hi. I wasn‟t… I didn‟t know you were here. I just…” She took the tray from Ranulf‟s hands and set it on an end table before sliding the tote from her shoulder. “Sorry. I just changed into comfortable clothes. I didn‟t expect you to be here. For Harry, I mean. I didn‟t think you would come all this way for—”

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“What Abby is trying to say”—Jon jumped in, cutting her off as he widened his eyes in her direction—“is that she‟s glad to see you, and it‟s bloody considerate of you to be here for Harry.” Corrine directed her sly half smile toward Jon, then stood to give Abby a strong hug. Jon watched Abby hold the woman close, her eyes closed and her face peaceful, and felt an ache in his chest for Gerard. He was sure Gerard would honor his wish to leave the apartment, and wondered where he had gone. Back to the shelter, most likely, and his heart ached at the thought of the man alone and heartbroken. As crazy as everything he had told him earlier sounded, Jon still found himself drawn to the man. Ranulf sat beside him, his dark eyes sad and wise as he offered Jon a coffee. “Abby helped me pick out the food.” Jon took the coffee but avoided looking at Ranulf for too long. Did insane men travel in pairs? Could there be something to Gerard‟s story if he and Ranulf both believed it? Or was insanity like the common cold: if a person spent too much time with someone who has it, he ended up catching it himself. Abby and Corrine parted and sat beside each other in the chairs across from Jon and Ranulf, and Abby said, “Corrine, you can have my coffee. I don‟t need any more caffeine in my system.” Jon took a sip of coffee, then asked, “Any word on Harry?” Abby shook her head. “Still in surgery.” “I guess all we can do, then, is wait.” Jon sighed. “I guess so.” Abby glanced at Corrine and smiled. “Want half my sandwich?” Jon slouched down in his chair and closed his eyes, blocking out the others in the room as the things Corrine and Gerard had said to him spun through his head, their words and voices sometimes merging and overlapping. As Jon struggled to decide how believable it all was, he drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter Twenty-five Harry grimaced as he adjusted himself in the bed and shot a dark look at the IV bag suspended above him before focusing again on Jon. Both of the man‟s eyes were bruised from his broken nose, and a bandage had been stretched across the bridge. There were scrapes and cuts and more bruises on his face, and his left arm had been set in a cast. But worst of all, especially for talkative Harry, was the fact that his jaw had had to be wired shut. “Are you in much pain?” Jon asked. “Om-wot,” Harry said through his clenched teeth. Jon smiled, then quickly frowned. “Sorry, Harry, but was that „somewhat‟?” Harry blew a breath out of his nose and nodded. “Should I call the nurse?” Harry shook his head. “Do you want any water or food… Oh, sorry. You can‟t chew, can you? How will they feed you?” Harry shrugged, then patted the round lump of his belly through the sheet. “Well, maybe you could stand to lose a stone, but not in this manner.” Harry nodded, and his eyes drifted off to the side, welling up with tears a moment before he focused on Jon again. Harry nodded to a single flower standing in his plastic drinking cup and looked at Jon, saying, “Rah-noof.” Jon smiled. “Ranulf brought that for you?” Harry nodded, and Jon caught a touch of crimson in the man‟s cheeks and tried not to let what he felt about Gerard and Ranulf color his reaction to Harry‟s happiness. “Well, that was nice of him, wasn‟t it?” Harry nodded, glanced at the flower again, then gestured to Jon and raised his eyebrows. “What‟s that?” Jon asked, and Harry nodded to him and shrugged. “Are you asking me what‟s going on in my life?” Harry nodded. “Well, that hardly matters now, does it? I mean, you‟re the one all beat up and bruised. We should focus on you.” Harry parted his lips to show his clenched teeth. Jon sighed. “Ah yes, the wired jaw. Guess you can‟t really talk, can you? Good point.” Jon doodled with his finger on the arm of the visitor‟s chair until Harry impatiently cleared his throat. “Fine.” Jon scooted the chair closer to the bed and looked into Harry‟s blackened eyes. “All right, you bloody asked for me to tell you all this. Just remember that.”

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Harry rolled his eyes and nodded as he spun a finger in the air for Jon to get started already. “Well, last night was interesting, to say the least.” Harry gestured to the side of his jaw and rolled his eyes again. “I meant for me, before you were attacked. Did you talk to Abby‟s friend, Madam Corrine?” Harry widened his eyes and hummed spooky music. “Yes! Bloody hell right, she‟s creepy! Did she tell you stuff that made it seem like she had been reading your diary or something?” Harry nodded vigorously, then winced and gingerly touched the side of his jaw. “Oh, careful there. You okay?” Harry gave a more subdued nod and motioned for Jon to continue. “Well, I sat at her table, and she started talking about seeing twins, two vessels for one soul, and that the one for whom I search is closer than I think. All of this crazy stuff, right? Then, she said something about stone walls, and that just—” Harry‟s eyes widened, and he made a quiet screaming noise behind his teeth. “Exactly! I‟ve told you about my recurring dream, so you can imagine what that felt like!” Jon exhaled and shook his head, pausing to collect his thoughts before continuing. “Okay, so Gerard and I left the bar and went back to my apartment.” Harry waggled his eyebrows and grinned at him, and Jon blushed. “Yes, we had sex, you pervert. Afterward, we were sleeping when we were awakened by your…by the attack, and we rushed out to help.” A tear slipped from the corner of Harry‟s eye, and the man reached out to take Jon‟s hand. Jon looked into Harry‟s eyes, and his vision blurred with tears. “I just wish I could have been there sooner.” Harry nodded and released Jon‟s hand to wipe his eyes, then waved for him to continue. “Okay, so they took you off to hospital, and Gerard and I answered questions and went back to my apartment, where he told me this just…this bloody unbelievable story.” Jon looked at Harry from the corner of his eye. “You‟re sure you want to hear this?” Harry nodded, his eyes wide with interest. Jon took a breath and related the story Gerard had told him, pausing to gauge Harry‟s reaction at certain key points. When he had finished, Jon looked at Harry and said, “So what do you think? Can I pick ‟em or what?” Harry looked around, then pointed to a small dry-erase board and marker on the bed tray. “Oi, you can use this to communicate? Why didn‟t you say so earlier? Save us all this bloody interpretive-dance, facial-expression shit?” He passed Harry the board and watched the man scribble something out before he handed it back to Jon.

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Jon read it aloud. “Give G benefit of doubt.” Jon widened his eyes at Harry. “Are you serious? You believe that story?” Harry reached out for the board, erased it, then scribbled some more and handed it back to Jon. “Do you love him?” Jon read and looked at Harry. “Well, I did. Before I thought he was insane.” Harry retrieved the board and wrote again. “Love is crazy. Be glad you found someone who loves you too.” Jon nodded and patted Harry‟s hand. “I know, Harry. I should be grateful, but…I don‟t know if I can overlook this, you know? He thinks he‟s from the Middle Ages and that I‟m the reincarnated soul of his lover.” Harry wrote some more. “And why not?” Jon shrugged. “Well, because that‟s just crazy, that‟s why not.” Harry wrote again. “Tell him to prove it to you.” Jon sighed. “And how would he do that?” Harry wrote his response. “Have him take you back to his time.” Jon thought about it for a moment, his mind spinning as a fizz of excitement started in his stomach. What he wouldn‟t give to be able to step back in time to the Middle Ages and see Algonwick in its glory days. “That‟s an interesting thought, Harry.” Harry wrote again, longer this time, the marker squeaking like an excited mouse. “Does he make you feel special? Does he treat you like no one else has and like no one else matters?” Jon looked at Harry, and a small smile that he could not restrain touched his lips as a warmth spread in his chest. “He does. God help me, he does make me feel that way.” Harry wrote his response. “Then have him prove it to you. You owe it to yourself to know for sure.” Jon nodded and looked down at Harry, so wise in his hospital bed. “Is it the painkillers that are making you so smart?” Harry shrugged and waggled his hand in the air: sort of. They smiled at each other, and Jon reached out to clasp Harry‟s hand. “You‟re a good friend, Harry Templeton.”

*** Jon returned to his apartment and spent the afternoon dusting and vacuuming, proud of himself for pausing only once while stripping the sheets from the bed to breathe in Gerard‟s scent from the pillow. A small, warm glow started low in his belly at the familiar smell of the man, and he let out his breath with a sigh before yanking the case off the pillow and tossing it onto the pile of sheets by the door.

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Between loads of laundry, Jon used a screwdriver to jimmy open the door to the hall closet and retrieved the bastard sword from the back corner. He pulled the blade from the scabbard and held it before him, his arms tingling and a dull pain pulsing in his right side. After a few swings, Jon returned the sword to the scabbard and set it gently next to his bed, then returned to the closet to fix the doorknob. With that task completed, Jon lifted the jeweled medallion from his nightstand drawer and carried it to his worktable to resume his work. In the light of the magnifying glass, the emeralds gleamed like springtime and the center ruby shimmered a deep, rich red. Jon carefully cleaned the remaining dirt and grit from the settings until the entire medallion sparkled in his hands. “Amazing craftsmanship,” he whispered to himself and turned it over. The back of the medallion was a flattened surface, covered with dirt and grime. He used a slightly stronger vinegar solution with the soft toothbrush to cut through the dirt, revealing what appeared to be smooth silver. Jon noticed an engraving in the center, still caked with dirt and unreadable. He focused on that area, using the toothbrush and a generous amount of solution until the lettering started to appear. A short inscription had been engraved on the back in delicate lines, and Jon‟s breath caught in his throat as he read it aloud. “GWF, 1456.” He sat back from the magnifying glass, his eyes wide and his heart hammering. “Gerard William Fogg, 1456.” It could be a coincidence, but something inside him began to thaw to the possibility of Gerard‟s incredible story. He crossed his arms over his chest and smiled at his reflection in the window as the warmth that had started in his loins as he had stripped the bed spread through his body. “Bloody hell. Could it be? Could I be in love with an honest-to-God medieval knight?”

*** The following day was clear and sunny, and Jon decided to return to the castle site. After a moment of hesitation, he took the sword along in case he should meet up with Gerard or Ranulf. After two days of no communication with Gerard, Jon was anxious to see the man again to ask him more questions about Algonwick and its fall from grace. And also to suggest Gerard prove his claim of time travel by taking Jon back to 1456. In the light of day, the impact of finding the initials on the back of the medallion had faded to coincidence. If Gerard wished for Jon to believe his story of time travel and reincarnation, he was going to have to provide some kind of evidence. Jon was determined to give the man the chance to prove himself, no matter how ludicrous his story seemed. At the site, Jon buckled the sword around his waist, grabbed his pack from the trunk of his car, and climbed the low rise. He looked around, hoping to catch site of Gerard or Ranulf working around the site, perhaps waiting to speak to him, but the tumbled stones were deserted. With a sigh, Jon set his pack down near the foundation for the stables, then looked around the site again. When he was sure he was alone, he pulled the sword from the scabbard and brandished it, feeling the now expected tingle and ache, then tested the blade‟s weight by slicing it through the

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cool morning air. It felt different brandishing the sword in the open air rather than the confines of his apartment. Here he was free to move as he wished, without fear of shattering a lamp or thrusting the blade through his computer. Swinging the sword with increasing confidence and energy, Jon moved back and forth across the site, parrying and thrusting with imaginary foes. The bastard felt natural in his hands, and he surprised himself with a few moves of which he did not think himself capable. Finally, when he had circled back to the foundation of the stables, he lowered the sword, sweat standing out on his brow and his chest heaving. “That‟s a bloody workout,” he mumbled to himself. “No wonder Gerard is in such good shape.” He slid the sword back into the scabbard and sat on a nearby stone to catch his breath. The sky had clouded over during his sword practice, and a few drops of cold rain struck his face. “Bloody brilliant.” He sighed and stood up, grabbing his pack to head for his car. The thought of returning to his empty apartment, however, was not as tempting as it used to be. Now that he had had a taste of having someone in his life, someone in whose company he felt comfortable and attractive and to whom he was attracted, the thought of stepping into his apartment alone crushed his mood. The rain fell harder, feeling like cold hard chips of ice on his face, and Jon changed course, dashing around the back of the castle to the dark maw of the dungeon doorway. He ducked inside, his wet feet slipping on the mossy stone steps, and reached out to brace himself against the wall of rock. The stone he leaned on shifted beneath his hand, and he froze, holding his breath as he waited to make sure the wall would hold. There was no further movement, and Jon let out his breath, then rummaged in his pack for his flashlight, glad he had changed the batteries in the last few days. The torch threw out a strong beam, and he shone it down into the darkness that yawned before him. Moss covered every step, and crumbled mortar lay in small piles against the rock walls on most of them. Jon took a few deep breaths, wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, then descended into the damp, dark dungeon where Gerard claimed to have been imprisoned over 500 years ago. As he stepped off the bottom step, Jon heard the rainfall increase outside the dungeon door, the sound of it echoing throughout the dungeon hallway that stretched before him. The wooden doors that had once secured the cells had long since rotted away, and Jon shone his flashlight through each doorway, trying to imagine how it must have felt to have been imprisoned in the eternal darkness of the dungeon. He shuddered at the thought, deciding that his claustrophobia would have driven him insane in a matter of hours, as it itched at his nerves even now. The dirt floors were hard, and the mortar between the rocks of the walls were cracked and flaking away. To distract himself, Jon decided to put himself to work and pulled his notebook and measuring tape from his pack. He made notes of the dimensions of each cell, then moved slowly up and down the hallway, noting the

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placement of each wall sconce and measuring the entire length of the hall from end to end. With the basics covered, Jon searched each cell for any item of historical interest: utensils, pottery, basins—anything he could find—but the cells were barren. He moved from one to the next, Gerard‟s sword hanging at his hip and the storm raging outside the dungeon door. It wasn‟t until he stepped into the last cell in the hallway that Jon discovered something of interest. The dust and humidity of the centuries almost caused him to overlook it, but the angle of his torch was just right, and he caught the subtle difference in the wall from the corner of his eye. A chill raced up his spine as Jon stepped to the wall and crouched down to blow gently across the dirt-encrusted marks someone had scraped into the wall centuries ago—just like Gerard had told him he had done. Jon counted three marks and peered around the stone walls. For three days Gerard had sat in this cell, heart flooded with grief, waiting for his execution. Jon leaned back against the wall and slid down its rough surface to sit on the damp dirt floor. He put his head in his hands. How could Gerard have survived it? And why had Jon dismissed him so coldly? He wiped tears from his eyes and put his head against the wall, taking deep breaths to clear his mind. Of course, any number of prisoners might have made those marks, but Jon had seen no marks in the other cells. Why only this one? Perhaps Gerard had been down in the dungeon before, or even since they had met, and seen the marks himself. That was a possibility, he had to admit, but the marks had been nearly invisible beneath the dirt and dust; Jon had almost overlooked them. With a shake of his head, Jon tried to keep his mind from running off on the tangent of Gerard‟s story of time travel and his own reincarnation, but this castle seemed to get inside him, to infect him with an uncanny ability to see it as it had been back in its prime. It was as if another great castle of Algonwick stood on the ruins of this one, intact and glorious, just a blink away from being seen by the naked eye because of a trick of light or the turn of his head. It was as if the proud castle waited behind a backdrop of ruin, pressing against the flimsy fabric of time as it waited for something—or someone—to put things right. Jon could feel this other presence when he was at the site, and here in the dungeon it seemed especially strong. What was happening here? Was he supposed to be interpreting some cosmic message sent from the universe and getting it wrong? A rattle of stones tumbling down the steps sent a flood of adrenaline through him, and Jon shot to his feet, then moved quickly to the door of the cell to shine his light down the hall. “Who‟s there?” he called, hating the tremor he heard in his voice. His hand fell on the pommel of the sword hanging at his hip, and he felt a little more secure. The wind had risen with the storm‟s intensity. Perhaps it had pushed some loose stones down the steps, or a rodent had sent them tumbling.

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He turned back to the cell, then spun around as more stones, larger this time by the sound of them, tumbled down the steps. A great rumble shook the floor, deeper than thunder, filling his chest and sending him diving back into the cell, hands over his head and his knees pulled tight to his chest. Jon felt the reverberation of heavy rocks striking the stone floor in the hallway, and dust billowed into the room, sending him into a fit of coughing. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for the ceiling of the cell to hold up as the walls of the stairwell collapsed and sealed him inside.

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Chapter Twenty-six Jon ran the flashlight beam over the tightly packed stones and fought down the panic trying to claw its way up his throat. There was no way he would be able to dig out through these stones. At the thought of being trapped in the pitch-blackness of the dungeon, Jon‟s mild claustrophobia swiftly matured into full-fledged fear, and he struggled to keep calm and rational. He had to maintain a level head; it was the only way he would survive. He suddenly remembered his mobile phone and pulled it from his pocket, but his hopes were dashed when he found he had no signal. He bit back a curse, then crouched to dig through his pack. He discovered two bottles of water and a few granola bars. With these items he could survive maybe a week if he was careful with the rations. And if his air held out. “Okay, no hyperventilating,” he told himself, his voice shaky and uncertain in the echoing darkness of the dungeon hallway. “Pull yourself together and slow your breathing.” With the sword on his hip and the pack over a shoulder, Jon returned to the last cell of the hallway. He wanted to stay as far from the cave-in as he could in case of further collapse, but he also wished to feel close to Gerard, and he had begun thinking of this as Gerard‟s cell. He sat cross-legged in the middle of the small space, took several deep breaths to prepare himself, then flicked off the flashlight to save the batteries, plunging the cell into total darkness. His stomach fluttered, and his skin broke out in sweaty gooseflesh at the sudden sensory deprivation, but Jon pushed the panic into a corner of his chest and closed his eyes, focusing on slowing his breathing. He imagined the walls moving out and the ceiling rising to give him more room and breathable air, and a shaky, fragile calm draped over him. He let out a long exhale, emptying his lungs, then drew in a deep breath of damp, dusttinged air. His breathing slowed and settled, and he let his thoughts wander in hopes of stumbling on an idea for his escape. He thought about Gerard‟s being in this cell, imagined the man with him now, trapped in the dark, his rugged, solid body next to him. More thoughts of Gerard flooded him, memories of their time together over the last few weeks, in bed and out, and a rush of emotion followed. He was in love with the man—he had to admit that—and though Gerard‟s story had sounded outlandish at first, Jon had to admit much of what confused him about Gerard made sense when filtered through that knowledge. Intermingled with his memories of Gerard were images of the man in the middle of a sun-drenched field of tall grass, wielding his sword and grinning at him, or lying nude on a bed of soft grass, eyes closed against the warming sunlight, his

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cock lolling in a lazy half erection as he rolled away from him. Jon opened his eyes to the impenetrable darkness and frowned. He had never spent time with Gerard in a sunny field of tall grass. They had met in October. From where had his mind conjured up those images? A light rattle of stones from the hallway made his pulse jump, and he held his breath, straining his hearing. Visions of the spirits of those who had perished within these stone walls rose unbidden in his mind. He could imagine the spirits moving slowly among the rubble in the hallway, angry and seeking vengeance on the one living soul now trapped inside their stone tomb. Clenching his teeth, Jon squeezed his eyes shut again and shook his head, trying to fling the ghostly imaginings from his mind with the movement. It seemed to work for the time being, and he resumed his deep-breathing exercises. After some time, his breathing had slowed again, and Jon focused on one thought—being found.

*** Panic flooded Jon‟s system like ice water as he came up from a light doze. His eyes were wide-open but unseeing, hands flailing before him in the darkness. He lay on his back on a hard dirt floor and rolled to the side, bumping into a cold, damp stone wall. A crackling sound echoed around the small space, and Jon felt small pieces of mortar crumble away beneath his elbow. “What?” he muttered; then memory rushed back, and he pushed himself to his hands and knees and crawled forward, feeling for the flashlight as he struggled to stay calm. If he started to panic down here, he would lose his mind in a matter of minutes. He had to keep himself together. His fingers brushed the circular metal end of the torch, and he seized it with a grunt of triumph. A brief flicker of fear, however, stayed his thumb from switching on the light, afraid of what he might reveal in the sudden wash of illumination. The risen dead slowly lurching toward him, perhaps, or a tide of rats, yellow teeth gnashing as they hungrily advanced. He took a breath, held it, then thumbed the switch. The bright beam speared through the darkness, illuminating only the empty cell and gray walls around him, and Jon let out his breath. He rose stiffly to his feet, his muscles aching from lying on the cold, hard dirt floor, and he tried to walk the soreness out by pacing to the impenetrable stone blockage at the steps and back to Gerard‟s cell. “You can do this,” he told himself, keeping the flashlight on and shining it in each of the cells he passed. “You‟re going to be all right. Someone‟s going to come find you. Abby will notice you‟re missing and call out the troops.” Having returned to his starting point, Jon set the flashlight down, removed the bastard sword from the scabbard, and swung it a few times. His anxiety eased now that he held the sword, even with his physical reactions to it, and he swung it in wide, sweeping arcs, then paused to swallow a few sips of water. Looking at the stone walls around him, Jon noticed a small pile of broken mortar at the base of one wall. He frowned and knelt before the debris, gripping the

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torch between his knees as he gently pressed against each stone above the mortar. A stone the size of his fist rocked in its earthen bed, and he froze, raising his gaze to look along the wall, trying to see through the shadows clinging to the stone and determine if this wall was unstable as well. The rest of the stones appeared secure, so Jon focused on the loose one, rocking it back and forth in its setting. A gnawing resolve had taken up house inside his head, pushing him to work at the stone, stronger, it seemed, than the usual curious nature of the archaeologist inside him. The stone came free with a quiet sucking sound of release, and Jon placed it on the floor. He angled the flashlight beam into the gloomy indentation, his pulse quickening when he caught sight of a small parcel wrapped in cloth. With delicate fingers, Jon eased the object from the dirt and turned to lean his back against the wall, his eyes wide and a low buzzing in his ears. Slowly Jon peeled away the brittle, dirty material to reveal a ring made of what appeared to be solid gold. Finely etched vines decorated the band, and a gold chain had been looped through it. “Oh…” He breathed as a quiver of emotion started in his chest. He turned his hand back and forth, cradling the ring in the bowl of his palm as the flashlight beam glowed along its surface. A smoothly cut stone sat tucked into the top of the gold band, and Jon lowered a dirty finger to stroke the slick black surface. As his skin brushed the stone, Jon felt at the base of his skull a tiny, cold needle of…what? Emotion? Fear? Memory? Whatever it was, the feeling branched out from the back of his neck and spread over the top of his skull, the tingling sensation lighting up his synapses as it moved over his head. Images followed, coupled with powerful emotions that closed gentle fingers of love, trust, and desire around his heart and filled his mind with thoughts of Gerard. He could see the man‟s face, bright with joy where he stood in a field of drooping sunflowers. Tears welled in the man‟s eyes, joyful tears laced with sadness. Jon‟s fingers closed over the ring, gripping it tight as a brilliant surge of love splintered the tremulous resistance he had been feeling toward Gerard. His doubt and opposition to the man fell away, leaving in its wake an ache, a ferocious need, to see Gerard again, pull him into an embrace, kiss him, and profess his undying love. Clutching the ring tighter, Jon closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, surrendering himself to the powerful images… No, not just images—memories. A torrent of emotion surged within him, at once familiar but also graced with age, as if he were recalling an event that occurred long ago. He could feel the breeze across his skin as he stood before Gerard in the field of sunflowers, could see the ripple of shadow across the man‟s face as the sunflowers swayed around them. As Gerard took the ring from his palm in memory, Jon felt the rugged callus of the man‟s touch in the dusty dungeon, heard the familiar timbre of his voice, felt the strength and endurance of his love. With his touch of the ring, memories and emotions were exhumed from deep within him, reawakened from a time long ago. They rushed through him, fusing with the feelings he currently harbored for Gerard, and with sudden clarity and precise insight, Jon understood who he was—the lost prince of this city he had called home for so many years without knowing why.

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Overwhelmed with the surge of emotion, Jon lost himself for a time, memories from each life tangling together to tear away his reticence to Gerard‟s explanation. They belonged together; of this Jon was certain. As the muddle of emotions and identities settled within him so that he was not merely Jon Calder nor Tristan Fysher but rather a consolidation of the two, Jon realized that perhaps Gerard and Ranulf were not the only ones displaced from their correct time in history, but that he also might be living in the wrong era. There had always been something not quite right about the entire town of Algonwick. It was in the air and the voices and attitudes of the residents, a kind of slow decline that was nearly tangible, but elusively so, like a smell he could never track down to its source. Jon now understood that this strangeness within Algonwick, its waning struggle to thrive, might be a symptom of his dislocation in time. His entire life, Jon had never felt like he fit in anywhere, at home with his parents, at school, even on other digs where he was immersed in the field that he loved. It wasn‟t until Algonwick—most specifically the ruins of Algonwick Castle— that Jon felt a glimmer of home and belonging. And yet, it still never seemed right. The downfall of the castle had always left a quietly tragic melancholy within him, as if he had come home one day to find his apartment destroyed and all his personal effects vanished. He used the back of his hand to wipe away a tear and thought about the English Middle Ages. It was a period in which one‟s homosexuality had to be repressed, where violence and disease ran rampant. But it was also a time of chivalry and gallantry, with land unspoiled by waste and so-called progress. It was not a time of creature comforts, but an exciting period of discovery. He loved his friends and freedom here in the twenty-first century, but a soul that longed for another time lived within him. This soul had been crying out all along for the sight of the fog on moors, the green hills rolling away to the quiet village, the proud gray stone of the castle walls. It yearned to hear the snap of the banners in the wind, the snort and pawing of horses, the call and haggle of the vendors within the castle walls. He had been torn from the time in which he belonged, and now Jon knew he had to return to that age to make everything right. The future of this place—Algonwick‟s rightful future—hinged on him, and the realization exhausted and terrified him. How could he, Jonathan Calder, a simple archaeologist who specialized in the English Middle Ages, reverse the centuries-old decline of this castle he had once called home? His overtaxed mind threatened to shut down if he did not give it a rest. Taking a slow, deep breath and holding the ring to his chest, Jon gathered his resolve and again switched off the light. The darkness took him, and he closed his eyes, losing himself within the ancient quiet of the stone walls. Some time later—how long, he wasn‟t sure—Jon heard the sound of stone scraping against stone. His senses sharpened, and he tightened his grip on the flashlight, holding it ready in his lap, aimed at the cell doorway. The sound came again, louder this time, and he jumped, fighting the urge to turn on the flashlight.

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He wasn‟t sure what, or who, was causing the sound, but this was different than the occasional rattle of loose stones falling at the blocked stairway. This was a deliberate kind of sound, like one stone being moved against another by someone…or something. Jon held his breath, the flashlight held tight in one sweaty hand while the other grasped the ring. He pressed his back against the rough stone wall, shifting his leg slightly to feel the reassuring heft of the sword beside him. The sound came again, longer, more insistent, followed by a heavy, deep grunt. It sounded as if something was trying to push itself out of the walls of the cell. Jon‟s heart battered against the inside of his chest like a bird trying to escape a box, and he pushed the ring and chain into the pocket of his jeans to take up the sword and get to his feet. He stood in the dark, ears straining to catch every sound, breath shallow, his thumb poised over the flashlight‟s switch. A great, gritty scrape of stone made him jump and clench his teeth, and counting to three, he switched on the flashlight and shone the beam around the cell walls. The wash of light revealed nothing inside the cell, but the scraping came again from his left, and Jon jerked the light in that direction, illuminating the doorway and the hall beyond. With his mouth open and his breath stopped in his chest, Jon watched as the lower stones of the wall at the end of the hall slowly swung in, dust and small bits of stone falling to the dirt floor. The hidden door stopped on what had to be a worn and corroded hinge, and silence pressed in again. The flashlight shook in his hand, the beam trembling as he kept it fixed on the sudden opening just outside the door of the cell, and he adjusted his grip on the sword. “Hello?” Jon called, his voice shaky and tentative. “Is someone there?” A man‟s head suddenly thrust into view, face obscured by long dark hair covered with cobwebs and dust. “Who is that?” Jon demanded. “Who are you?” The man turned to look at him, and a tide of relief flooded Jon‟s chest as his gaze met Gerard‟s. “Jon! Are you hurt?” “No!” Jon‟s voice cracked with emotion. He rushed into the hallway and dropped to his knees to help Gerard crawl out of the small doorway. “Oh my God! How did you find me?” Gerard rose to his knees, pulled Jon against him, and hugged him tight with a hand on the back of his head. Jon let out a shaky breath of relief at the feeling of Gerard‟s arms around him again, the warmth of his embrace, the power of the man‟s love. He pulled back and brushed cobwebs from Gerard‟s face, then kissed him hard. When he finally broke the embrace, Jon laid a hand against Gerard‟s bearded cheek and said, “I‟m so sorry I doubted you. I believe you.” Even through the dirt and cobwebs, Jon could see Gerard‟s face light up. “You do?” Jon drew the ring from his pocket and held it out. “I really do.”

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Sudden tears flooded Gerard‟s eyes as he gazed at the ring. He looked up at Jon and, with a smile mixed of sadness and relief, said, “You found it.” “I hit my elbow on the stone, and the mortar around it fell away.” “I hid it there when I was awaiting my execution.” Gerard kept his gaze on Jon. “I wanted no other to have it, so I hid it, and you found it here, all these years later. I have spoken only the truth to you, Jon Calder.” “I know. I‟m sorry.” Gerard lifted the chain and ring dangling between them, spinning within the light of the torch. “Tristan gave it to me one summer day.” “In a field of sunflowers,” Jon said. Gerard‟s gaze flicked to Jon‟s face, then back to the ring. “Aye. It was the day we exchanged vows of matrimony.” “Oh Gerard,” Jon said as an ache clenched his stomach. “I‟m so sorry.” Gerard smiled at him as a tear slid down his cheek, leaving a clean track in the dirt. “I never thought I would love someone as I loved Tristan, but with you I have found that man. You make me feel complete.” “I feel the same way,” Jon said. Gerard very gently placed the chain around Jon‟s neck, and the ring thumped softly against his chest. “This is for you,” Gerard said. “Within you resides the soul of the man who gave it to me, but it is your heart that won me over, and your heart belongs to you alone. You are the man I was destined to meet all along.” Gerard kissed him again, the touch of his lips sending an exquisite shiver down Jon‟s spine. With the ring around his neck and Gerard‟s lips on his, Jon felt the barrier of time between the Algonwick of old and their current year tremble. The past called to him, and a craving to return to that time grew stronger inside him. Now that Gerard was with him, Jon felt safe and protected. If Tristan and Gerard could have carried on a relationship in their day, wouldn‟t it be possible for Jon and Gerard to do the same if he returned to that time? Jon pulled back and lifted the ring to look at it in his hand. “Gerard, I don‟t know if I can accept this. It‟s so… It‟s too much.” “It belongs with you,” Gerard said. “From Tristan to me, and now to you. The circle is complete.” Jon pressed his lips together and nodded. “All right, I accept. Thank you.” He kissed Gerard, then got to his feet and helped the man stand, watching as Gerard turned to peer through the doorway at the heavily shadowed walls within the cell. “That was the cell you were in, wasn‟t it?” Jon asked. “Aye,” Gerard whispered. “It was.” Jon placed a hand on Gerard‟s cheek and turned the man to face him again. “As long as I am able to draw breath, you will never be locked within a cell again.” He smiled and was glad to see Gerard smile back. Then Jon dropped his gaze to the dark doorway behind Gerard. “What the bloody hell is that?”

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Gerard moved out of the doorway, and they both leaned down to look into the passage. “It is a secret tunnel few knew about. Many secret passages were built into the castle to allow the royal family to escape should the castle be overrun. As a member of the Royal Guard, I was shown the location of each of the passages.” Jon dropped to all fours and shone the flashlight into the tunnel. Stone walls, an uneven dirt floor, and a low roof supported with thick wood beams interspersed every few meters led away into darkness. Jon let out a low whistle. “Amazing.” “I came to the site intending to see you,” Gerard explained. “I was not sure I would approach you, but I had to see you. Your car was here, but I could not find a trace of you. I became worried and looked around the site, and when I found the dungeon stairs blocked, I had to see if you were down here.” He placed a hand on Jon‟s back. “I thought I had lost you.” Jon got to his feet and reached down to help Gerard stand beside him, then put his arms around him. “You won‟t lose me. I promise. Now, how about we get the bloody hell out of here?” Gerard smiled and took the flashlight from him. “Come, I shall lead the way.” “Wait.” Jon grabbed Gerard‟s arm, stopping him. He thought of Harry‟s advice from the hospital, to have Gerard prove his story and take him back in time. “I want to see the castle as it was back then. Can you…can you take me there? Back to your time?” Gerard smiled and leaned down to kiss him. “I can.” “After we‟re out of here?” Jon asked. “Like right after we leave?” “If that is your wish,” Gerard said. “Why are you in such hurry to see it?” “I just… I believe it, but I really need to see it happen,” Jon replied. “The time doorway, the castle, all of it. I believe it all, I believe you, but I need…” “You feel it here,” Gerard said and placed a hand over Jon‟s heart. “But you need to believe it here.” He touched gentle fingers to Jon‟s temple. Jon smiled and shrugged. “I guess it‟s the researcher in me. I‟m sorry. I just need the proof.” “Then proof is what I shall provide. Come.” Jon felt the sword on his hip and asked, “Oh, do you want your sword back?” “Keep it,” Gerard replied. “It looks natural on you.” Jon got on his hands and knees behind Gerard, tucked the ring inside his shirt, and adjusted the scabbard behind him, then peered into the tunnel as Gerard crawled into the darkness. His claustrophobia tightened like a clock spring within his chest, and Jon took several deep breaths to loosen the tension. Inside the tunnel, Gerard stopped and looked back over his shoulder, shining the flashlight behind him. “Is everything all right, Jon?” “Yeah, I‟m just…” Jon swallowed past the knot of fear that had risen into his throat. “This tunnel is safe, right? I mean, the walls at the stairwell fell in on me,

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and I don‟t want to think of what would happen if these walls… Well, I don‟t want to think about it.” “The sooner you begin to follow me,” Gerard said in a patient voice, “the sooner we shall be free of these walls.” Jon nodded and, after several deep breaths, forced his hands and legs to move and crawled into the passage after Gerard.

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Chapter Twenty-seven Rain-soaked and dirty, Jon crawled through the narrow cave opening at the base of the low mountain. Chill darkness embraced him, and he shivered and moved off to the side of the entrance, making room for Gerard and shining the flashlight around the stone walls. He trembled as he stared around him, both from the cold and nervous excitement. The cave was exactly as he had seen it in his dreams, right down to the sound of heavy rainfall outside. “You‟re shivering,” Gerard noted. Jon nodded, his teeth chattering as he hugged his knees to his chest. “It‟s so cold in here. I just need a minute to warm up.” “Come here.” Gerard took the torch and set it on the dirt floor, then opened his arms. Jon crawled to him and turned his back to lean up against Gerard, sighing when the man wrapped his arms around him. “Better?” Gerard whispered in his ear. “Better,” Jon said with a nod, his teeth still chattering. He took a few shuddering breaths as warmth slowly seeped into him. “Thank you.” They sat that way for a time, warming each other until the excitement of seeing the time doorway encouraged Jon to ease himself out of Gerard‟s embrace. “Are you warmer?” Gerard asked. “I am, thank you.” Jon got to his feet, glad to discover he could stand at his full height. He reached out and placed his palm on the rough, cold wall. “It‟s just like in my dream.” “It is as I remember,” Gerard said, grunting as he got to his feet. He directed the flashlight across the cave, and Jon followed after it, his fingers trailing along the stone wall. A sudden blast of freezing-cold air enfolded him, and he came to an abrupt stop. A cold, arctic pain seared into his right side, and he grimaced, then gasped as he pressed his hand to it. “It‟s cold, and my side is burning.” He turned to look at Gerard. “This spot is freezing, right here.” “That is the spot where Tristan fell.” Gerard lowered the light to the floor at Jon‟s feet, and Jon stepped back, the pain in his side fading quickly as the air around him warmed up. He let out a shaky breath and looked at Gerard. The man held the light on the area for a long, silent moment, then directed the beam farther back into the cave. “Come. Let us move deeper.” Jon could not speak, an anxious excitement seeming to hold his voice hostage, but he managed to nod. He glanced once more at the place where he had long ago received a mortal blow, then followed Gerard, ducking beneath rocky outcroppings

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and short stalactites. Farther back, an outcropping of stone left only a short, narrow passage to the depths beyond, and one by one they squeezed through to step out on the other side into a high-roofed cavern. Jon felt a vibration inside his chest, as if heavy machinery were operating somewhere within the stone walls. The sword on his hip thrummed with it, and he rested his palm on the pommel, feeling the rhythm in his arm. “Electromagnetism,” he whispered. “Pardon?” Gerard said, turning the light on him. “Did you say something?” Jon looked up, squinting into the beam. “An electromagnetic force. I can feel it as a vibration in my body and in your sword. Do you feel it in the flashlight?” “Aye, it rattles slightly,” Gerard agreed. “What is this elec…eclec…?” “Electromagnetic forces,” Jon said slowly and craned his head to peer into the darkness overhead. “The cave must be sitting on some kind of trapped pocket of energy.” He lowered his head and squinted in the glare of the torch, which suddenly seemed much brighter. “Could you lower the flashlight, please?” “The light is not in your eyes,” Gerard said, and Jon realized he could see more clearly than before. Gerard‟s eyes widened as Jon looked at him, and the man said, “Someone is coming through the doorway!” A brilliant burst of light blinded him, and Jon dropped to a crouch, turning his face away from the glare. All the air in the cave seemed to be sucked into the light, leaving Jon gasping for breath, his ears popping and pressure building in his chest. The sword rattled in the scabbard, and then, with a sound he could only describe as a wet pop, the light vanished, and the pressure eased as a rush of cool air washed over him. Turning, Jon squinted into the sudden darkness as the sound of staggering footsteps approached. “Gerard?” he called out in a shaky voice. A yellow spark turned into the flickering flame of a lighter, and Jon squinted at the figure holding the light aloft. In the dim glow, Jon made out the shaved skull, swastika tattoos, and cold, hard eyes of Malcolm. “Bloody fucking hell,” Malcolm sneered at the sight of Jon. “What the bloody fuck are you doing here?” His gaze dropped to the ring, which had swung loose during Jon‟s explorations and now hung outside his shirt. “Hello. What‟s this lovely trinket?” A deep, guttural cry of anguish startled Jon, and his heart jumped as Gerard appeared behind Malcolm, arms raised overhead, hands clutching a stone. Instinct alone saved Malcolm as the man ducked and spun out of reach, the lighter going out with his movement and plunging them all into darkness. Jon was left with the afterimage of Gerard bringing the stone down hard but missing and stumbling forward off balance. “Gerard!” Jon cried into the sudden darkness. He stood rooted to the spot in fear, as all around him soft, stealthy sounds echoed off the cave walls. Jon drew the

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sword and held it before him, trying to calm his breathing, his arm muscles thrumming and the sharp pain flaring again in his right side. He listened for Malcolm‟s approach, taking a careful step back, then another, wanting to have his back to a wall so he could focus his attention on the darkness in front of him. The scuffle of footsteps seemed to come at him from every direction, and he wasn‟t sure which were Gerard‟s and which Malcolm‟s. He took another tentative step back, eyes wide and useless in the dark, reaching back with a shaking hand to feel for the cave wall. Another step sounded to his right, and just as his fingertips brushed the rough stone wall, the high, crazy cackle of Malcolm‟s laugh floated out of the darkness, freezing his blood and stopping his breath. “So, the cocksucker knight found another lover,” Malcolm said, his voice soft and menacing, the echo making it seem to come from every direction. “Sorry about killing that other guy.” Another heartless giggle, and then the sound of furtive movement off to Jon‟s right. Jon heard more movement, stealthier, and figured Gerard was stalking Malcolm. Jon had to keep the man talking, allow Gerard to track him down but also remain out of Malcolm‟s reach. He adjusted his grip on the sword, the metal handle throbbing and pulsing in his hands, and said in as strong a voice as he could manage, “I know some things about you, Malcolm.” Moving quietly, Jon edged along the wall, one hand behind him to feel his way, the other holding the vibrating sword before him. “You don‟t know me, faggot,” Malcolm said, but Jon noticed that this time the man‟s words weren‟t followed by his crazy giggle. “I think you‟re wrong,” Jon taunted. “You were born on April fifth, 1979.” A heavy silence fell in the cavern, and Jon wondered if the man had slipped through the narrow passage and escaped. But then he heard a stumble and a quiet curse from no more than a meter away, and a cold tingle of fear burst within his chest. “Where are you?” Malcolm shouted from the darkness. Jon heard the man thumb the wheel of his lighter, sparking the flame for a brief moment, long enough for Jon to be startled at how close the man was and for their eyes to meet. Malcolm sneered and held up a sword of his own, the blade darkened with what appeared to be blood. “Got you.” Malcolm snapped the lighter closed, killing the flame, and Jon had time to drop to his knees and roll off into the unknown darkness of the cavern, the pain in his right side amping up even more. He wondered if it meant he was destined to meet the same fate as Tristan. He felt the breeze of Malcolm‟s passing and turned, swinging his sword, hoping to connect with the man‟s leg but cutting only empty air. “Fucker!” Malcolm screamed in frustration. “Where are you?” “Here!” Gerard shouted from across the cavern, and the beam of the flashlight blazed to life.

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Jon blinked in the white glare of the torch and looked around, discovering he crouched in the center of the cavern between both men. Malcolm held a hand before his face to shield his eyes from the light, and Gerard took advantage of Malcolm‟s disorientation to run at the man full-out, a stone gripped in his fist as he left the flashlight propped against a stone on the floor. Malcolm heard Gerard‟s approach, however, and dodged the man‟s blow, spinning out of striking range and turning to slash at him with his sword. “No!” Jon shouted, his stomach clenching as the blade cut across Gerard‟s shoulder and the man cried out. Jon jumped toward Malcolm, holding up the sword, his shadow looming large on the wall from the light of the torch. He swung at Malcolm, but the man turned and deflected Jon‟s blow, the vibration from the meeting of their swords rattling up his arms and intensifying the pain in his side. Jon gasped and lowered a hand to his side, wincing in pain as Malcolm struck at him. Jon managed to block the attack, moving back across the cavern as Gerard groaned from a corner. “You won‟t get away this time, Malcolm,” Jon said through gritted teeth. “You owe me blood.” “I don‟t owe you fucking anything,” Malcolm snarled. “Just give me the ring, and I‟ll leave you to fuck each other silly in this cave.” “How many more people did you kill back in the Middle Ages this time? Huh?” Jon blocked and attacked, blocked and attacked, his arms growing tired from the strain of holding the sword, the pain in his side, and the effort of the battle. “What do you know about it?” Malcolm asked. “It‟s got nothing to do with you.” “When you kill people in that time, you skew history, you stupid fuck,” Jon said. “You killed me, and the whole castle crumbled.” Malcolm stopped and furrowed his brow as he glared at him. “I killed you? Back then? Then how come you‟re standing here in front of me?” “I was Tristan, the prince you killed here, in this very cave. Because you killed me before my time, our souls became connected.” Jon stabbed at him, but Malcolm stepped aside and blocked the blow. “Sounds pretty fucking gay to me,” Malcolm snarled and attacked him with fresh anger. Jon blocked each blow, his arms shaking with exhaustion as he gripped the trembling sword, his breath harsh and rasping in his throat. The ringing clang of their battle echoed off the walls around them, and their shadows mimicked their movements on the wall. Jon struck at Malcolm twice more, gritting his teeth as each blow was deflected. He took a step back, and his heel caught on a stone, causing him to fall hard on his butt, his teeth clicking together and the sword bouncing out of his hand. “Time to die again, faggot,” Malcolm said and rushed toward him, sword held high for a killing blow.

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Jon rolled to the side, hand reaching, straining for Gerard‟s bastard. His fingers touched the pommel, and then it was in his hand, as if someone had passed it to him, the handle still warm from his grip. He turned, holding the blade up, the light from the torch flashing along the edge. He could feel the humming vibration within it, but also the cool clasp of a pair of hands atop his, as if Tristan were with him, helping to guide the blade. The point burrowed into the right side of Malcolm‟s gut with a slick, wet sound, and the pain in Jon‟s right side flared briefly, feeling like a cold, sudden burn and causing him to gasp aloud before it vanished altogether. Jon looked up into Malcolm‟s face above him, the man‟s expression confused and surprised. With renewed strength, Jon pushed up, feeling the ghost hands push along with him, and the blade slid deeper into Malcolm‟s side. Malcolm‟s grip on his own sword loosened, and the weapon clattered as it struck a stone on the hard dirt floor. The man‟s mouth opened and closed, blood spilling out over his bottom lip, his eyes glittering with confused pain. He reached down and clutched the blade in his side with both hands as if trying to extract it, but Jon held fast, teeth clenched, gaze fixed on Malcolm‟s face. “Enjoy burning in hell,” Jon said, then yanked the blade free. He watched with grim satisfaction as Malcolm fell sideways, then rolled onto his back, hands over the gushing wound. The man made a final garbled, choking sound; then his head lolled to the side, the flashlight beam shining dully in his unseeing eyes. Jon swallowed hard and lay staring at Malcolm‟s face as his stomach rolled. He had killed a man. Granted, this man was a murderer with no remorse, but Jon still felt a little dizzy. Then a moan from the far corner brought Jon around, and he crossed to where Gerard sat with one shoulder against the wall. The man was conscious, but sweat stood out on his brow, and one hand was held over his shoulder, clenching tight to the wound. “Are you okay?” Jon asked, kneeling beside him. “Malcolm?” Gerard said, eyes glassy with pain. Jon touched the side of his face. “He‟s dead.” Gerard closed his eyes, and a shaky breath of relief slipped past his lips. “At last.” Jon eased Gerard forward and squinted at the wound in the dim light. It looked deep, and blood flowed down his back. Gerard would need stitches soon to stop the blood loss. “Think you can move?” Jon asked. “You need to get to a doctor.” Gerard sat back and looked up at him. “We did not yet go through the doorway.” Jon smiled. “I think that can wait. I saw Malcolm come back through. That pretty much sealed the deal for me.” Gerard frowned. “Sealed the deal?” “Forget it.” Jon got to his feet and bent over to slip an arm around Gerard. “Come on. Let‟s get you out of here.”

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After some time and more than a little exertion on Jon‟s part to help Gerard through the small mouth of the cave, they made it out into the steady rainfall. Jon had left his car a kilometer away, in the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant off the motorway, and they stumbled through the wet grass. He lowered Gerard into the passenger seat, then climbed in the driver‟s side and sped off, Gerard groaning beside him. At the hospital, Jon explained to the doctor that they had been working at the castle site and the dungeon stairwell had collapsed, one of the metal torchères striking Gerard‟s shoulder. The doctor looked unimpressed with Jon‟s story as she gave Gerard a tetanus shot, then cleaned and stitched the wound. Several hours later they finally left, Gerard stiff and exhausted, his arm throbbing from the jab, a bottle of pain pills from the hospital pharmacy in Jon‟s pocket. Once they were back inside the car, Jon turned to look at Gerard. “Ready to go home?” “To your home?” Gerard asked. “No, to yours.” Gerard lifted his gaze, slightly dulled from the painkillers, and smiled. “I would very much like to take you to my home.” “Good, it‟s settled,” Jon said and started the car. “We‟ll leave as soon as your stitches come out.”

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Chapter Twenty-eight “Are you sure?” Abby asked, her eyes serious as she searched his. Jon nodded and reached across the bar to take both of her hands. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life.” Abby lowered her head a moment, then raised it, and as a tear slid down her cheek, pressed her lips together and nodded. “All right, then. I‟ll help you however I can. But know this much, Jon Calder: I will miss you something fierce.” Jon smiled and squeezed her hands before letting go. “You‟ll be okay, Abs. You‟ve got Harry to take care of.” Abby snorted and waved him off, pushing herself up from the bar and pouring both of them a shot of whiskey. After lifting her glass for a toast, she tossed back the liquor and let out a breath. Jon did the same, closing his eyes as the whiskey sat like a steam room rock in his stomach. “So, when do you leave?” Abby asked. “Soon. Gerard goes to have his stitches removed tomorrow, so probably a couple of days after.” She averted her eyes as she nodded. “Can‟t wait to go, can you?” Jon was unable to suppress his smile. “Honestly, I am really looking forward to it.” He took a shaky breath and said, “I will admit, though, I‟m a little nervous too. Gerard was waiting to be executed when Ranulf helped him escape. We‟re not really sure what kind of reception he will receive.” “What if the king decides to go through with his execution?” Abby asked. “What will you do?” Jon pressed his lips together and dropped his gaze to the top of the bar, fighting back sudden tears. “I don‟t know, Abs. I just know I need to be there in his time, no matter what.” He took a shaky breath and lifted his head to meet her gaze. “He‟s the man I‟m destined to be with, Abby. It‟s like I found the other half of my heart.” Abby smiled sadly and reached out to place a hand over his. “I hope things work out, Jon. I really do.” She dunked the shot glasses in a small sink of soapy water, rinsed them in the neighboring sink, then dried each and returned them to the shelf. Jon watched her movements, noted the sharp efficiency, and felt a trace of guilt sneak up on him. “Abs… The only person keeping me connected to this place, this year, is you.” He leaned down to catch her eye. “It wasn‟t an easy decision, okay? We‟ve become really good friends, and I‟m going to miss you. But something in this city isn‟t right.

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There‟s a gap in its history, and I believe I‟m the only person who can go back and set things right.” “You?” Abby demanded, whirling on him. “Why does it have to be you? Can‟t you tell them what to do to save the bloody castle and just stay here?” Jon gave her a sad smile. “It doesn‟t work that way, Abs. I need to be there, it‟s where I belong. I never felt comfortable in this world. You of all people should know that about me.” She turned away again, gripping the back counter, and then she finally raised her head and looked at him with shimmering eyes. “You are a bloody shithead wanker. You know that?” Jon nodded and looked down at his hands clasped on the bar. “I know. I‟m sorry.” Abby threw down the rag, wiped tears from her face, and stomped out from behind the bar. She pulled him off the stool and crushed him against her in a strong-armed hug, causing him to wince a bit from the assault on his muscles, still sore from his fight with Malcolm, but he managed to get his arms around her and hug her back. “I‟m coming along to see you off when you leave,” she said in his ear. “Okay. I‟d like that.” “Good.” She held him at arm‟s length and gave him a serious look. “Because you have no choice in the matter.” Jon grinned. “Okay.”

*** The morning was unusually sunny for Algonwick in the autumn, and Jon felt a small fissure of doubt within his eagerness to experience life in the Middle Ages. He knew what he was giving up—the luxuries of the modern world; his few friends, like Abby and Harry; the ability to be open about his sexuality. At first the idea of living in the Middle Ages had been alluring. He had been excited at the thought of being inside the castle he had only known as a ruin, seeing it in its glory, experiencing life within the time period that had so engulfed his imagination ever since he could remember. Now that the day had arrived, however, Jon felt nervous. Ranulf, Gerard, and Jon had stayed up late so many nights, discussing ways to introduce Jon to King Everard. How would they convince the king Jon was the reincarnated soul of his son, Tristan? Many ideas had been offered and rejected until finally, as all of them sat slouched and exhausted one evening around Jon‟s living room, Abby, who had stopped by, suggested they simply…lie. Jon had sat up. “Lie?” Abby shrugged. “Sure. Why not? People do it all the time.” “But,” Ranulf had said with a wave of his hand, “lie about something this important?” Abby shrugged again. “Why not?”

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The three of them had looked at one another in confusion. Why had they not thought of this? “What kind of lie would we tell?” Gerard wondered. Abby thought a moment. “Does the king have a brother?” Ranulf snorted. “He is the eldest of his brothers.” “Is he close with them?” Abby asked. Ranulf narrowed his eyes. “Not especially. They live a great distance south, and Everard is suspicious of them. They are all dukes, and he believes they want to take his kingdom from him.” “Tell the king that Jon is one of their nephews or something,” Abby suggested. “Just along for a visit. Maybe you met up with him on your travels to find Malcolm.” Ranulf and Gerard exchanged a look, then both looked at Abby. “Could it be that simple?” Ranulf wondered aloud. Then his face brightened, and he looked at Gerard. “There is a family with the surname Calder far south of Algonwick, near Cecil‟s duchy.” “There you go,” Abby said and waved toward Jon. “Meet the newest addition to the Calder clan.” She smiled at them, checked her watch, then excused herself to go to the bar. And so their plan had formed from Abby‟s suggestion. They would introduce Jon under his own name and claim he was a grandnephew to the king, son of the king‟s niece, Beatrice, who had married a Calder. Ranulf assured them that King Everard mistrusted his brothers and avoided communicating with them at any cost, so their subterfuge should go undiscovered. When Jon broached the subject of the possibility of Gerard‟s execution upon his return, the man pressed his lips together, and his eyes took on a glaze of distance. Ranulf shifted uncomfortably and said, “King Everard‟s reaction is difficult to predict. He may be in a forgiving mood or angry Gerard escaped.” His gaze shifted away. “And I have no guidance on how he will receive the news that I was the one who released Gerard from his cell.” When they were alone, Jon pressed the issue, and Gerard said with reluctance, “If I must die to return the soul of my one true love to his rightful place in time, then that is a sacrifice I am willing to make.” Jon pulled his head back as if the man had struck him. “What? You‟re…you‟re sacrificing yourself so I can return to a place I don‟t even remember?” He shook his head. “I don‟t want to go if you are beheaded for it. How would I live without you now that I‟ve finally found you?” Gerard smiled and took Jon‟s hands. “Some things are greater than the meager spark that is our lives. Your destiny is out of balance, Jon. You must be returned to your rightful place, whether or not that means I must die for it to happen.”

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Jon took a deep, steadying breath, and with his inhalation he felt confident they would be able to convince the king to spare Gerard and Ranulf. He said, “Once we explain to the king what you have done, prove to him that you were freed to track down and slay the man who killed his son, the king will have to spare your life.” Gerard kissed him gently. “If only your reasoning could make it so, my love.” While they waited for Gerard to heal, they worked on Jon‟s accent and manner of speaking. Jon would listen to Gerard and Ranulf converse for a time; then he would join in and try to match their patterns of speech. After many frustrating hours spread out across a number of days, Jon was finally able to closely match the men‟s speech, and they felt ready to strike out on their journey. Now, as he stood looking out his window for the last time, Jon was beginning to doubt their plan. How was he going to convince the king of his identity? And how would he handle the surely complex line of questioning the king would level at him? And, despite his hope that Gerard and Ranulf‟s lives would be spared, Jon was afraid the king might be so filled with grief over Tristan‟s death that he may well unleash his emotions on the only two men who felt the same. The thought of losing Gerard so soon after finding his soul mate was so unfathomable to him, Jon had to stop thinking about it and turn his thoughts to the journey before him—the most remarkable journey any man had ever embarked upon. Gerard came up behind him and slipped his arms around Jon‟s waist, startling him. Gerard nuzzled his neck and whispered, “I did not mean to scare you.” “It‟s okay.” Jon leaned back against him and sighed. “I was just standing here, trying not to be afraid we‟re all heading off to our dooms.” “We can only do what we feel is right,” Gerard said. “And have faith in your choices. I do not believe fate has brought us together at last, across all these centuries, only to have the king strike us down.” Jon took a breath and turned to him, searching his face. “I wish I had your confidence.” Gerard kissed him. “I have enough for us both. We have brought justice for Tristan‟s death and, unbeknownst to the king, are returning the soul of his son to him. Our destinies are now entwined, Jon Calder, lying along the same path, and I have faith the path is long.” Jon nodded. “Okay, I‟ll try to stay positive. There‟s just so much that can go wrong. What if I slip and say something modern? What if the king is so enraged at the sight of you, he orders you executed right there?” Gerard stopped his words with a kiss, then pulled back and rested a palm against his cheek. The man‟s dark eyes searched Jon‟s for a quiet moment; then Gerard said, “I am afraid as well, my love, but with you by my side, I feel invincible. And my quest is not complete until I have seen you returned to your home in Algonwick Castle, the year 1456. I stride forward with my eyes and heart open to whatever fate awaits us there.”

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Jon kissed him, trying to draw strength from the embrace, then asked, “Are you absolutely sure you want me to go back with you? You will be the only one I know. I am going to depend on you for everything.” Gerard smiled and leaned in to kiss him yet again, a longer, more passionate kiss, his tongue soft inside Jon‟s mouth. Then he pulled back and said, “I never want to be without you by my side.” Jon smiled nervously and nodded. “All right, then. Let‟s go.” They stepped out into the hall, and Jon turned for one last look at the apartment. He let his gaze travel over the worktable, the mismatched furniture, and mementos of his life. He had sent the medallion and all his other findings off to the university for assessment, so nothing of much value remained. With a breath, Jon closed and locked his door, then followed Gerard down the steps, where they met Abby and Ranulf in the small entryway, and they all stepped outside. Jon drove to the fast-food restaurant where he had parked the day he had confronted and killed Malcolm. Looking at the low rise of the mountains a kilometer distant, he could not see any sign of the cave entrance, which probably explained why more people did not find themselves back in the 1400s. Ranulf and Gerard set off walking, Gerard carrying his sword wrapped inside the brown cloak, Jon and Abby bringing up the rear. Cars sped past on the motorway, but they were mostly hidden by the tall grass of the fields, and they traipsed on uncontested. Gerard‟s arm swung a little stiffly, but he had assured Jon the wound was healing. After the stitches had come out two days prior, Jon had inspected it each day and decided that it was indeed healing well. At the base of the mountain, Jon produced the flashlight, dented and dirty from the activity it had endured in the dungeon and the cave, and crawled into the small opening. He stood just inside the entrance and helped each of them through, Abby grousing about getting dirty as she stood up and brushed the dirt from her clothes. With everyone inside the cave, Jon turned his back and stripped out of his jeans and underwear. He shivered in the cool air and quickly pulled on the breeches and shirt he and Gerard had cut from linen, using Gerard‟s clothing as a pattern, and which Abby had helped them sew by hand. For shoes they had wrapped more linen around soles made from layers of wool. When he was dressed in his periodappropriate clothes, Jon handed Abby his folded modern clothes and his key ring. “Don‟t forget to feed Bart when you come home from the bar at night,” Jon said, a hot lump of emotion suddenly burning in his throat. “He likes roasted beef flavor best. There are some cans in my cupboard.” “Yeah, all right.” Abby took the keys and slid them in her pocket. “I‟ll give the coppers a call in a few days, start the missing-persons thing rolling.” Jon pulled her in for a tight hug. “Thanks, Abby. You have no idea how much I‟m going to miss you.” She pulled back and gave him a teary smile. “I think I do, Jon.”

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Gerard gave Abby a stiff-armed hug, and she made him promise to take care of Jon, or else. “Or else what?” he teased. “I‟ll come through that time doorway myself and kick your knighted ass all over the castle grounds, that‟s what.” Gerard kissed her cheek. “I would love for you to come spend time with us. You would best a good number of my brother knights.” He moved away, and Ranulf stepped up to take Abby‟s hands, giving her a warm smile. “You are a true lady of virtue.” Abby snorted. “You crazy old wizard.” She hugged him tight, then pushed back. “Okay, get out of here before I change my mind and make Jon stay here.” Jon handed her the flashlight and gave her a nervous smile, then turned to Gerard. The man extended his hand, and Jon took it, following him to the narrow passage that led to the back cavern of the cave. Abby followed too, lighting their way with the flashlight and then sliding through the passage. Inside the cavern, Jon heard her gasp at the sight and smell of Malcolm‟s corpse. Gerard and Ranulf stood beside the body, talking quietly, hands over their mouths and noses. “Jesus Christ, Jon,” Abby whispered, glancing at the body, then looking away again. “You did that?” Jon nodded, his face impassive as he stared at the corpse. “I did. And I‟d do it a hundred times over if I could. He deserved it.” Abby nodded, the flashlight shaking in her hand so much that Jon eased it from her grip and held it focused on Malcolm‟s body. “What are they talking about?” Abby asked quietly. “Who carries what end.” “What?” Abby asked, her voice loud and echoing around the cavern. Gerard and Ranulf started and looked over at her, and she gave them a sick smile and waved. “Sorry. Carry on.” Once the two men had returned to their conversation, Abby turned her back on them and whispered to Jon, “Why the bloody hell do they want to take the body back with them?” “To prove to the king that justice has been delivered.” Jon said. “To be honest, once we‟re on the other side, they might just lop off his head and take that with us. It‟s easier to carry.” Abby shuddered, then reached out for the flashlight. Jon handed it over to her before approaching Gerard and Ranulf next to Malcolm‟s body. “I can help carry him,” Jon said. Gerard gave him an assessing look. “Are you certain?” Jon nodded. “I struck the killing blow. I will be able to carry him back with us.”

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“As you wish,” Gerard said with a nod. “Take hold of his feet, and let us prepare.” Jon crouched and took hold of Malcolm‟s ankles, flinching at the touch of cold flesh. Gerard grabbed Malcolm‟s wrists, and together they lifted the body from the cave floor. Jon looked over his shoulder at Abby. “Take care, Abs.” “You too,” she replied. “Be careful!” “All right, then,” Gerard said, eyes narrowed with pain, no doubt from his shoulder injury and the effort involved in holding up Malcolm‟s torso. “Move toward the back of the wall with slow, even steps.” Jon nodded and glanced once more at Abby where she stood holding his folded clothes and the flashlight, securing the image of her face in his memory. With a breath, he turned to the rear wall of the cave and took a step toward his future, where it waited in the past. “Oi!” Abby called after them, and they stopped and turned back. “How will I know he‟s made it there safely and everything‟s all right?” Ranulf smiled. “You‟ll know. Read up on your history.” She grumbled something that sounded like “fucking smart-ass wizard,” and Jon turned back around. They moved farther into the cave, Malcolm‟s body swinging between them, Gerard‟s breath coming in pants, and the illumination from the flashlight fading with each step. “Is it much farther?” Jon asked with a nervous quiver to his voice, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tight and starting to ache. A strange tingle started in his belly, which he passed off as nerves, but with another step forward the tingle spread throughout his torso and into his limbs. He opened his mouth to say something, but the air was sucked out of his lungs, and he felt himself yanked forward as a brilliant white light blossomed within the darkness. He had a momentary sensation of weightlessness, the floor seeming to fall away beneath his feet, and he tightened his grip on Malcolm‟s ankles. A tide of dizziness swept through him, and he stumbled, falling forward into the light, and then he found himself tossed onto the floor of the cave, losing his grip on Malcolm‟s body and gasping for breath as the world spun around him. Jon got to his hands and knees, gulping the breath back into his lungs. His equilibrium slowly returned, and he looked around, squinting in the darkness of the cave. The light from the torch Abby held apparently didn‟t reach back this far. The cavern was pitch-black, reminding him of being trapped in the dungeon. He shuddered at the memory as he climbed unsteadily to his feet and stumbled over what felt like someone‟s leg. “Oi, sorry,” he said. He reached down, then jerked his hand away as he touched cold flesh. He had tripped on Malcolm. “Bloody hell!” “Jon?” Gerard‟s voice came from his left, and Jon let out a breath of relief. “Here!” he called. “I‟m here. Where‟s the light?”

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“Ranulf has the lantern,” Gerard replied, “but we have no flint to strike a flame. Come toward my voice, but mind where you step.” Jon shuffled his feet as he moved slowly forward into the dark. Gerard continued to talk to him, guiding him on with his voice, and when Jon finally felt the touch of the man‟s hand, he grabbed tight. Gerard pulled Jon to him and kissed him in the dark. “Did we…?” Jon asked, afraid to finish his question. “Aye,” Gerard replied. “We did. Keep hold of my hand, and we shall go through the passage to the front of the cave, where there is more light.” Gerard led him through the narrow passage and then to the mouth of the cave. Jon could see the vague outline of Gerard ahead of him and then Ranulf, crouching as he struck stones together to make a spark. A piece of dry kindling caught the spark, and Ranulf used the flame to light the low wick of a candle within a metal lantern. Gerard squeezed his arm as Ranulf moved toward the rear of the cave again, the lantern held out before him. “We are going to remove Malcolm‟s head to take back with us. Wait here.” Jon grimaced and nodded, turning to peer out the small opening brilliant with sunlight and ignoring the hacking sounds he could hear echoing from the rear of the cave. He thought of Abby, wondered if she remembered how tricky it was to shift his car into gear, then stubbornly pushed away thoughts of the world he had left behind. He was now a member of the English Middle Ages—he did not know what a car was, let alone a mobile phone or a computer. He needed to focus on his new reality and let his old life fade away. Approaching footsteps made him turn to look over his shoulder, and he saw Gerard holding an object wrapped in a spare linen shirt they had stitched together for this purpose. Gerard nodded once and said, “It is done. Let us leave this place.” One by one they crawled out the small cave mouth and into the sunlight. Jon exited last and stood on the rocks, looking out on the land with a sharp inhalation of surprise. Gone was the motorway, the fast-food rest stop, and the construction project on the moors. In place of those things, Jon found a lush green forest divided by a rutted dirt road. Birds called and deer grazed in the meadow below. Off in the distance, Jon could see the tops of four castle towers glowing in the sunlight above the trees. “Is that… Oh my God, is that Algonwick?” he gasped. “That it is,” Ranulf replied with a smile and opened his arms wide. “You have come home, Jon Calder.” Jon smiled and squeezed Gerard‟s hand. “I‟m home.”

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Chapter Twenty-nine They blended with the rest of the foot traffic to pass through the main gates into the inner courtyard uncontested, and Jon paused to stare at the castle standing tall, regal, and solid. The flagstone courtyard echoed with the footsteps of the many villagers and castle servants, their voices swelling and fading around them. Horses snorted and whinnied, pulling wagons of goods or riders on horseback as they clopped past. It was amazing to see the castle thriving like this. After all the time he had dug and poked through its bones, to finally see it intact was difficult to put into perspective. He lowered his gaze and found Gerard and Ranulf had failed to see him stop. He hurried to catch up with the men. Ranulf led them around the side of the castle to the kitchen door, and Jon had to grin when Gerard turned to look back at him over his shoulder as he pointed at the stables standing exactly where the man had told him they were. Stepping inside the kitchen, Jon gasped at the suffocating heat of the fireplaces and looked around at the dozen women furiously preparing food—plucking, cutting, chopping, kneading, and mixing. The center stone counter was used as a chopping block, and he jumped as an older woman, gnarled fingers gripping the handle of a knife shaped like a small ax, whacked the head off a chicken. Gerard approached a young woman, just a girl, really, who worked apart from the rest. He touched her shoulder, and she started and turned to glare into the depths of his hood. When she saw his face, she let out a gasp and threw her arms around his neck. This, he figured, must be Gerard‟s sister, Eleanor. Jon followed Ranulf‟s lead and stepped closer to the two, hearing the furtive whispers among the rest of the women in the kitchen. The relaxed joy radiating from Gerard‟s face soothed Jon‟s nerves, and he felt that maybe, just maybe, the man was right and everything might work out. “Where have you been?” Eleanor hissed, pulling Gerard off to a corner of the kitchen. “On a quest,” Gerard said. “In search of Tristan‟s true killer.” “The king has men out looking for you,” Eleanor said, glancing at Ranulf and Jon before looking back at Gerard. Gerard nodded and touched his sister‟s cheek. “I have returned with justice served for the prince‟s death. I have returned victorious.” Eleanor looked at Jon, her sharp eyes looking him up and down. “Him? He‟s not half as tall as the stories of Malcolm claim.” Jon raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Me? No, I‟m not Malcolm, I‟m…” Jon heard how modern he sounded and stopped talking. He was nervous and terrified

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and excited, and he had forgotten to follow Gerard and Ranulf‟s patterns of speech. He shifted his feet nervously as Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. “He‟s a visitor from a kingdom far south,” Gerard said and took Eleanor‟s hands, bringing her gaze back to his face. “Forgive me for my haste, but we need to deliver a package to the king.” He bent to kiss Eleanor‟s cheek. “I shall see you after.” “Oh, brother, do be careful,” Eleanor said. “Might you not want to escape with your life while you can? You could take refuge in the woods and from there make your way to Audenbaine or farther south.” “I must see the king and show him that Tristan‟s death has been avenged.” Gerard gave her a reassuring smile, but underneath it Jon could see the concern the man held hidden within his heart. Eleanor saw it as well, for a sadness passed across her face as she watched Gerard turn and walk away, raising the hood of his cloak as he headed down a long hallway. Ranulf nodded to Eleanor before following after Gerard, and Jon hurried to keep up, his heart hammering in his chest and a feeling of imbalance forcing him to struggle to focus on the backs of the men before him. He had to stay connected to the moment and not become overwhelmed by everything around him. Maybe, just maybe, if Gerard‟s confidence proved misguided, he could speak up and sway the king‟s decision. He was, after all, the vessel for the soul of the king‟s son. “The king usually receives visitors by appointment at this time of day,” Ranulf explained to Jon over his shoulder. “We shall find the royal couple in the greeting chamber.” As Jon followed Gerard and Ranulf down the hallway, he stared at the arches and tall ceilings, the long stone staircases and the small decorative niches filled with furnishings of dark, polished wood or shimmering suits of armor. It was difficult to put everything he was seeing into perspective, to see it as Algonwick, the rubble he had picked through for so many months. But here it was, whole and vibrant, a living entity more amazing than he had imagined. They came to a stop outside a set of tall double doors, and two castle guards stationed to either side lowered their staffs to block their entry. Ranulf drew back his hood and asked to be granted entry. The guards looked surprised, then suspicious, their eyes shifting from Gerard‟s large, concealed form beneath the hood of his cloak to Jon standing mute and pale behind, and back to Ranulf. “I am the king‟s trusted advisor,” Ranulf said, his tone impatient, and the guards, after exchanging nervous glances, finally stepped aside and allowed them to pass. The doors swung open, and Jon followed Gerard and Ranulf into the large greeting chamber, where he took in the richly woven decorative tapestries and paintings of rulers long dead. The rug beneath his feet was soft, and hand-tied tassels lay perfectly combed out every few steps. He was so distracted by the finery around him, he nearly bowled over Gerard and Ranulf when the men stopped and dropped to one knee.

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Jon stood gaping over Gerard and Ranulf‟s backs at the king and queen seated before him, the couple‟s expressions a mixture of anger and mild contempt. He quickly copied their movements, falling to one knee and bowing his head, but not before seeing a look of anguished recognition and then surprise cross the queen‟s lined features. “Your esteemed Majesties,” Ranulf said as he rose to his feet. “I know I have been away for quite some time, but I return with good news.” Jon kept his head lowered but raised his eyes, able to see the king shift position in his throne as he tried to peer around Ranulf to where Gerard and Jon still knelt with heads bowed, Gerard‟s hood masking his identity. “You have been missing for a great span of time, Ranulf,” the king said, his voice deep and heavy with grief and suspicion. “I had feared the prisoner, Sir Gerard, had taken you hostage.” Ranulf‟s chuckle sounded forced and nervous as Jon‟s stomach rolled queasily. He closed his eyes and breathed, trying to calm himself and focus on Ranulf‟s words as the man spoke. “I have traveled many leagues, Your Majesty, and have seen many places.” Ranulf took a step closer to the royal couple. “And I bring to you news of the fate of the murderer known as Malcolm, the man who struck Prince Tristan‟s mortal blow.” The king shot out of his seat and pushed Ranulf aside, crossing to where Jon and Gerard still knelt with heads lowered. His eyes glittered with hatred as he reached down to yank Gerard to his feet. “And is this the cursed bastard who murdered my son?” Gerard‟s hood fell back, and the king let out a shout, his head jerking back in surprise and his hands gripping Gerard‟s arms as the men stared at each other. Jon stood up, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and a cold tingle spreading across the back of his skull. “Sir Gerard,” the king said, his voice quiet, laced with grief and anger. “You dare to return to my castle and present yourself to me as though all has been forgiven?” “I return with this.” Gerard forced himself free of the king‟s grasp and held up the shirt wrapped around Malcolm‟s head. He then peeled away layers of linen to reveal the bloated, gray face within. The queen made a sound of disgust and turned away, her eyes pained and her fingers gripping the arms of her chair. Gerard looked into the king‟s face and said, “This is what I bring to lay at your feet—the head of the man who murdered the prince, the head of the cowardly thief known as Malcolm.” The king nodded, his eyes moving between Gerard‟s stoic expression and the gaping, open-eyed stare of the head in Gerard‟s hand. He took a step back, then another, his eyes fixed on Gerard as he clasped his hands behind his back. Jon watched, feeling helpless as the scene played out before him. He was from another time, where justice was delivered through the courts following an investigation. Here, in this time, King Everard had the final word on a person‟s guilt and

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punishment, and none would think to stop him if the king decided to execute Gerard on the spot. “You return with the head of the man who held the blade,” the king said, turning his back on Gerard, his hands still clasped behind him and his voice quiet, thrumming with anger. “But yet you were the one tasked with training my son in the skills of battle. And you were the only member of the Royal Guard with him that day he received the fatal blow.” Tension mounted within the room, and Jon‟s gaze jumped from Gerard to the king to Ranulf and back again, trying to gauge an appropriate response. He could not just stand by and let the man he loved—the man he had loved in two lifetimes— be killed to satisfy King Everard‟s temper and skewed vision of justice. But what could he, Jonathan Calder from the year 2006, do here in the fifteenth century? “I was all those things and more, Your Majesty,” Gerard said, his voice thick with emotion. He lowered his arm and released his grip on the material surrounding Malcolm‟s head, dropping the gruesome offering to the floor. The sound of it striking the stone at Gerard‟s feet made Jon, Ranulf, and the queen jump. The king merely turned his head to peer over his shoulder. “More?” King Everard asked. “Prince Tristan meant much to me as well, Your Majesty,” Gerard said, and Jon felt a mild panic as he wondered how much of Gerard‟s relationship with Tristan the man was going to reveal. “He was a good man with a just heart, and he did not deserve his fate. I considered him not just the prince whom I served with unflagging loyalty, but a good friend.” Moving faster than Jon expected for a man his age, King Everard drew his sword and turned. With an anguished howl, heartbreaking to hear, the man crossed the room and poised his sword to skewer Gerard‟s neck and end his life. “No!” Jon cried, hearing his word echoed by the queen. He took a step forward and raised a hand as if he might be able to stop the blade through sheer force of will. The king stopped with his blade hovering beneath Gerard‟s chin, the point trembling at the hollow of his throat. Gerard stood motionless, eyes fixed on King Everard‟s face, lips tight, a single tear coursing down his cheek. “Everard!” The queen‟s voice was soft, refined, yet unmistakably commanding. “Hold your blade.” “This is the man whose carelessness allowed our son to be taken from us,” the king said through stained and gritted teeth, never taking his eyes from Gerard‟s stoic face. “It is my right as king and father.” The queen stepped down, her gown rustling as she approached to lay a hand on her husband‟s shoulder. “But it will not bring our son back to us. Striking down Sir Gerard will merely add another body to the pile left by the murderous Malcolm.” The queen squeezed his shoulder, the jeweled rings on her fingers catching the light of the torches. “Let go your grief, my love, and see that others around you are suffering as well.” She lifted her hand and stepped around the king to look into

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Gerard‟s face. “Do you not see the grief that thrives within Sir Gerard‟s gaze? He has lost someone close to his heart as well.” She glanced at Jon, her gaze holding his a moment, searching his face, before she turned back to the king. “There must be punishments handed out—of this we are of the same mind—but I do not condone spilling more blood to feed the anguish and grief left behind by the murdering Malcolm.” Time seemed to stop, and Jon held his breath for a long, tense moment. He was able to see King Everard‟s face from where he stood, and he watched a flurry of emotions cross the man‟s features all the while still holding the sword to Gerard‟s neck. With just the slightest move, a quick thrust, he could pierce Gerard‟s throat and leave him to bleed to death on the floor. Jon felt tears sting his eyes and blinked them back, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to hope that he and Gerard could be together in this century, in this lifetime. Finally the king lowered his sword and dropped his chin to his chest as he stepped back to sit heavily in the grand chair, the sword falling with a clang on the stone floor beside him. Drawing in a shaky breath as King Everard drew in one of his own, Jon felt a wave of dizzying relief sweep through him. “I shall spare your life, Sir Gerard,” the king said in a voice ruined by grief, “though you could not do the same for my son.” “If I could trade my breath for the prince‟s grave, know that I would without hesitation,” Gerard said, and a tear spilled from Jon‟s eye at the emotion he heard in the man‟s voice. King Everard turned away, his anguished gaze falling on Ranulf, who stood silently to the king‟s right, halfway between Gerard and the throne. “And what of you, trusted advisor? Where have you been keeping yourself for so long a time?” Ranulf cleared his throat and, trading a nervous glance with Jon, took a step forward and bowed his head. “Your Majesty, at the risk of suffering your wrath, I must make a confession.” King Everard narrowed his eyes as the queen, her gaze catching Jon‟s and lingering on his face for a long moment, moved to take her place beside her husband. His voice tinged with exhaustion and impatience, the king growled, “What further could you do to rile my ire than accompany Sir Gerard to stand before me?” “I joined Sir Gerard on his quest to avenge the prince‟s death,” Ranulf said. He took a breath and lifted his chin. “In fact, Your Majesty, it was I who opened the door to Sir Gerard‟s cell and convinced him to accompany me on the journey.” Silence fell on the room, tension seething within it as they awaited King Everard‟s reaction. The king stared at a spot on the floor, his eyes squinted and glazed with tears. Jon shifted his weight from one foot to the other, curling his fingers into fists and opening them again as the man absorbed this news and Ranulf‟s life hung in the balance. “You were the one who freed Sir Gerard?” the king asked.

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“Aye, Your Majesty, but only because the journey I intended to make would be fraught with danger, and I knew of no other who harbored so strong a desire to deliver justice for Prince Tristan‟s death.” Ranulf paused for breath. “I beg Your Majesty to understand that my intentions were good, though my actions might seem otherwise.” King Everard leaned forward and rested his head in his hands a moment before getting to his feet and snatching his sword up from the floor. He strode to stand before Ranulf and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking back his head to expose the vulnerable skin of his throat against which he pressed the edge of his sword. “I could cut your throat right here and now,” he hissed, his gray eyes locked on Ranulf‟s wide, dark eyes filled with terror. “You are my most trusted advisor. You have heard all my plans, my strategies, my grief. You alone are privy to my deepest thoughts and insecurities. And this is how you prove your allegiance to me? By freeing the man responsible for the death of my only son?” “Stop!” Jon shouted, unable to keep silent any longer. He swallowed past a lump of dread in his throat as the king snapped his head around to glare at him, still holding the sword at Ranulf‟s throat. Jon blinked and took a breath, reminding himself to follow their patterns of speech as he took a shaky step forward. “Please, lower your blade and consider his intentions instead of his actions.” King Everard released Ranulf with a huff, lowered his sword and, keeping the blade at his side, slowly approached Jon. Fear pricked along Jon‟s scalp and tingled through his limbs as the king advanced on him. The man was impressive in his authority and terrifying in temperament. Whatever decision he came to would be their final verdict, and as his heart hammered in his chest, Jon drew in a breath and lifted his chin, quite aware that these next few moments would seal his fate in this century. “Who is this man who speaks with such an odd accent?” King Everard asked, his voice quiet but edged with violence. “And why does he believe he can command my actions within my own kingdom?” Before Jon could reply, Ranulf spoke up, his voice trembling from his brush with death. “Your Majesty, this man assisted us on our journey and proved key to our capture and execution of the prince‟s murderer. He is, in fact, your grandnephew.” The king turned to look over his shoulder at Ranulf. “My grandnephew?” “Aye, Your Majesty,” Ranulf said with a nod. “He is the son of your brother Cecil‟s eldest daughter, Beatrice. He hails from a city far south of here, which is why his way of speaking seems strange to our ears.” King Everard turned back to look at Jon‟s face, his gaze boring into him, shrewd and assessing, missing nothing as he picked out the tears in Jon‟s eyes, the slight tremble of his lip, the nervous furrow of his brow. The king stepped around and behind him, and Jon kept his gaze ahead, staring at a tapestry hung on the wall, aware of the sword the man held at his side. He wondered how the blade

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would feel as it pierced his back, slicing through skin, dividing organs, cracking bone. He wondered if the blade would feel cool or if his blood would heat it as it passed through him, and how long it would take him to die as his blood spilled out on the stone floor. “What is your name?” the king demanded from over Jon‟s shoulder. “Jonathan Calder,” he replied, then dropped to one knee, bowing his head and adding quickly, “Your Majesty.” “Indeed,” the king replied, still standing behind him. Jon could feel the man‟s gaze like a sunburn, hot and prickly, on the back of his neck, and beads of sweat moistened his brow and upper lip. “Beatrice married into the Calders at last, did she?” Gerard spoke up from across the room, diverting the king‟s attention from his question. “Truth be told, Your Majesty, it was Jonathan Calder who struck down the murdering thief.” “Is this true?” the king asked, moving around to stand before Jon again. A long silence fell across the hall, and Jon dared to lift his gaze, finding the man staring down at him. “I know you can speak, for I have heard you.” “Oh, sorry, were you speaking to…?” Jon heard how he sounded and could see from the king‟s expression that he was speaking too quickly and using modern language. He stood and bowed his head, then took a breath and said, “Pardon, Your Majesty, but I am nervous at meeting my granduncle for the first time.” King Everard nodded and narrowed his eyes. “He does have the look of a Fysher about him.” The king stared at him a moment longer. “And how is my brother Cecil? Is he still rotund?” Jon cleared his throat. “I have not seen Grandfather Cecil in some time, but the last I did, he was thin as a sapling, not rotund.” Jon saw Ranulf‟s shoulders relax and let out a quiet breath. Ranulf had given him in-depth detail on King Everard‟s brother Cecil, and one of those details had been the man‟s oddly thin body. There was a long silence as the king returned to his throne and shared a look with the queen as he returned his sword to its scabbard. Jon watched the interaction between the king and queen, saw how they communicated with subtle glances and nods, and realized he had much more to learn about medieval Algonwick than he had expected. He allowed himself a moment to breathe and forced himself to focus and not forget the pattern of speech. King Everard turned to face the three of them again and nodded. His gaze locked with Jon‟s a moment, studying him, and then he finally said, “I bid you welcome, grandnephew Jonathan Calder. You may stay as our guest.” Jon bowed his head, letting out a quiet breath of relief. “I thank you for your grace and kindness, Your Majesty.” The king nodded back, then turned to Gerard. “As for you, Sir Gerard.” Gerard took a step closer and bowed his head. “I understand your intentions for following

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Ranulf Godfrey on his quest for justice, but still, you were imprisoned under my command, and you escaped against my wishes. You failed in your duty to protect my son—my only son—and though you have seen to it that justice was delivered to his murderer, you must still pay retribution for your failure of duty and for your escape.” Jon felt his stomach tighten in fear. Had the king showed Gerard mercy by sparing his life only to deliver a worse punishment? “I understand, Your Majesty,” Gerard said. “Whatever punishment you decree, I will accept without protest.” King Everard was silent a moment, stroking his beard, his gray eyes coolly regarding Gerard. Finally he took a breath and said, “You are to be removed from the Royal Guard as of this moment. In sparing your life, I condemn you for six months to the dungeon from which you escaped.” Jon‟s stomach plummeted, leaving behind a cold, empty space, and he felt he might pass out. He stared at Gerard‟s face, but the man was stoic and showed no emotion. Instead Gerard bowed his head and placed his fist over his heart. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” The queen spoke then, reaching out to touch the king‟s arm as she looked between Jon and Gerard, her expression calm and insightful. “After serving his imprisonment, Sir Gerard will act as an ambassador between Algonwick and Cecil‟s duchy, and spend his time acclimating Master Calder to our castle.” She turned to her husband. “If that is approved by you, my king.” The king slid his narrowed eyes toward the queen, then looked away again before giving a slight, reluctant nod. Jon felt the spark of an uneasy relief within him and had to force himself to keep from looking toward Gerard. “I bid you welcome, Jonathan Calder,” the queen said and, stepping down from her seat, approached him and held out her hand. Jon took her hand, surprised at the cool softness, and dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “Ranulf Godfrey will help you find your way to your quarters.” Ranulf stepped forward and bowed his head slightly. “Of course, my queen.” The king fixed Ranulf with a cool look. “Once you have shown Master Calder the way to his room, come to my chambers. I shall deal with your deception in private.” The king pushed himself from his seat and strode toward the door, the queen following, her gaze lingering once again on Jon‟s face. “Guards,” the king called, “take Sir Gerard to the dungeon.” Jon turned turned to look into Gerard‟s eyes, panic singing through his veins. He found Gerard gazing at him, his face calm, serene. Gerard managed to say before the guards took him away, “All shall be well. Ranulf will be your guide until I am freed.” Jon fought back tears as he watched Gerard led away and dropped his gaze, struggling to control his emotions. The doors closed behind the guards, leaving Jon and Ranulf alone in the room, and Jon doubled over, one hand on his stomach as he

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fought to catch his breath. Six months in that dungeon would change Gerard. He would be a different man, if he lived through the ordeal. Ranulf placed a hand on Jon‟s back, and he let out a quiet gasp of anguish, then straightened up to look in Ranulf‟s face, blurred now by his tears. “Ranulf, oh my God,” Jon whispered. “Six months!” “Hush now, Jon,” Ranulf hissed in response and took his arm to lead him out of the room and through stone corridors, which all looked the same, leaving Jon disoriented. “We must get you to your chambers so you may compose yourself.” “But Gerard…” “He can handle himself,” Ranulf said, turning to climb a long, winding stone staircase. “He got off quite well, actually, and eventually the two of you will be able to be together. Come. I will deliver you to your chambers, and then I must go meet with King Everard myself.”

*** That evening, Jon stood at the narrow window, watching the sun set, arms crossed before him, a heavy fur draped over his shoulders. He had cried as he bathed himself in the tub by the fireplace, the flames of the burning logs warming the jugs of rinse water and keeping the chill from the room. Thick tapestries on the walls kept out a great deal of the cold, but it would take some time for him to become accustomed to the lack of central heating. Even though his apartment back home had always been cold, the rooms here made it seem downright tropical. Home. The word resonated within his chest, ringing against the ache of being separated from Gerard for so long. He now had only Ranulf to guide him through the treacherous daily traps of this strange century. And yet, even now, beneath the grief and the anxiety and the sense of misplacement, a quiet, comforting feeling of homecoming kindled a spark of hope inside him. If he could relax, he would be able to learn the placement of rooms and hallways as he needed them. But first, he had to learn to relax. A soft knock pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked over his shoulder. “Come in.” Ranulf entered the room, his face pale and drawn, his movements stiff. He tried to smile reassuringly, but it came out pained and unsettling. “Ranulf?” Jon dropped the fur and crossed the room, his fresh linen clothes soft against his skin. “What‟s wrong? Are you all right?” “I met with King Everard and received my punishment for helping Gerard escape,” Ranulf said. He eased himself onto a settee and let out a breath. “I believe I came away fortunate, I must say. I was given twenty lashes.” “What?” Jon exclaimed and took a step back. “He whipped you?” “These are different times than those you are accustomed to, Jon,” Ranulf said. “Justice and punishments are delivered without trial or pretense. If you ask me, Gerard and I both are fortunate to still be drawing breath.”

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“Ranulf, I am so sorry.” Jon knelt before the man and looked up into his pale, pained face. “Is there anything I can do?” Ranulf withdrew a pouch from his pocket and gave him a tired smile. “Do you think you could apply this salve to my wounds? It‟s my own mixture and should soothe the sting and hasten healing.” Jon took the pouch and smiled. “Of course.” He circled around behind the man and helped Ranulf slip the cloak from his shoulders and shrug out of his linen shirt. The sight of the glistening red welts across Ranulf‟s back made him flinch, but he took a breath to steel himself, scooped some of the thick, foul-smelling salve from the pouch, and covered the wounds with gentle strokes. Ranulf hissed at each touch of the healing mix but sat still until Jon had finished administering his welts. After helping Ranulf settle back into his shirt and cloak, Jon pulled up a chair and sat before the man. They both leaned forward, heads almost touching as they talked. “Do you think Gerard will survive six months in the dungeon?” Jon asked. “It‟s such a horrible place. Do you know what that length of time in one of those cells could mean? The lack of hygiene and proper diet or exercise, not to mention the rats carrying disease.” He had to stop and take a breath to slow his pounding heart. “There is a good chance he may not live through this.” “Gerard has a very strong will, and his love for you will keep him well.” Jon blinked back tears. “Six months seems like a lifetime.” Ranulf smiled and reached out to squeeze Jon‟s hands. “Do not worry, Jon. I shall guide you through the coming months.” Jon smiled and squeezed Ranulf‟s hands in response. “I would be lost without you.” “No, Jon. It is Algonwick that would be lost without you.”

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Chapter Thirty Jon stood at the window, the breeze cool enough on his damp skin for him to pull the satin sheet tighter around his body. He had taken a bath after spending a long day discussing the lack of spring rain with King Everard and touring the riverbanks, talking with the man about the possibility of a dispersal system that could supply the surrounding farms with water in case of a drought. The king had been surprisingly open to Jon‟s idea of an aqueduct, having learned about the Roman‟s system during his studies, and tasked him with working up a sketch to present to the kingdom‟s masons. Now, however, Jon stood watching the last rays of sun color the sky, his entire body seeming to buzz with anticipation. Gerard had been released that afternoon, and he had gone to his sister‟s house to clean up before returning to the castle as Jon‟s invited guest. Jon drew in a breath as the last light of the day turned to dark, and let it out just as a knock sounded on his door. “Come in,” he called, turning to look across the room, his heart beating faster as his cock hardened with anticipation. Gerard stepped into the room, long hair still damp from a bath, his fresh linen shirt open to reveal the dark hair on his chest. He was thin, his face drawn and very pale, but his eyes were alight with passion, and Jon rushed to him, stifling a sob as the sheet slipped from his shoulders to expose his nude body. Jon threw his arms around him, startled by the sharp feel of his shoulders beneath his shirt. “You‟re so thin,” he said. “Did they not feed you the last six months?” Gerard held him at arm‟s length and smiled. “It was not the food you have been served. But fear not, Jon, I shall regain my heft and strength soon.” Jon slipped his arms around Gerard‟s neck and hugged him tight, feeling the hard length of the man‟s erection against his thigh. “I can‟t believe I‟m holding you. I‟ve thought of nothing and no one else every minute of every day since we came here,” he whispered in Gerard‟s ear. “I‟ve missed you so.” “The only thing that got me through these six months was thoughts of you,” Gerard replied and kissed him. Jon was eager to taste the man‟s skin and pulled Gerard‟s shirt over his head, letting out a breath at the sight of the man‟s ribs visible beneath his hair. “Oh, my love.” Jon trailed his fingers over the flat surface of his belly, then loosened his breeches and pushed them down. The glorious length of Gerard‟s erection nestled within the palm of Jon‟s hand as it always had, and assured that all would be well, Jon leaned into him for a kiss. Their tongues tangled together, the whisper of Gerard‟s beard soft against Jon‟s jaw, and Gerard eased them toward the bed,

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taking slow steps so as not to break their embrace. Moving slowly, they lay side by side across the down mattress, kissing and touching. As Gerard gripped his cock, Jon moaned and reached down to take hold of his hard-on as well. Jon shifted his position on the bed to lie with his head at Gerard‟s waist, presenting the man with his erection as he took Gerard‟s cock in his mouth. He savored the slight taste of sweat hidden beneath the harsh lye soap the man had used at Eleanor‟s house, massaging the loose sac of Gerard‟s balls as he slid his mouth up and down the shaft. Gerard pursed his lips around the heart-shaped head of Jon‟s cock and sucked hard, the sensation pushing a gasp from Jon‟s lips. Jon pulled back the foreskin to expose the shining head of Gerard‟s cock and returned the favor, earning a gasp in response. Gerard eased Jon onto his back and turned around to straddle him, dropping the furry globes of his balls into Jon‟s mouth as he lifted Jon‟s legs to expose his ass. Jon sucked the velvet balls as he stroked Gerard‟s cock, moaning encouragement as Gerard drilled his tongue into Jon‟s asshole. Jon paused to suck a finger, then reached back to slip it into the clenching pucker of Gerard‟s back passage. It wouldn‟t be long now, Jon guessed, and moments later Gerard proved him right. The knight rolled off him and stepped down from the bed. Jon‟s gaze was held by the hypnotic sway of Gerard‟s cock as he crossed the floor to retrieve a small, soft-skinned bag from his clothes, then returned to the bed. “I need to feel you inside me,” Gerard said, his voice deep with lust. “The thought of being with you tonight, here in this castle, free of the dungeon walls, was what allowed me to endure the last six months. I want to carry your seed within me as I sleep my first night as a free man inside the walls of Algonwick once again.” Jon closed his eyes and sighed at the warm touch of the lard Gerard spread along his cock. The man used the leftover on his fingers to grease his back passage, then straddled Jon‟s hips and slowly impaled himself on the rigid spike of Jon‟s dick. “Oh God,” Jon whispered as his cock burrowed slowly into the hot embrace of Gerard‟s ass. “You‟re so fucking tight.” “You fit so well inside me,” Gerard moaned, and as he finally settled his buttocks on Jon‟s pelvis, he leaned down to kiss him. “You fill an emptiness that I never realized I carried within me. I love you, Jon, with all my heart and soul. We shall never be apart again.” “I love you too, Gerard. You are my blood and my breath.” They kissed awhile, Jon fully joined with Gerard, and then the knight eased up and lowered himself once again on Jon‟s cock, moving slowly at first. Jon closed his eyes and reached up to pinch Gerard‟s nipples as the man rode him faster. Gerard‟s cock bounced with his movements, slapping against Jon‟s chest and leaving a slick of precum behind. Gerard had used just the right amount of lard to allow for a bit of friction that summoned Jon‟s orgasm within minutes.

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“Oh God, I‟m going to come,” Jon gasped. “Kiss me, my love.” Gerard kissed him as Jon‟s cock bucked and pulsed within him, and Jon wondered how he had ever lived without Gerard in his life. Gerard sat firmly on Jon‟s spent but unyielding cock, his hips rolling slightly as he worked the hard length deeper into him and Jon stroked Gerard‟s cock. Gerard closed his eyes as Jon‟s strokes quickened, and as the knight opened his mouth in a silent gasp, Jon parted his lips and caught the first shot of his lover‟s seed on his tongue. The rest of his release splashed across Jon‟s chest and belly, and then Gerard lowered his head to breathe heavily in Jon‟s ear. “You have made me complete,” Gerard said and kissed his lips. “I left this place a broken man, but you have touched a place deep inside that no other could reach. You saved my life, Jon Calder.” Tears filled Jon‟s eyes, and he pulled Gerard‟s face down for a kiss. “You saved me too. I had nothing before I met you, just the ruins of this castle. You are the love of my life.” Gerard eased himself off Jon‟s cock and used a silk cloth to clean them both before coaxing Jon beneath the covers with him. Gerard lay beside him and put his arm around Jon, the crackle of the fire across the room easing him to sleep. And Jon did not dream.

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Epilogue The mist was heavy, and because of it, the grass of the meadow was wet. Jon tried to see through the fog, but it was too thick, so he continued to walk in the general direction where he knew his destination lay. The air was coarse and polluted, and he wondered how he had ever managed to breathe when he had lived here. After more than an hour‟s walk, he stood at the bottom of the familiar low rise, his linen breeches soaked from the wet grass and his hands on his hips as he gazed up at the dark outline of Algonwick castle. The four towers stood tall and proud, their tops obscured by the heavy fog, and the massive front doors of the castle were just being opened for the day‟s tours. He took a satisfied breath and let it out. Instead of ruins, he would manage to leave behind a grand relic. The aqueduct was still intact, and the driveway to the parking lot ran beneath one of the tall arches. Jon thought about the plans he, Ranulf, and Gerard had devised for the irrigation system, drawing on the ancient Romans for inspiration to allow for crop irrigation from the nearby river. Apparently their idea would work. A shuttle coming from the parking lot pulled to a stop beside him, and the door hissed open, the older man driving it smiling out at him. “Care for a lift to town, young man?” Jon smiled at him. “I haven‟t any money to pay you.” The driver shrugged. “I need to drive into town and bring a group back anyway. Hop on board.” Jon climbed into the shuttle and talked with the driver about the area as the man drove. He told Jon how the town flourished from tourism because of the castle, one of the better maintained in the area, as well as a wealth of richly soiled farmland. Jon felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he stepped off the shuttle at the corner near his old apartment building and waved his thanks to the driver. The town of Algonwick thrived around him, the downtown area bustling with people, mostly tourists with cameras who gave his linen shirt and breeches only curious glances as they passed. “Hey, man,” someone said, and Jon started. He turned to find two young men standing behind him. From their accent he could tell they were American, and the taller of the two was holding a map with a camera around his neck. The man smiled as he looked Jon up and down, taking in his clothes. “You work at the castle?” Jon smiled and nodded. “That I do, good sir.”

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“Great costume. Hey, we‟re trying to get there. Can you, like, point us in the right direction?” Jon gestured up the road. “The castle lies not far up that road, but if you wait at that stop, a motorized shuttle will ferry you there for a nominal fee.” “Dude, you rock.” The men moved off, and Jon smiled and shook his head as he walked along the street toward his old apartment building. He counted three stories up and over to his windows, surprisingly saddened to see plants lined up on the windowsills. In the nine months he had been away, someone had moved in and made it their own. He wondered idly what had become of his computer and clothes and furnishings, then decided it was a moot point. Abby would have donated or sold it all, as he had requested. Abby. He walked back to the corner and turned to look down the street, sighing with relief at the sight of the sign for the Roost still hanging out over the sidewalk. At least some things did not change. He made his way down the sidewalk, nodding to the tourists and even pausing to have his picture taken with a family. At the door to the Roost, Jon paused to take a breath, then stepped inside. The bar had not changed, and this consistency sent a wave of relief through him. It was empty this time of day, but he could hear a woman humming from the back office. He stepped up to the bar and called out, “Hello?” The humming stopped, and Abby poked her head out the door of the office. “Oi! Sorry, I didn‟t hear you come in. We‟re not open yet, mate.” “Are you certain?” Jon asked, moving closer to where Abby stood. She gave him a half smile and tipped her head, a sure sign she was getting annoyed. “Pretty sure I know the time my own bar opens.” A fist of sadness closed around his heart. Abby did not recognize him. His journey to the Middle Ages had erased all traces of his life in this time. Ranulf had warned him this might happen. His soul, the reincarnated soul of Tristan, truly belonged in 1456 and could not have lived in both times. Once he had gone back to the Algonwick of old, his life and accomplishments in this time had vanished. “So you‟re the owner,” Jon said with a sad smile. “Good for you.” Abby sighed and stepped behind the bar. “Well, part owner. My girlfriend is coowner.” She put her hands on the bar. “Can I get you a drink before you leave?” Jon chuckled. It was such a typical Abby way of being gracious while reminding someone they were imposing on her. “No, thanks. I just—I wanted to stop in and see the place. A friend of mine told me about it, and I‟m only in town for the afternoon.” “Yeah? Who‟s your friend?” “Oh, just someone who‟s been here once or twice.” “Hon, where‟s the inventory we just did last night?” a woman asked, and Jon and Abby turned as Corrine, Abby‟s psychic girlfriend, stepped out of the office,

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carrying a clipboard holding a number of papers that she flipped through. Corrine looked up, and when her gaze fell on Jon, she cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look. “Hon?” Abby said and took a few steps toward her. “You okay?” Corrine blinked and looked at Abby blankly a moment, then smiled and said, “Yeah, sure. Just…startled is all. I didn‟t know you had a friend out here.” Abby glanced at Jon as she said, “Well, he‟s actually someone else‟s friend who told him about our bar. Thought he would come see it for himself.” Corrine nodded, smiling thinly. “I see.” She narrowed her eyes at Jon and said, “You look very familiar. Have we met before?” Jon smiled. “I don‟t believe so. I think I just have one of those faces, that‟s all.” Abby took the clipboard from Corrine‟s hands. “I‟ll go find that inventory in the office.” She waved to Jon. “Good to meet you… Sorry, I didn‟t catch your name.” Jon stepped up to offer his hand. “Jon Calder.” Abby shook his hand. “Jon Calder? That‟s a fitting name for this town. I‟m Abby Hobart. It‟s nice to have met you. Come back when you have more time.” “I will.” Jon nodded and watched Abby disappear through the door, then looked at Corrine. “You feel so familiar to me,” Corrine said. “I swear we‟ve met before.” Jon shrugged and dropped his gaze a moment. “Like I said, I have one of those faces.” He cleared his throat and asked, “Have you and Abby been together long?” Corrine smiled. “Ten years next month.” Jon felt a happiness tempered with melancholy at the news. It had taken him traveling back in time for Abby to be happy. He managed a smile and said, “That‟s quite a long time.” Corrine nodded, accepting his observation, then looked at him more closely. “I read people‟s energies,” she said, “and I‟m getting a very strong vibe from you.” Jon shifted his weight nervously, recalling the reading Corrine had delivered just a few meters away near the dance floor. That felt like a lifetime ago, though it had not yet been a year since that Halloween night he had spent at the bar with Gerard. He cleared his throat and asked, “Oh? And what kind of vibe are you getting?” She hesitated, then smiled and said, “Peaceful. You are a man who is comfortable with himself and at peace.” Jon relaxed and let out a quiet breath, nodding as he said, “Well, thank you. I believe I‟m at peace as well.” Corrine shrugged. “Just thought you might like to know that.” She smiled. “Since you‟ve got the same name as one of the kings who lived in that castle.” She looked down at his clothes. “But then again, you probably knew that.” Jon felt a quiver of surprise shoot through his body. “King?”

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Corrine nodded. “Yeah, King Jonathan Calder, one of the most respected and beloved kings who sat on the throne of Algonwick. You know this, don‟t you?” “I…” Jon‟s mind raced as he tried to come up with a response. “I work in the parking lot, so I don‟t know much about the castle history.” “Oh.” Corrine frowned. “Odd, I would think they‟d want all the employees to know the history of the place.” Jon gave a sheepish grin and shrugged. “It‟s my first week, and I haven‟t read all the literature yet from training.” “Well, you better get to it, or they‟ll can you.” Something brushed against Jon‟s leg, and he jumped, then looked down to find a black cat rubbing around his ankles. Sudden tears filled his eyes as he crouched down to stroke the cat. “I‟ve never seen Bart take to someone like that,” Corrine said, her voice quiet, almost reverential. “He‟s usually so cautious around new people.” Bart purred as he rubbed against Jon‟s hands, then circled his ankles and pressed his forehead against Jon‟s shins. Clearing his throat, Jon looked up and smiled. “Like I said, I have one of those faces people seem to recognize. Even cats.” “Huh.” Corrine folded her arms. “I guess so.” Jon gave Bart a few more strokes, then stood up and backed toward the door. “It was nice to meet you, Corrine. Please tell Abby good-bye for me.” She tipped her head to the side and frowned. “I don‟t recall telling you my name.” Jon stopped, his mind a blank, then said, “Abby must have told me before you came out of the office.” Her expression cleared, and he took a breath of relief. “Take care of Abby.” Corrine‟s expression warmed, and her smile grew. “I will, but it is a partnership. We take care of each other.” She nodded to the cat sitting and staring up at Jon with slitted eyes. “And Bart.” Jon smiled and reached down to pet the cat once more. “Good-bye, Bart.” He straightened up and nodded, lifting his hand in a wave. “Good-bye.” With all questions about his old life answered, Jon turned to the door and pushed out onto the street. He lifted his face to the weak sunlight burning off the mist and took a breath of the stale air. The shuttle pulled up in front of him, a number of tourists in the seats and the same driver looking at him out the door with a smile. “Need a lift back?” the driver asked. “As a matter of fact,” Jon replied, “I do.” He stepped on the shuttle and found an open seat in the back. Riding to the castle, he listened to the driver relate the history of the area. At the car park, Jon turned away from the crowd making its way up the hill to the castle and struck out over the fields, his gaze set on the low mountain in the distance that looked like a

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pile of stones left by a giant. On the other side of it, his love waited for him to return home.

Loose Id Titles by Hank Edwards Destiny’s Bastard Holed Up

Hank Edwards Hank Edwards is the author of the humorous, erotic mystery Charlie Heggensford series, Fluffers, Inc. and A Carnal Cruise, available from Lethe Press. The third book, Vancouver Nights, is due to release later this year. His Loose Id titles include Holed Up, an erotic suspense, and Destiny’s Bastard, a time travel paranormal. Over three dozen of his stories have appeared in various gay erotic magazines, including Men, 100% Beef, and Honcho, as well as a number of anthologies, and Clean Sheets (http://www.cleansheets.com). He lives in a suburb of Detroit with his very patient partner of many years and their two cats. Visit Hank‟s Web site at http://www.hankedwardsbooks.com.