Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Two
Title: Velvet Petals, Piercing Thorns - Chapter Two (Prologue+2/?)
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Rating: PG-13 this chapter; will escalate to R/NC-17 in future chapters
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: None this chapter, I think, but given that this is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time...there will eventually be depictions of sexual acts between two men, things said that these days would be considered politically incorrect, adult language, murder, possible beatings, threats of torture.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 10,000+ This Chapter: 4500+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and they want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. Sweetly reader beta'd by the lovely and incomparable mothergoddamn and her Bette Davis eyes. If you haven't read the previous chapters, you can find the masterlist here.
Chapter Two
“Young Mr. Hummel!”
Kurt looked up, tossing his head of light brown hair back out of his eyes at the sound of his name being shouted across the stableyard of Raglan Castle. It was a clear September day, one he was spending inspecting bridles for weak spots under the bright light of the Welsh sun. Though not an overly warm day, being in the direct sun was causing sweat to run from his head down his face. He scratched at his hair where perspiration had dried and began to itch, green eyes narrowed as he squinted to see who was calling for him.
Normally, he wouldn't have been the one summoned - his father Burt was the Stablemaster at Raglan and was the man all persons there turned to in matters of horse. Unfortunately, the elder Hummel had woken with both fever and a chill that morning, and so Kurt had ordered him to stay abed while he himself performed Stablemaster duties. It was not his favorite task in the world; he preferred to stay in the stable with his repair work and a book. But his father's health was of paramount importance to him and so he put up with it.
“My Lord?” The tall, fair-skinned young man nodded politely at William Herbert, the Earl of Huntingdon, for it was indeed his master who was calling for him. The Earl was striding across the yard with two other men at his side, heading directly for the stables. Clearly, he was seeking to go on a ride.
“Young Mr. Hummel!” Herbert repeated, a pleased smile on his face. “My goodness, lad, what are you doing out here? Where's that father of yours?”
“Ill, sir,” Kurt replied, his smile fading in worry. “I told him I'd see to the stables until he got well.” He staggered slightly under the hearty clap on the shoulder this admission got him from the Earl.
“What a good lad!” Huntingdon's tone towards the young horseman was warm. “Your father is quite lucky. But look at you!” He began to laugh as he looked Kurt over, taking in the man who had replaced the boy he was sure he'd left at Raglan only six months ago. “It can't have been so long that I've seen you - you're like a weed! How much taller do you intend to grow, young man?”
“Not too much, I hope,” returned the young man, his cheeks pinking under the attention. “I've had to start ducking as I enter the kitchen. I fear one day I shall forget and cause myself harm.”
The Earl laughed uproariously and ruffled his hair. “Well, don't do it today! I can't do without both of my expert horsemen!”
“I'll do my best.” The stableman smiled at his liege. “Would I be able to help you with anything at the moment, My Lord?”
Huntingdon nodded cheerfully. “Yes, indeed. Hudson, St. James and I would like to go for a ride on this lovely afternoon. Saddle up our mounts, would you?”
“Absolutely, sir. Right away.” Kurt bowed his head cordially to each of the men before him. Jesse St. James he knew, of course - they'd known each other since the Hummels had arrived at Raglan five years previously, Jesse being the arrogant, unfriendly son of the previous Steward at the time. They'd been enemies ever since Kurt had caught him trying to stick burrs under the saddle of a visiting Countess' horse and had informed both their fathers of the malicious, potentially very harmful prank. St. James had retaliated by shoving Kurt into a manure pile and the mutual loathing had only grown from there.
Now his childhood tormentor was newly the Earl's Steward after his father's death, a trusted right hand man. Jesse returned Kurt's greeting nod with a sneer and a barely perceptible roll of his cold, unsmiling blue eyes. The stableman fought to restrain his own dirty look.
The other man was unfamiliar to Kurt, at least by sight. He recognized the name, however - Hudson, as in John Finnegan, the Earl thereof. His appearance was...surprising, to Kurt, who found himself suddenly seized with peculiar and unfamiliar emotions when he caught a glimpse of the young nobleman.
William Herbert was a reasonably tall and powerfully built man, and St. James was no lightweight midget - but Hudson dwarfed them both by a significant amount. Yet for such an imposing presence, his face and demeanor were that of an affable, open fellow with a friendly smile and not a bad word to say about anyone, unlike Herbert, whose countenance was kind but firm, or St. James with his ever-present contempt for the world displayed in his permanently upturned nose. Hudson's brown hair stuck out in all directions in contrast to the Steward's perfectly tidied chestnut waves and Herbert's no-nonsense queue of salt and pepper. The effect made the young Earl look more like a farmboy than a nobleman. And his eyes - warm brown and glowing with good cheer - they took Kurt's breath away.
The young horseman did not know what to make of it all. He was suddenly conscious that he was sweaty, his hair hopelessly tangled, that he was wearing a plain shirt and breeches with heavy, ungainly boots. More than likely he smelled appallingly of horse. Kurt's cheeks pinked more dramatically at the thought of all of this, and he wondered why it suddenly even mattered. What was happening to him?
Thoroughly confused, he turned and hurried into the stable, summoning two stableboys to assist him with saddling and bridling the requested horses. There would be time to examine his odd feelings after he'd done his job.
Kurt took the task of saddling Herbert's horse himself, not trusting anyone else besides his father to tend to the Earl's mount. Keeping a weather eye on the other two boys, he made sure they had everything done properly and in a reasonably swift amount of time. After a quick doublecheck - as much as he would have liked to send St. James off with a loosened saddle girth that would fail during a good gallop and hopefully cause the arrogant man to break his neck, he knew better - he led the horses out, finding himself dazzled again by the Earl of Hudson's friendly smile of thanks.
“My Lords,” Kurt bowed slightly before handing the reins of the mounts to their respective riders. “Enjoy your ride.”
“Thank you, lad!” The men mounted up and trotted off into the afternoon. He waited until they were out of sight before snatching up the pile of bridles he'd been inspecting and darting into the cool shade of the stable, trying to calm down and understand what had just happened.
What had that been? At twenty years old, Kurt knew that it was peculiar that he'd never been particularly interested in women, but he'd just assumed that he preferred being a bachelor. Which was perfectly all right for him, he thought, since it allowed him to take care of his father and work alongside him. He only had one parent, he was never going to take that for granted. So he had been fine with being uninterested in the pretty girls that came around the stable for the other stablemen.
But this! This he had never anticipated and did not understand. Kurt fretted as he hung up the bridles that he had decided didn't need repair work at the moment. He hadn't ever considered that the reason he might be indifferent to women was because he would be attracted to men. He'd never known such a thing was possible. Certainly none of the other stablemen or boys ever mentioned such a thing.
Did that mean it was uncommon - or simply untolerated? His hand clenched around the buckle of the bridle he held, the sharp metal edges biting into his palm. He didn't know what to do. Was there anyone to whom he could speak? No. No one, whispered the voice in his mind. Not even his father.
Kurt's mind whirled in turmoil even as his hands went through performing his duties. He picked up the remaining bridles that all needed to have new straps attached in places and took them to the bench near the door, so that he could see the riders when they came back. A small wooden box there held the waxed linen thread and sturdy leather needles that he used for such repairs; he opened it and removed a length of thread and one of the needles before he sat down and used a tiny knife to pick away the stitches holding a worn-out strap to one of the steel rings on the bridle.
Why had this never come up before? he wondered as he worked, tiny and even stitches gleaming pale cream against the rich brown leather. He'd encountered dozens, scores of men in his life - unsurprising in his line of work - and none of them had made him feel the way that the Earl of Hudson had. His stomach had turned slow somersaults when the young nobleman had smiled at him. It had felt like the sensations all of the stableboys talked about when they saw pretty girls. The slow burn, the feeling of suddenly being untethered from the ground, the tingling in the palms of his hands.
No one had ever inspired such desire and conflict within him before.
The minutes ticked by into an hour, then two. Kurt moved on from bridles to stirrups, from stirrups to saddle girths, but while the work changed, his worried confusion was constant, not letting up for a single second. Absorbed in his task and consumed by his disturbed, disturbing thoughts - he slipped. A sharp leather needle pierced the pad of his finger painfully. “Ouch! Damn it all!”
“Are you all right?”
Kurt looked up from his perch on the bench, injured finger stuck into his mouth. He swallowed, feeling the blood drain away from his face as he realized he was facing the Earl of Hudson, returned alone from his ride. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet. “My Lord.”
“No, none of that.” Hudson frowned and motioned towards Kurt's hand. “You're hurt?”
He snatched his hand from his lips and clasped it with the other one behind his back. “It's nothing. A stitching injury, that's all.”
“That needle is much larger than the ones the ladies use for their sewing,” the lanky Earl observed, glancing at the leather working needle where it now lay in the dirt. “And they say that those hurt when they prick their fingers. I can only imagine that the one you were using hurt much more.” He stepped closer, freezing Kurt in place with his worried, earnest stare. “May I see? I'd like to be sure you're all right.”
Kurt was helpless to do anything sensible in the face of the Earl's concern for his well-being. Mutely, he extended his injured hand out for the other man's inspection, fighting not to flinch as it was gently clasped by one much larger and warmer than his own. Hudson raised the pale, slender hand of the horseman to his eyes, peering closely at the minor injury.
“I would wash this clean,” he finally said, looking into Kurt's eyes with a small smile on his face. “Here - let me wrap it in something to stop the bleeding. You can use it to wash the wound.” The Earl patted around his coat before finding a fine white linen handkerchief in an inner pocket. Kurt could see the initials JF neatly embroidered in the corner.
“My Lord, I cannot,” he protested, pushing the cloth square back into the young nobleman's hand. “Such fine work, I would not care to ruin it with the blood of a common stableman.”
“Ah, but you are not a common stableman,” the other man responded warmly, his friendly smile growing broadly. “Huntingdon could talk of nothing but the good you and your father have done for his horses in the last several years. A handkerchief is the least I could do for such a highly esteemed individual. Please, take it. My lady has made me many of these. One is nothing.”
“Your...your lady?” A crushing disappointment that perplexed Kurt nearly as much as his desire washed through his body, causing his stomach to feel as if it had dropped to the dirt floor.
“Quinn,” Hudson confirmed, nodding and seeming to not notice the sadness that passed over the young horseman's face. “My wife of only a few months. She is quite handy with a needle herself, like you.” He smiled. “Perhaps I shall send her out here one day to go on a ride and the two of you can speak of stitches. Though what you do is quite different.”
“Quite.” Kurt broke his eye contact with the Earl and lowered his head to conceal the bitter disappointment he was sure burned in his eyes. “I thank you for the cloth and assistance, then. Shall I assist you with tack and grooming before I tend to my hand?”
“Not at all, I can do it myself,” Hudson replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “Go clean that off before Huntingdon and St. James return, I'm sure they'll need your assistance even as I do not.”
“As you wish.” Kurt trudged off, holding his injured hand close to his body while he made his way to the water pump that brought clean water to the stables. His mind was completely in a mess now, having flown at the highest heights and then dashed itself upon the lowest rocks. He used his good hand to pump out sun-warmed rainwater from the cistern, letting it fall on his wound and clean away the blood.
He wished suddenly that he could just as easily wash away his confusing, worrisome feelings.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
There was a reason that Jesse St. James was the Steward of a major noble house at the young age of twenty-two: he noticed things.
He noticed when a chambermaid was purposely damaging bed linens so that she could take the ruined fabric to a gypsy reseller - he'd had her flogged. He noticed when a serving man was filching nuts and grain from the kitchen and had him flogged, then dismissed. Given the responsibility of the account books when his father fell ill, Jesse noticed discrepancies there and, after careful investigation, discovered that the majordomo had been embezzling funds for months in ways that casual inspection would have not revealed. That man had been flogged and turned out into a winter night with none of his belongings or any food.
Jesse had argued for outright execution. He was overruled. However Lord Huntingdon, pleased with the work of his deceased Steward's son, had seen fit to reward the young man with the position his father had held. Jesse accepted this happily, though it did not quite cover the sting of feeling cheated of justice.
Further, that his own father had either never noticed or cared about that particular infraction was still a source of disappointment to young St. James.
Until now, Jesse had never noticed anything wrong about Kurt Hummel, that obnoxiously good and kind milkmaid-like stableman. Kurt was a disgustingly good son, a boringly diffident servant, and possibly the most well-behaved young man Jesse had ever met in his young life. He always looked at Jesse with an undeserved arrogance in those odd green eyes of his, with contempt in the very tilt of his head. All of this from a lowly stableman with the face of an angel.
Jesse hated him.
He was always watching and waiting for Kurt to slip up somehow, and today, he gloated, oh, today it had paid off. He did not know what he would do with the information that he had gathered, but he would keep it close and wait for a useful time. Because it would be useful, he was sure of it.
The most bumbling of idiots couldn't have missed the moment that the stupid young horse tender had fallen head over heels for the lurching, ungainly Earl of Hudson. Jesse was glad that he had excellent self-control - a lesser man would have been unable to conceal his smirk in that moment. And oh, how Jesse had wanted to smirk. To cheer, even, if it came right down to it.
He wondered why it had never occurred to him before. In all the time he had been watching Hummel, he had definitely noticed that the boy never chased lightskirts or even paid much attention to the noble ladies. He had also noticed that Kurt had an unnaturally high, clear voice for a man of his age and that he was uncommonly pretty for a male - not that that meant much, Jesse knew plenty of foppish men who loved the intimate company of women. Still, he had somehow never managed to put those two facts together in any meaningful context until today.
Today, when Kurt Hummel developed an instant infatuation with that Hudson lout. Oh, how Jesse could dance and sing through the streets in triumph.
It was not unheard of for a man to lie with another man, but it was absolutely not accepted, not by society nor by God. It was a taboo subject to even discuss. Were this to get out, it would completely ruin Kurt Hummel, Jesse well knew. Other men would come down upon him and condemn him for being fey, feminine, girlish, wrong. They would insult and abuse him, possibly even assault him. Certainly, in time, the boy could be driven from Raglan and Jesse would never have to look upon his sanctimonious face again.
It was a tempting thought, but Jesse was a careful man, not an impetuous one. This was important information to be held and deployed at a strategic time. He could feel it in the very depths of his bones, in his instincts. Jesse St. James never, ever ignored his instincts.
“...we have intelligence that envoys from Stanley have been visiting Crawford.” Lord Huntingdon's voice pierced into Jesse's thoughts, bringing his attention back to the conversation that the two noblemen were having.
Hudson nodded. “De Vere as well. I am not surprised - Crawford is quite an important man.”
“His neighbor is more important,” Huntingdon replied tightly, his irritation clear in the way he inadvertently squeezed his knees around the torso of his mount, causing the surprised horse to canter sideways until the Earl relaxed. “Dalton.”
“Viscount Dalton?” The younger nobleman could not conceal his surprise, earning more of Jesse's scorn. How could someone of rank be so incompetent at schooling his emotions? “How can a mere viscount with an insignificant holding be more important than one of the highest ranking Lancastrian adherents in the land?”
Huntingdon looked over his shoulder, where his Steward's horse paced a few steps behind those of the nobles. “St. James, I need you.”
Jesse spurred his horse to trot and come level with the other horses. “My hand to your service, my Lord.”
“If you'll explain the importance of our young Viscount Dalton to Hudson here?”
“Certainly.” Jesse turned to face the oafish Earl, plastering a bland, inoffensive smile on his face. “Edward Blaine Anderson, 2nd Viscount Dalton. Liege-lord of Dalton House since his father met his end on the battlefield at Barnet in 1471. He was seven, then, and fully orphaned since his mother had died in childbirth. His mother, of course, having been Katherine Beaufort before her marriage to Neville Anderson.”
Hudson's mouth was in a comical 'o' of surprise. “Ah.” The name Beaufort was understood by every York loyalist, no matter how moronic they appeared to be.
“Edward was then raised by his mother's sister Alice, Baroness Linwood, whose husband had also perished at Barnet,” Jesse went on. “He is a popular and influential minor noble with a good head on his shoulders and powerful familial connections. The King elected to keep him alive and endowed with his title when he reached his majority since the young man showed no signs of moving against the Crown despite his perhaps understandable distaste towards the House of York. However, that does not mean that he would not join a rebellion against the Crown if the right inducements were offered.”
“Have you been able to find anything out about any inducements that he might accept, St. James? Anything we might be able to intercept?” The Earl of Huntingdon did not consider Jesse to be a mere Steward, of course. He also had the young man acting as one of his intelligence gatherers - his mind much too clever and valuable to waste with the mere management of a household.
“Not as yet, my Lord.” Jesse frowned. He was not accustomed to failure, but there just had been nothing to find out about Anderson beyond the basic information that anyone could find out. It was nearly as infuriating to the young Steward as waiting for Hummel to trip up had been, and so Jesse had made it as equally personal a mission to uncover something, anything unsavory about the Viscount. “I am of course hard at work finding all that I can. He is remarkably well loved amongst his servants and armsmen; it is not easy.”
“Well, if anyone can find out what we need, it will be you.” The Earl turned a fatherly smile upon the young man he'd known for so very long, since Jesse had been an infant. “Jesse is as invaluable to me as young Hummel and his father,” Herbert informed the Earl of Hudson with a proud grin on his face. Jesse hid a scowl at being lumped in with the filthy horsemen. “I've got an excellent Steward and unmatched Masters of Horse. I am most fortunate.”
“Indeed, I'm sure no man could ask for more,” Hudson replied. A frown flickered across his face as he took in the position of the sun in the sky. “We have been out for some time. I shall need to get back so that I can wash for dinner. Quinn does hate it when I have to rush through getting ready.”
Huntingdon nodded. “I understand. Mary was quite the same way...” He trailed off, and all three men were silent for a moment in the memory of the deceased Countess. “If you remember the way back to the stables, Hudson, why don't you go on ahead of us? I've got household matters to discuss with young St. James here, anyway.”
“With your indulgence, sir.” The young Earl nodded in return and wheeled his horse around to head back.
“Household matters, my Lord?” Jesse quirked an amused eyebrow at his liege as Hudson disappeared at a fast canter.
“I didn't say whose household, now did I?” Huntingdon smiled at his right-hand man. “What's this that you've found about Crawford?”
“He's having a ball for his daughter Amelia's nineteenth birthday in a fortnight,” the young man informed his master. “Many influential Lancastrian families have been invited, Dalton included.”
“The Viscount and Amelia are of similar age,” mused the Earl. “Any word that Crawford might be seeking an alliance with a marriage between the two?”
Jesse shook his head. “Not that I've been able to find, though it would of course be advantageous for both houses. Edward and Amelia have been friends since they were very small. It's possible that they might eventually come to it, even if it isn't planned now.”
“It's something that could be discussed at the ball.” Huntingdon was clearly not happy about that. “See that we have a man in place there. I don't want that sort of alliance to happen, and I want to neutralize Dalton as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Put your best man on it.”
“Certainly, my Lord.” They rode in silence, the grass crunching beneath the hooves of their mounts. Jesse squinted up towards the towers of Raglan Castle that loomed in the distance before them. “Is there anything else you need me to investigate?”
“Hm. No. Not now. I just need you to keep your eyes and ears on Crawford...do you think you can get someone in at Dalton?”
“No, sir. The household is deeply loyal and is carefully managed. They tend to hire only with personal references from their existing staff.”
“We'll have to try harder,” the Earl decided. “Or we'll have to place someone at Crawford who can move between the two households and get us information. I wish I could send you personally, St. James.”
“My Lord?” Jesse could not conceal his surprise.
“You're my best man. If I sent you in there, we'd rout that incipient rebellion in no time.” Huntingdon sighed. “Alas. I cannot get on without you, my indispensible young man.”
“My Lord flatters me.” The Steward bowed his head to reflect a modesty he did not actually feel. He knew that he was the best, cleverest man for this job. “It is appreciated.”
“There will be considerable rewards for you at the end of this, St. James.” The Earl caught Jesse's startled, gratified gaze with his own. “The better you do, the more information you gather, the higher the reward. Remember that.”
As Huntingdon spurred his own mount to a gallop and took off towards his home with a boyish whoop, Jesse sat still in his saddle and stared after the man, a reptilian smile of satisfaction turning the corners of his mouth up. Had anyone been around to see it, they would have shuddered at the naked avarice in his eyes, a malicious, selfish greed that seemed to far exceed his years.
Jesse St. James had always been convinced that he was born to be nobility and that only unkind chance made him the son of a Steward. He had spent his entire life looking to rectify fate's terrible mistake, and here, at last, was his chance. All he had to do was ruin a mere Viscount - and surely the means to do so were just around the corner. He would just have to search more thoroughly, go more deeply into possibility. Jesse would solve this puzzle, save the Crown, and win his rightful place amongst the the nobles that should have been his peers, would have been if fate hadn't been asleep on the job the day he was born.
With any luck, he could get rid of Viscount Dalton with enough time to spare to run Kurt Hummel out of town as well. Wouldn't that just be perfect. Jesse felt a tightening in his groin as he thought of it. Nothing aroused the Steward quite as much as the possibility of causing misfortune and grief for people he truly believed deserving of it. Add in the chance to be rewarded for it and it was a wonder he didn't spill himself then and there.
Oh, yes, Jesse gloated. That ridiculously goody-two-shoes Viscount that the Earl seemed to think was so important, oh, that stupid young man was never going to know what hit him.
Chapter Three, Part One
Media: Fic
Author: a_glass_parade
Rating: PG-13 this chapter; will escalate to R/NC-17 in future chapters
Genre: Romance, AU, Historical Fiction
Warnings: None this chapter, I think, but given that this is essentially a romance novel set in a violent time...there will eventually be depictions of sexual acts between two men, things said that these days would be considered politically incorrect, adult language, murder, possible beatings, threats of torture.
Spoilers: While events and references from both seasons of Glee may be adapted and worked into the story occasionally, it's otherwise fully AU.
Word Count: Story: 10,000+ This Chapter: 4500+
Summary: England, 1484: The forces of Lancaster see Edward Blaine Anderson, Viscount Dalton, as key to their plans to retake and hold the throne of England. The House of York has come to the same conclusion and they want to stop that from happening. Their secret weapon will be Kurt Hummel, stableman's son and reluctant spy.
Additional Notes: This is written in the vein of your typical historical romance novel with all the historical liberties taken that you'd expect. I do try to be as historically accurate as is feasible, though. Sweetly reader beta'd by the lovely and incomparable mothergoddamn and her Bette Davis eyes. If you haven't read the previous chapters, you can find the masterlist here.
Chapter Two
“Young Mr. Hummel!”
Kurt looked up, tossing his head of light brown hair back out of his eyes at the sound of his name being shouted across the stableyard of Raglan Castle. It was a clear September day, one he was spending inspecting bridles for weak spots under the bright light of the Welsh sun. Though not an overly warm day, being in the direct sun was causing sweat to run from his head down his face. He scratched at his hair where perspiration had dried and began to itch, green eyes narrowed as he squinted to see who was calling for him.
Normally, he wouldn't have been the one summoned - his father Burt was the Stablemaster at Raglan and was the man all persons there turned to in matters of horse. Unfortunately, the elder Hummel had woken with both fever and a chill that morning, and so Kurt had ordered him to stay abed while he himself performed Stablemaster duties. It was not his favorite task in the world; he preferred to stay in the stable with his repair work and a book. But his father's health was of paramount importance to him and so he put up with it.
“My Lord?” The tall, fair-skinned young man nodded politely at William Herbert, the Earl of Huntingdon, for it was indeed his master who was calling for him. The Earl was striding across the yard with two other men at his side, heading directly for the stables. Clearly, he was seeking to go on a ride.
“Young Mr. Hummel!” Herbert repeated, a pleased smile on his face. “My goodness, lad, what are you doing out here? Where's that father of yours?”
“Ill, sir,” Kurt replied, his smile fading in worry. “I told him I'd see to the stables until he got well.” He staggered slightly under the hearty clap on the shoulder this admission got him from the Earl.
“What a good lad!” Huntingdon's tone towards the young horseman was warm. “Your father is quite lucky. But look at you!” He began to laugh as he looked Kurt over, taking in the man who had replaced the boy he was sure he'd left at Raglan only six months ago. “It can't have been so long that I've seen you - you're like a weed! How much taller do you intend to grow, young man?”
“Not too much, I hope,” returned the young man, his cheeks pinking under the attention. “I've had to start ducking as I enter the kitchen. I fear one day I shall forget and cause myself harm.”
The Earl laughed uproariously and ruffled his hair. “Well, don't do it today! I can't do without both of my expert horsemen!”
“I'll do my best.” The stableman smiled at his liege. “Would I be able to help you with anything at the moment, My Lord?”
Huntingdon nodded cheerfully. “Yes, indeed. Hudson, St. James and I would like to go for a ride on this lovely afternoon. Saddle up our mounts, would you?”
“Absolutely, sir. Right away.” Kurt bowed his head cordially to each of the men before him. Jesse St. James he knew, of course - they'd known each other since the Hummels had arrived at Raglan five years previously, Jesse being the arrogant, unfriendly son of the previous Steward at the time. They'd been enemies ever since Kurt had caught him trying to stick burrs under the saddle of a visiting Countess' horse and had informed both their fathers of the malicious, potentially very harmful prank. St. James had retaliated by shoving Kurt into a manure pile and the mutual loathing had only grown from there.
Now his childhood tormentor was newly the Earl's Steward after his father's death, a trusted right hand man. Jesse returned Kurt's greeting nod with a sneer and a barely perceptible roll of his cold, unsmiling blue eyes. The stableman fought to restrain his own dirty look.
The other man was unfamiliar to Kurt, at least by sight. He recognized the name, however - Hudson, as in John Finnegan, the Earl thereof. His appearance was...surprising, to Kurt, who found himself suddenly seized with peculiar and unfamiliar emotions when he caught a glimpse of the young nobleman.
William Herbert was a reasonably tall and powerfully built man, and St. James was no lightweight midget - but Hudson dwarfed them both by a significant amount. Yet for such an imposing presence, his face and demeanor were that of an affable, open fellow with a friendly smile and not a bad word to say about anyone, unlike Herbert, whose countenance was kind but firm, or St. James with his ever-present contempt for the world displayed in his permanently upturned nose. Hudson's brown hair stuck out in all directions in contrast to the Steward's perfectly tidied chestnut waves and Herbert's no-nonsense queue of salt and pepper. The effect made the young Earl look more like a farmboy than a nobleman. And his eyes - warm brown and glowing with good cheer - they took Kurt's breath away.
The young horseman did not know what to make of it all. He was suddenly conscious that he was sweaty, his hair hopelessly tangled, that he was wearing a plain shirt and breeches with heavy, ungainly boots. More than likely he smelled appallingly of horse. Kurt's cheeks pinked more dramatically at the thought of all of this, and he wondered why it suddenly even mattered. What was happening to him?
Thoroughly confused, he turned and hurried into the stable, summoning two stableboys to assist him with saddling and bridling the requested horses. There would be time to examine his odd feelings after he'd done his job.
Kurt took the task of saddling Herbert's horse himself, not trusting anyone else besides his father to tend to the Earl's mount. Keeping a weather eye on the other two boys, he made sure they had everything done properly and in a reasonably swift amount of time. After a quick doublecheck - as much as he would have liked to send St. James off with a loosened saddle girth that would fail during a good gallop and hopefully cause the arrogant man to break his neck, he knew better - he led the horses out, finding himself dazzled again by the Earl of Hudson's friendly smile of thanks.
“My Lords,” Kurt bowed slightly before handing the reins of the mounts to their respective riders. “Enjoy your ride.”
“Thank you, lad!” The men mounted up and trotted off into the afternoon. He waited until they were out of sight before snatching up the pile of bridles he'd been inspecting and darting into the cool shade of the stable, trying to calm down and understand what had just happened.
What had that been? At twenty years old, Kurt knew that it was peculiar that he'd never been particularly interested in women, but he'd just assumed that he preferred being a bachelor. Which was perfectly all right for him, he thought, since it allowed him to take care of his father and work alongside him. He only had one parent, he was never going to take that for granted. So he had been fine with being uninterested in the pretty girls that came around the stable for the other stablemen.
But this! This he had never anticipated and did not understand. Kurt fretted as he hung up the bridles that he had decided didn't need repair work at the moment. He hadn't ever considered that the reason he might be indifferent to women was because he would be attracted to men. He'd never known such a thing was possible. Certainly none of the other stablemen or boys ever mentioned such a thing.
Did that mean it was uncommon - or simply untolerated? His hand clenched around the buckle of the bridle he held, the sharp metal edges biting into his palm. He didn't know what to do. Was there anyone to whom he could speak? No. No one, whispered the voice in his mind. Not even his father.
Kurt's mind whirled in turmoil even as his hands went through performing his duties. He picked up the remaining bridles that all needed to have new straps attached in places and took them to the bench near the door, so that he could see the riders when they came back. A small wooden box there held the waxed linen thread and sturdy leather needles that he used for such repairs; he opened it and removed a length of thread and one of the needles before he sat down and used a tiny knife to pick away the stitches holding a worn-out strap to one of the steel rings on the bridle.
Why had this never come up before? he wondered as he worked, tiny and even stitches gleaming pale cream against the rich brown leather. He'd encountered dozens, scores of men in his life - unsurprising in his line of work - and none of them had made him feel the way that the Earl of Hudson had. His stomach had turned slow somersaults when the young nobleman had smiled at him. It had felt like the sensations all of the stableboys talked about when they saw pretty girls. The slow burn, the feeling of suddenly being untethered from the ground, the tingling in the palms of his hands.
No one had ever inspired such desire and conflict within him before.
The minutes ticked by into an hour, then two. Kurt moved on from bridles to stirrups, from stirrups to saddle girths, but while the work changed, his worried confusion was constant, not letting up for a single second. Absorbed in his task and consumed by his disturbed, disturbing thoughts - he slipped. A sharp leather needle pierced the pad of his finger painfully. “Ouch! Damn it all!”
“Are you all right?”
Kurt looked up from his perch on the bench, injured finger stuck into his mouth. He swallowed, feeling the blood drain away from his face as he realized he was facing the Earl of Hudson, returned alone from his ride. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet. “My Lord.”
“No, none of that.” Hudson frowned and motioned towards Kurt's hand. “You're hurt?”
He snatched his hand from his lips and clasped it with the other one behind his back. “It's nothing. A stitching injury, that's all.”
“That needle is much larger than the ones the ladies use for their sewing,” the lanky Earl observed, glancing at the leather working needle where it now lay in the dirt. “And they say that those hurt when they prick their fingers. I can only imagine that the one you were using hurt much more.” He stepped closer, freezing Kurt in place with his worried, earnest stare. “May I see? I'd like to be sure you're all right.”
Kurt was helpless to do anything sensible in the face of the Earl's concern for his well-being. Mutely, he extended his injured hand out for the other man's inspection, fighting not to flinch as it was gently clasped by one much larger and warmer than his own. Hudson raised the pale, slender hand of the horseman to his eyes, peering closely at the minor injury.
“I would wash this clean,” he finally said, looking into Kurt's eyes with a small smile on his face. “Here - let me wrap it in something to stop the bleeding. You can use it to wash the wound.” The Earl patted around his coat before finding a fine white linen handkerchief in an inner pocket. Kurt could see the initials JF neatly embroidered in the corner.
“My Lord, I cannot,” he protested, pushing the cloth square back into the young nobleman's hand. “Such fine work, I would not care to ruin it with the blood of a common stableman.”
“Ah, but you are not a common stableman,” the other man responded warmly, his friendly smile growing broadly. “Huntingdon could talk of nothing but the good you and your father have done for his horses in the last several years. A handkerchief is the least I could do for such a highly esteemed individual. Please, take it. My lady has made me many of these. One is nothing.”
“Your...your lady?” A crushing disappointment that perplexed Kurt nearly as much as his desire washed through his body, causing his stomach to feel as if it had dropped to the dirt floor.
“Quinn,” Hudson confirmed, nodding and seeming to not notice the sadness that passed over the young horseman's face. “My wife of only a few months. She is quite handy with a needle herself, like you.” He smiled. “Perhaps I shall send her out here one day to go on a ride and the two of you can speak of stitches. Though what you do is quite different.”
“Quite.” Kurt broke his eye contact with the Earl and lowered his head to conceal the bitter disappointment he was sure burned in his eyes. “I thank you for the cloth and assistance, then. Shall I assist you with tack and grooming before I tend to my hand?”
“Not at all, I can do it myself,” Hudson replied, waving a hand in dismissal. “Go clean that off before Huntingdon and St. James return, I'm sure they'll need your assistance even as I do not.”
“As you wish.” Kurt trudged off, holding his injured hand close to his body while he made his way to the water pump that brought clean water to the stables. His mind was completely in a mess now, having flown at the highest heights and then dashed itself upon the lowest rocks. He used his good hand to pump out sun-warmed rainwater from the cistern, letting it fall on his wound and clean away the blood.
He wished suddenly that he could just as easily wash away his confusing, worrisome feelings.
~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~
There was a reason that Jesse St. James was the Steward of a major noble house at the young age of twenty-two: he noticed things.
He noticed when a chambermaid was purposely damaging bed linens so that she could take the ruined fabric to a gypsy reseller - he'd had her flogged. He noticed when a serving man was filching nuts and grain from the kitchen and had him flogged, then dismissed. Given the responsibility of the account books when his father fell ill, Jesse noticed discrepancies there and, after careful investigation, discovered that the majordomo had been embezzling funds for months in ways that casual inspection would have not revealed. That man had been flogged and turned out into a winter night with none of his belongings or any food.
Jesse had argued for outright execution. He was overruled. However Lord Huntingdon, pleased with the work of his deceased Steward's son, had seen fit to reward the young man with the position his father had held. Jesse accepted this happily, though it did not quite cover the sting of feeling cheated of justice.
Further, that his own father had either never noticed or cared about that particular infraction was still a source of disappointment to young St. James.
Until now, Jesse had never noticed anything wrong about Kurt Hummel, that obnoxiously good and kind milkmaid-like stableman. Kurt was a disgustingly good son, a boringly diffident servant, and possibly the most well-behaved young man Jesse had ever met in his young life. He always looked at Jesse with an undeserved arrogance in those odd green eyes of his, with contempt in the very tilt of his head. All of this from a lowly stableman with the face of an angel.
Jesse hated him.
He was always watching and waiting for Kurt to slip up somehow, and today, he gloated, oh, today it had paid off. He did not know what he would do with the information that he had gathered, but he would keep it close and wait for a useful time. Because it would be useful, he was sure of it.
The most bumbling of idiots couldn't have missed the moment that the stupid young horse tender had fallen head over heels for the lurching, ungainly Earl of Hudson. Jesse was glad that he had excellent self-control - a lesser man would have been unable to conceal his smirk in that moment. And oh, how Jesse had wanted to smirk. To cheer, even, if it came right down to it.
He wondered why it had never occurred to him before. In all the time he had been watching Hummel, he had definitely noticed that the boy never chased lightskirts or even paid much attention to the noble ladies. He had also noticed that Kurt had an unnaturally high, clear voice for a man of his age and that he was uncommonly pretty for a male - not that that meant much, Jesse knew plenty of foppish men who loved the intimate company of women. Still, he had somehow never managed to put those two facts together in any meaningful context until today.
Today, when Kurt Hummel developed an instant infatuation with that Hudson lout. Oh, how Jesse could dance and sing through the streets in triumph.
It was not unheard of for a man to lie with another man, but it was absolutely not accepted, not by society nor by God. It was a taboo subject to even discuss. Were this to get out, it would completely ruin Kurt Hummel, Jesse well knew. Other men would come down upon him and condemn him for being fey, feminine, girlish, wrong. They would insult and abuse him, possibly even assault him. Certainly, in time, the boy could be driven from Raglan and Jesse would never have to look upon his sanctimonious face again.
It was a tempting thought, but Jesse was a careful man, not an impetuous one. This was important information to be held and deployed at a strategic time. He could feel it in the very depths of his bones, in his instincts. Jesse St. James never, ever ignored his instincts.
“...we have intelligence that envoys from Stanley have been visiting Crawford.” Lord Huntingdon's voice pierced into Jesse's thoughts, bringing his attention back to the conversation that the two noblemen were having.
Hudson nodded. “De Vere as well. I am not surprised - Crawford is quite an important man.”
“His neighbor is more important,” Huntingdon replied tightly, his irritation clear in the way he inadvertently squeezed his knees around the torso of his mount, causing the surprised horse to canter sideways until the Earl relaxed. “Dalton.”
“Viscount Dalton?” The younger nobleman could not conceal his surprise, earning more of Jesse's scorn. How could someone of rank be so incompetent at schooling his emotions? “How can a mere viscount with an insignificant holding be more important than one of the highest ranking Lancastrian adherents in the land?”
Huntingdon looked over his shoulder, where his Steward's horse paced a few steps behind those of the nobles. “St. James, I need you.”
Jesse spurred his horse to trot and come level with the other horses. “My hand to your service, my Lord.”
“If you'll explain the importance of our young Viscount Dalton to Hudson here?”
“Certainly.” Jesse turned to face the oafish Earl, plastering a bland, inoffensive smile on his face. “Edward Blaine Anderson, 2nd Viscount Dalton. Liege-lord of Dalton House since his father met his end on the battlefield at Barnet in 1471. He was seven, then, and fully orphaned since his mother had died in childbirth. His mother, of course, having been Katherine Beaufort before her marriage to Neville Anderson.”
Hudson's mouth was in a comical 'o' of surprise. “Ah.” The name Beaufort was understood by every York loyalist, no matter how moronic they appeared to be.
“Edward was then raised by his mother's sister Alice, Baroness Linwood, whose husband had also perished at Barnet,” Jesse went on. “He is a popular and influential minor noble with a good head on his shoulders and powerful familial connections. The King elected to keep him alive and endowed with his title when he reached his majority since the young man showed no signs of moving against the Crown despite his perhaps understandable distaste towards the House of York. However, that does not mean that he would not join a rebellion against the Crown if the right inducements were offered.”
“Have you been able to find anything out about any inducements that he might accept, St. James? Anything we might be able to intercept?” The Earl of Huntingdon did not consider Jesse to be a mere Steward, of course. He also had the young man acting as one of his intelligence gatherers - his mind much too clever and valuable to waste with the mere management of a household.
“Not as yet, my Lord.” Jesse frowned. He was not accustomed to failure, but there just had been nothing to find out about Anderson beyond the basic information that anyone could find out. It was nearly as infuriating to the young Steward as waiting for Hummel to trip up had been, and so Jesse had made it as equally personal a mission to uncover something, anything unsavory about the Viscount. “I am of course hard at work finding all that I can. He is remarkably well loved amongst his servants and armsmen; it is not easy.”
“Well, if anyone can find out what we need, it will be you.” The Earl turned a fatherly smile upon the young man he'd known for so very long, since Jesse had been an infant. “Jesse is as invaluable to me as young Hummel and his father,” Herbert informed the Earl of Hudson with a proud grin on his face. Jesse hid a scowl at being lumped in with the filthy horsemen. “I've got an excellent Steward and unmatched Masters of Horse. I am most fortunate.”
“Indeed, I'm sure no man could ask for more,” Hudson replied. A frown flickered across his face as he took in the position of the sun in the sky. “We have been out for some time. I shall need to get back so that I can wash for dinner. Quinn does hate it when I have to rush through getting ready.”
Huntingdon nodded. “I understand. Mary was quite the same way...” He trailed off, and all three men were silent for a moment in the memory of the deceased Countess. “If you remember the way back to the stables, Hudson, why don't you go on ahead of us? I've got household matters to discuss with young St. James here, anyway.”
“With your indulgence, sir.” The young Earl nodded in return and wheeled his horse around to head back.
“Household matters, my Lord?” Jesse quirked an amused eyebrow at his liege as Hudson disappeared at a fast canter.
“I didn't say whose household, now did I?” Huntingdon smiled at his right-hand man. “What's this that you've found about Crawford?”
“He's having a ball for his daughter Amelia's nineteenth birthday in a fortnight,” the young man informed his master. “Many influential Lancastrian families have been invited, Dalton included.”
“The Viscount and Amelia are of similar age,” mused the Earl. “Any word that Crawford might be seeking an alliance with a marriage between the two?”
Jesse shook his head. “Not that I've been able to find, though it would of course be advantageous for both houses. Edward and Amelia have been friends since they were very small. It's possible that they might eventually come to it, even if it isn't planned now.”
“It's something that could be discussed at the ball.” Huntingdon was clearly not happy about that. “See that we have a man in place there. I don't want that sort of alliance to happen, and I want to neutralize Dalton as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Put your best man on it.”
“Certainly, my Lord.” They rode in silence, the grass crunching beneath the hooves of their mounts. Jesse squinted up towards the towers of Raglan Castle that loomed in the distance before them. “Is there anything else you need me to investigate?”
“Hm. No. Not now. I just need you to keep your eyes and ears on Crawford...do you think you can get someone in at Dalton?”
“No, sir. The household is deeply loyal and is carefully managed. They tend to hire only with personal references from their existing staff.”
“We'll have to try harder,” the Earl decided. “Or we'll have to place someone at Crawford who can move between the two households and get us information. I wish I could send you personally, St. James.”
“My Lord?” Jesse could not conceal his surprise.
“You're my best man. If I sent you in there, we'd rout that incipient rebellion in no time.” Huntingdon sighed. “Alas. I cannot get on without you, my indispensible young man.”
“My Lord flatters me.” The Steward bowed his head to reflect a modesty he did not actually feel. He knew that he was the best, cleverest man for this job. “It is appreciated.”
“There will be considerable rewards for you at the end of this, St. James.” The Earl caught Jesse's startled, gratified gaze with his own. “The better you do, the more information you gather, the higher the reward. Remember that.”
As Huntingdon spurred his own mount to a gallop and took off towards his home with a boyish whoop, Jesse sat still in his saddle and stared after the man, a reptilian smile of satisfaction turning the corners of his mouth up. Had anyone been around to see it, they would have shuddered at the naked avarice in his eyes, a malicious, selfish greed that seemed to far exceed his years.
Jesse St. James had always been convinced that he was born to be nobility and that only unkind chance made him the son of a Steward. He had spent his entire life looking to rectify fate's terrible mistake, and here, at last, was his chance. All he had to do was ruin a mere Viscount - and surely the means to do so were just around the corner. He would just have to search more thoroughly, go more deeply into possibility. Jesse would solve this puzzle, save the Crown, and win his rightful place amongst the the nobles that should have been his peers, would have been if fate hadn't been asleep on the job the day he was born.
With any luck, he could get rid of Viscount Dalton with enough time to spare to run Kurt Hummel out of town as well. Wouldn't that just be perfect. Jesse felt a tightening in his groin as he thought of it. Nothing aroused the Steward quite as much as the possibility of causing misfortune and grief for people he truly believed deserving of it. Add in the chance to be rewarded for it and it was a wonder he didn't spill himself then and there.
Oh, yes, Jesse gloated. That ridiculously goody-two-shoes Viscount that the Earl seemed to think was so important, oh, that stupid young man was never going to know what hit him.
Chapter Three, Part One