teot
in
harlequin_sv
Destiny Wears A Disguise by danceswithgary
Title: Destiny Wears A Disguise (Part 2 of 3)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 24,710
Cover: (Cover #1)
Summary: Three men. One destiny.
PART ONE
// July 1814 Paris //
As the tall, fashionably-dressed man exited the Hotel d'Anlezy, he glanced up at the cloudy sky before checking his filigreed fob watch. Nodding, he tucked the watch back into his vest pocket, straightened his plum-colored morning coat and placed his beaver hat upon his surprisingly bald head. Tucking his Malacca cane under his arm, he set off briskly down the Rue de Bourgogne. He seemed unconcerned about appearances, eschewing the maxim that declared 'one strolls with a walking stick and swaggers with a cane' for the simple pleasure of walking along the streets of Paris. Crossing the Seine via the Pont de la Concorde, he passed the Jardin des Tuileries to enter a side door of the Louvre.
"Ah, Faraday! I see you were able to escape the vile clutches of Madame Apreece." Removing his hat, Lex advanced on the young ill-dressed man waiting in the dark corridor. "I can only hope the chance to view DaVinci's journals is worth facing her wrath on your return."
A shy smile and nod agreed with Lex. "Indeed, it is. I think even Sir Davy might end a trifle jealous of his assistant's good fortune." He gave a short bow. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. Luttrell, for allowing me this opportunity."
"Please, it's Lex to my friends. Come now Michael, I've seen the notes on your experiments with electricity." Lex placed his hand under the younger man's elbow to guide him along the corridor to the open door at the end. "I would be remiss if I failed to assist the cause of science when given a chance like this."
The elderly gentleman waiting for them accepted their hats and Lex's cane before indicating that they should take a seat and that the director would join them shortly. As they waited, they chatted desultorily on a number of scientific monographs they had read, commenting on the feasibility of proposed theories and experimental procedures. Lex extracted a small silver case inlaid with mother of pearl from an interior pocket of his coat and began to make notations on the enclosed tablet with the small matching pencil, occasionally asking Faraday to repeat a particular observation.
"Gentlemen, please excuse the delay. I'm afraid that matters of state sometimes intrude on my time." Lex and Faraday rose to greet the director who bustled importantly into the room. "Now, I'm sure you're impatient to get started." Crossing to a tall armoire, he unlocked it, withdrew a heavy metal case, and placed it on a nearby table. "I'll have to ask you to avoid touching the pages with your fingers, if you please. I have these special page turners for you to use instead." Opening the box, he extracted several leather bound journals and opened them exposing the crackling vellum pages and stood back to allow the two younger men to approach.
"Incredible," whispered Faraday, his eyes wide with disbelief as he read the words Leonardo DaVinci had penned 300 years earlier. His lips moved silently as he translated the Latin, restraining himself with a noticeable effort when he absently reached to turn the page.
Scribbling frantically, Lex paid his companion little attention, his fascination with the journals overwhelming his normally polite behavior. "It's incredible! How could he have even imagined this so long ago?" he muttered, flipping the pages with the provided tool. "How I wish I could have studied under him."
On Lex's return, the hotel's concierge delivered several letters that had arrived in his absence. Carrying them upstairs to his suite, Lex threw them on the bed, determined to finish his notes on DaVinci's journals before opening his correspondence. Tugging at his cravat as Damian removed his coat, Lex decided he would hold back the second letter as a reward for performing his filial duty and responding to his father's weekly demand for his wayward son's return.
Lionel believed a year on the Continent was sufficient grooming for his son and heir and wanted Lex to return for the London Season to begin his search for a titled wife. Lex was unwilling to enter the marriage mart as of yet and insisted that the social and scientific contacts he was making were worth the delay in his return. He hoped to convince Lionel that waiting for the next year's Season would be in Lionel's best interest. He certainly knew it was in his own. Sitting at the secretary in the suite's sitting parlor, Lex drafted several letters before settling on a final copy. He sealed it and set it aside for his manservant to post the next day. Duty fulfilled, he retired to the bedroom and sat propped against the headboard to read Bruce's letter.
Fascinated by the intense and complex training undergone by the Lipizzans at the Spanish Riding School, Bruce had remained behind in Vienna. While he understood it would take years to learn how to perform the "airs above the ground" that the white stallions were noted for, Bruce felt that it was worth attempting the 'campagne' or elementary dressage lessons that the school offered. The idea of guiding a collected horse through all of the required gaits, turns and maneuvers, while maintaining perfect balance, appealed to Bruce's temperament. Combining that with instruction from several noted fencing masters left Bruce as content as Lex had ever seen him before and his letter stated he would be remaining in Austria for at least another six months. Tossing the pages on the bed, Lex sighed, missing his closest friend. He thought that perhaps he'd return to Vienna after the Sir Humphrey Davy left Paris for his next destination, if he couldn't convince Faraday to stay behind with him.
Hands behind his head, Lex slumped lower on the bed and reflected once again on friendship. Michael Faraday, the unkempt son of a butcher, was uncomfortable in society and his sole redeeming quality was his amazing grasp of the sciences. Bruce was charming and loyal and had willing joined Lex in his travels, yet cared little about Lex's scientific pursuits. He could not help but wonder if there was a man alive that could fulfill all of his needs and desires, a companion that could be his equal. The last time he'd felt as if it could be possible was over ten years ago, before he'd been forced to leave the manor at Audley End and the local squire's son he had called friend.
// December 1814 Saffron Walden //
Bringing his rangy big-boned gelding to a dancing halt at the crossroads, Captain Jerome Walden shifted in the saddle and surveyed the countryside he used to call home. The fields were tilled and waiting for spring planting and the road was empty without any carts or cattle heading for market. Winter was a quiet time in Saffron Walden, a time to rest after the short, frantic fall harvest of fragile blooms. Breathing in the crisp, clear air, Walden smiled. He would not miss the hot, heavy air of India and was glad he was back in England for good, although he hadn't resigned his commission yet and was only on a month's leave from his regimental duties.
Two weeks earlier, London had seen Callum Jonson striding through Haymarket to pound on the door of Black Pete's lodgings. The older man had stood in the doorway, staring and speechless, until Callum had swooped down and gathered him into a crushing hug. The rest of the street heard Pete's shouts of joy and had come running to welcome back their local hero. He'd answered their questions until he was hoarse and Pete sent them all away assuring them Callum would be back later. As Pete had prepared a quick supper, he'd explained that Chloe had not been there to greet Callum because she had moved to Bermuda with her new husband the previous year. Although Callum had been pleased about his friend's good fortune, he couldn't help being saddened at her absence.
Two pints and a rare beefsteak later, Callum had pushed back from the table in Pete's kitchen and grinned at his friend. "You remember our plan?" Pete nodded without a word, eyes narrowed as he waited. Removing his bottle-green spencer jacket, Callum had hung it over the back of his chair before unbuttoning his Indian cotton shirt and pulling it over his head. A quilted linen vest was revealed and Callum had slowly unbuttoned it, grinning all the while. Taking it off he'd handed it Pete, who almost dropped it at the unexpected weight. He'd hefted it in both hands before raising a questioning eyebrow. Callum had drawn a penknife from his trousers and taking the vest back from Pete, slit open of the small quilted squares. A flick of his wrist and a stone had fallen onto the table.
Reaching out with a shaking hand, Pete had picked up a blood-red stone as large as the first joint of his thumb. "Is this...?"
Callum had nodded solemnly. "A pigeon's blood ruby from the Mogok Valley." Unable to contain himself any longer he'd grinned. "I'd guess it's about 15 carats and it's not the largest I found."
"How many?"
"Last count? 234 rubies and 47 of them are star rubies."
"Star? Do you have any idea..."
"Yes, I do. I'm not done. There's also 312 sapphires, some yellow, green and violet stones besides the blue. There are stars in a lot of those, too. Some aquamarines, tourmalines and a few I couldn't identify." Callum had shoved the vest back across the table to his awestruck friend.
Swallowing hard, Pete had shaken his head in wonder. "Callum, do you have idea how much these are worth?"
"I'm thinking...a king's ransom, but more importantly, a new life for you, me and a few friends I made in India."
The rest of that night had been spent deciding how Pete would sell the stones and what they would do with the money. Callum had explained how he had taken overnight trips to the Mogok valley using his speed and located the stones with his special way of looking. Pete had known about his speed and strength, but the change in his eyes was new and Pete wanted Callum to show him how it worked. After correctly guessing what Pete kept in the safe under the floorboards in his bedroom and how many stones he had in his hand, Callum had decided it was time to sleep and had dragged a laughing Pete upstairs to show him just how much he'd missed him.
The following day, Callum brought Simms and Benton along to meet Pete and they had handed over the vests they were wearing. Callum explained that Simms had invented the vests to make certain the stones wouldn't be lost or stolen and that both he and Benson had taken care of Jerome Walden and helped conceal his special abilities, just as Pete and Chloe had done for Callum in London. Pete was pleased to meet Callum's new friends and they were soon sharing stories about Walden's adventures in India and Callum's time in London. Pete told about Callum saving Chloe and Benton bragged about Walden saving the Governor-General's life and being promoted to Captain.
It had been decided that while Pete sold the gems, Benton would look for an estate to purchase, and Simms would handle procuring the necessary clothing, servants and household goods. They all knew that it would take months to set up Captain Jerome Walden for his entry into polite society, but being able to share the work would help. While Simms and Benton argued over which section of London to begin looking in, Pete drew Callum aside to tell him that a Mr. Luttrell had been looking for him after he'd sailed, but that he and Chloe had told Luttrell nothing about Callum's new name or destination. Callum nodded, but decided to keep his history with Lex to himself. Pete then told him that he'd delivered the letter to his parents as Callum had asked, and that they had been overjoyed to find out that he was alive and well and had joined the army. Pete had urged Callum to visit them and was finally able to convince him that all would be forgiven.
Now, he'd returned to where it had all started fourteen years ago, in flame, thunder, and fear. Bringing his horse about and giving him his head, Clark galloped down the road to Littlebury and the parents he hadn't seen for three long years.
The sound of a drawer gliding shut greeted the tall graying man as he walked into the sitting room. He sighed and walked to the secretary by the window where a flame-haired woman pretended to write in a journal. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You don't have to hide the letter, Martha. I know you like to read it when you're missing him."
Martha set her pencil down and looked up into her husband's face, blinking back her tears. "Thank you for understanding, Jonathan. It's just been so long since he wrote it and there's never been another one." Her lip trembled as she tried to stay calm. "I can't help feeling something's happened to him, even though he's never been sick or hurt before."
Jonathan nodded before looking out the window across the extensive gardens. "That man who brought the letter, Mr. Black, he said Clark was well when he left and that the only problem he'd had was his memory, and that was just in the beginning. I'm sure he's fine Martha and just too busy to write." He turned away from the window long enough to smile down at her. "You know how Clark always needed to help people. That's most likely what he's doing right now, taking care of his men." He glimpsed a movement outside from the corner of his eye and turned his head back in time to see a horseman galloping up the drive. "Someone's just arrived in a hurry. I'd better see if something's happened and they need a magistrate." Bending down, he bestowed another kiss on her cheek before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
Martha picked up her pencil once more and began to write. She had only set down a few words before she heard shouts from the front hall and she rose from her chair in concern. Suddenly, the door was flung open and a tall, raven-haired man in a greatcoat bounded into the room, filling it with his presence. Martha looked at his tanned face and gasped in disbelief. "Clark?" The tears she'd held back before began to fall in earnest. "Is it really you?" and then she was caught up in his arms and her face was covered with his kisses and his tears and she heard his whispers of love and mama and forgive me and she thought her heart would burst with joy.
Seated in her son's lap, Martha could not stop running her fingers through the long, wavy hair that Clark had released from its old-fashioned queue. She listened contentedly as Jonathan quizzed Clark about his career in the army as well as how he had risen from lieutenant to captain so quickly. When Jonathan began to press for Clark's reasons for leaving, Martha jumped up and insisted that her son must be famished. She chivvied him out of the sitting room, telling him that he needed to freshen up before sitting down for dinner and that his room had always been ready and waiting for his return. After the door closed behind him, she whirled about with her hands on her hips and frowned at her husband. "Jonathan, leave the boy alone. I won't have you driving him away again with your questions!"
"But Martha..."
"No!" Martha's vehemence took Jonathan aback. "He's back and that's all that matters. My beautiful boy is back and that is all I care for, not why he left, nor what he's been doing. Leave him be!"
Unwilling to distress his beloved wife any further, Jonathan bowed his head in agreement. "As you wish, my dear. No more questions."
"...that young Viscount Fordham from out Hempstead is a captain too. Did you meet him by chance?" Martha had chattered about the births, deaths and marriages among the local farmers and tradesmen through dinner and continued after they had withdrawn to the sitting room once more. "I know there are a great many people in the army, but I thought perhaps...?"
Clark smiled indulgently at his excited mother. "Mama, there are certainly more people than I'd ever seen before. I did meet him once, though he didn't recognize me." Clark neglected to explain to his parents that he was under a different name at the time. "I daresay it was because we were both a great deal younger when we first met."
"Ah well, such a handsome young man, too. So well-mannered, and not the tiniest bit above himself when we met at Lana's birthday celebration."
Jonathan cleared his throat before interjecting, "We had a good discussion on crop rotation and he had some interesting ideas on cattle feed, too."
"You should visit the Langford's while you're here. Lana asks after you often after the church services. Such a sweet-tempered young lady." Martha patted her son's hand and smiled as she plotted how to arrange a meeting between the two young people.
Clark smiled absently as he tried to remember something about the 'sweet-tempered young lady'. A vague recollection of escorting a slip of a girl with the eyes of a fawn through the cemetery to visit her parents' graves was all he could summon. The years he spent playing with Lex in the rooms and gardens at Audley End were clear and sharp in comparison. He had been nine years old and Lex twelve when they were parted, but the four years they spent as constant companions had been the happiest days of Clark's life.
Clark supposed he couldn't blame Lex for not recognizing him nine years later. After all, growing an additional two feet and adding five or six stone would change how anyone would look. Anyone, that is, except Lex. He was unmistakable. It wasn't just his baldness, although that was certainly an important part, it was how he carried himself. It was a cool disregard for how the rest of the world viewed him; a tall, lean, and pale figure with piercing blue eyes that had persisted into his later years.
Lex's intelligence been almost frightening, easily remembering everything he'd read and applying it to 'experiments' that sometimes had interesting consequences. If Lex hadn't healed so quickly or Clark had been able to be cut or bruised, they would have spent a great deal of time being punished for setting off explosives or building mechanisms that threatened to sever limbs. There were also the meticulous records Lex kept of how long Clark could hold his breath underwater, how tall a tree Clark could jump out of without injury and whether Clark could outrun an angry badger.
"So, you'll accompany me to Waltham Manor the day after next?" Martha's question brought Clark's attention back to the present and he found that he'd agreed to visit the Honorable Lana Langford and her guardian, the Honorable Ellen Langford for tea in two day's time. He wondered if war could possibly be declared before then, to save him.
// June 1815 London //
"Lady Spencer, if I might have the honor?"
The raven-haired matron blushed and tapped her fan on back of Lex's wrist as he rose from his deep bow over her hand. "La, Mr. Luttrell, you know how people will talk as you've already led me out twice this evening."
Lex leaned forward with a sly smile to whisper in her delicate ear, "Do you and I truly care a fig about how people will talk?" Stepping back, he executed another deep bow. "You've dealt my heart a severe blow, madam. I fear I must retire from the fray. Good evening." Making his way around the perimeter of the assembly room, Lex greeted acquaintances and shared the latest on-dits with the cream of the ton.
Although Lex's birth was outside the peerage, his father's title and money granted him recognition as one of the young lions of the Season. This in turn, allowed him to absent himself on occasion without censure, excused by the virtue of wealth. His sharp wit had earned him a place among the up-and-coming who were willing to overlook his odd appearance for the sake of his patronage. The elders found no fault in his address or clothing, which was often held up as an example against the extremes pursued by many young bucks.
Deciding that he had stayed long enough to satisfy appearances, Lex began to make his way out of the hot, crowded room. He wished to end the evening at his club, discussing the latest meeting of the Royal Society. Contrary to Lionel's wishes, Lex's real attention was on the pursuit of a Fellowship, not a bride. He had submitted several monographs co-authored by Faraday and had presented his observations on the DaVinci journals in front of Joseph Banks and the council at Somerset House. In all, Lex would prefer being known as a gentleman scientist rather than a tulip of fashion.
He had almost succeeded in reaching the exit when there was a stir. A stripling pushed his way to the center of the floor and waited until the music died before shouting, "Napoleon has been defeated! Wellington has taken him at Waterloo!" A cheer went up as London society applauded the man who had saved them from the 'Beast of Elba'. Lex took advantage of the lull and escaped, joining his scientific peers at his club where they promptly investigated the expected outcome of imbibing far too many bottles of champagne.
Much later that evening, Lex complained bitterly to Damian that although he'd swaggered the length and breadth of Haymarket, no one, not one single person had accosted him. His long-suffering manservant merely nodded and sympathized as he continued to pry Lex out of his clothing in preparation for bed. As he helped his grumbling master under the sheets, Damian agreed it was utterly unfair that Callum Jonson had not been there to save Lex from the murderers and thieves that had not attacked him.
// June 1815 Brussels //
Walden rinsed the threadbare cloth again before using it to bathe the sweat from Captain Fordham's face and neck. It had been two long days and Walden feared that if his fever didn't break soon, he would end by burying his friend alongside too many other brave men that had fallen at Waterloo. Fordham mumbled and thrashed against Walden's restraining arms until he struck his wound and the pain left him unconscious and quiet once more. Walden looked through the bandages that covered what remained of the young man's right arm, relieved to see that despite his fever, no infection had set in and it seemed to be healing well.
The two men had met again a few weeks before, both having been promoted to Wellington's personal corps. Walden was prized for his facility in languages as well as his renowned stamina in the field while Fordham excelled in comprehending battle strategy and troop placement. Thrown together by necessity as the army advanced through Belgium in pursuit of Napoleon, they had become friends despite the persistent weakness and nausea Walden suffered when Fordham wore his signet ring. The fair-haired man had proudly pointed out the family crest engraved on the setting below the green stone he claimed had been found on his family's estate in Essex. Staying as far away as possible, Walden had admired the ring before claiming he was needed for a prisoner interrogation, leaving Fordham and his ring behind with the latest set of maps and orders.
He had lost sight of Fordham after the French were engaged at Waterloo, only seeing him once in the distance urging his men to hold against a flanking action. Walden had been shepherding his own men through the hail of cannon fire and bullets, seeing boys and men fall around him while he remained unscathed. He'd carried the fallen to the waiting wagons, his strength sustaining him through the horror of torn bodies and missing faces. The hours wore on, the noise unceasing, the blood and gore creating a gruesome mud that sucked greedily at his boots. Emotions deadened by the horror, Walden had no longer looked at faces, he simply picked up the next wounded man he found alive and carried him out of the field.
No faces that is, until his name was called out and he had turned to see Fordham under an overturned cannon. Unable to pull him free, Walden had placed his back against the two-ton cannon and carriage and forced it back upright. Fordham had fainted at the first movement and Walden had picked him up easily to carry him out. After only a few strides, it had struck him that he hadn't felt weakened and that he should not have been able to shift the cannon with Fordham there. Puzzled, he'd looked down to discover that the ring was missing along with most of Fordham's arm. The horror finally breaking through, he'd managed to deliver the wounded man safely before dropping to his knees in the vile mud, throwing back his head and screaming.
// August 1815, Saffron Walden //
Leaving the carriage and luggage cart behind, Lex let his new stallion have his head, letting the breeze cool his heated face. He was still smarting from his father's voluble and creative cursing when he arrived in London to take his insolent scion in hand. Lex had managed to stir up a scandal in the closing months of the Season by allowing himself to be caught leaving Lady Spencer's bedchamber as her husband was arriving. Only Lord Spencer's advanced age saved Lex from the necessity of defending his non-existent honor in a duel. Instead, Sir Luttrell had ordered Lex to rusticate and sent him to Audley End as his punishment. Lex felt quite fortunate that his father had not insisted he join him at the mines to learn the business.
Slowing to a canter, Lex rode along the bank of a deep, fast-flowing stream. Interested in a rock formation ahead, he slowed the stallion still further, the horse requiring a firm hand when it protested the new pace. Debating on whether to dismount and examine the outcropping more closely, his attention was caught by splashing a short distance upstream. Urging the stallion forward to the edge of the steep bank, Lex watched intently as a young man pulled himself out of the water and shook back the water-darkened hair that brushed his shoulders. He caught his breath as he admired the clean lines of the nude figure, golden skin gleaming in the sun. Turning around, he stood still long enough to display a nicely-sized member, framed by a dense mat of black curls, before diving back into the stream. Reluctantly, Lex brought the stallion around, deciding against dismounting and possibly disturbing the young man's swim.
Holding the stallion to a dancing walk, Lex continued upstream, the swimmer no longer in sight. Sighing in disappointment, Lex loosened the reins just as a hare burst out directly under the stallion's feet. Startled, the stallion yanked the loosened reins free and bolted a short distance before Lex was able to regain control. Soothing the trembling horse with a few pats on his sweat-drenched shoulder, Lex walked him back downstream in an effort to cool him down. Turning the stallion around again, Lex was preparing to send the horse into a trot when the young man appeared on the bank, just a few feet away. Reining the overexcited stallion in hard, Lex was horrified when it reared and struck the man in the chest before going over backwards on the bank and rolling into the water. Striking his head on a large rock, Lex never felt the water close over his head.
Lungs burning with the need for air, Lex opened his eyes to a worried face above him, his lips tingling from the hard press of the other's in his attempts to force Lex to breathe. Water dripped from the ends of tangled dark locks onto Lex's face, but he had no desire to push the man with the leaf-green eyes away. Frowning, Lex took in the man's unclothed state and the absence of any cuts and bruises. "I would have taken an oath that my horse struck you!"
Answering with a slow shake of the head, the worried eyes never left his. "If he had, I would most likely be dead and so would you."
Sitting up at that declaration, Lex looked towards the nearby stream. "The stallion?"
Looking over his broad shoulder, his rescuer pointed to the edge of a nearby copse where Lex could just make out the horse's form, head down and cropping grass. "He was up and moving before I thought to look." The face that turned back to Lex held a sheepish grin, "I fear I was too busy making sure you were breathing air instead of Slade Brook."
Lex raised a hand to his head as his injuries began to make themselves felt. "Quite obviously, I was incapable of managing that on my own." A large hand reached out to steady Lex as he swayed from dizziness. "You have my heartfelt gratitude, Mr...?"
Eyes wide as he recognized his rudeness, the young man scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry, Mr. Luttrell, sir." He touched a dripping forelock in respect. "I'm..." Lex wondered at the pause. "I'm Clark Kent."
Staring up at the golden expanse presented for his enjoyment, Lex looked his fill, planning to plead a head injury if his perusal was taken amiss. The man had obviously forgotten his state of undress in his eagerness to amend the lack of introduction. Lex was treated to the sight of sculpted muscle and carved lines that would make Michelangelo's David weep in envy. The cold water did not seem to have disturbed his pleasant proportions and as Lex watched, interest began to stir within the wiry black nest. Lex's gaze swept back up to a face stricken with embarrassment that deepened when Lex remarked with a quirk of his lips and a droll tone, "The squire's son? My sincerest compliments, Mr. Kent, how you have grown since last I saw you."
With a choked sound, two large hands descended to deny Lex the sight of any further interesting developments, while a blush spread so far over Clark's body that Lex feared there would be no blood left for his brain. He backed to the bank of the stream before turning and diving into the water. Lex was surprised at how quickly he reappeared on the farther bank and then laughed as Clark held his breeches up and stared at them, obviously in a dilemma. He could don his garments and swim back or try to bundle them up and carry them over to dress after he arrived. After glancing once more at Lex, Clark shrugged and pulled on his breeches and shirt. He did compromise and held his knee-high boots above the water as he made his way back across the deep stream, wetting himself to the center of his chest. Clambering up the bank, he stood over Lex and dripped, flashing a smile in chagrin. "I decided it wouldn't be fair if I was dry and you were...wet."
Offering his hand, he helped Lex up from the ground before retrieving the stallion, not stopping to put his boots on. He led the tired horse back to Lex, who frowned as he noticed him favoring his right hind leg. Clark handed the reins to Lex before running his hand along the stallion's flank and then down his leg. He squatted to examine his pastern squinting before standing again with a pat to the dusty haunch. "It's just a strain. A few days' rest and he'll be fit as a fiddle."
Lex nodded. "Then it's shank's mare for me since my carriage is miles behind us." He glanced down in chagrin. "If I had known I'd be afoot, I would have chosen a more comfortable pair of boots." With a shrug, he tugged at the stallion's reins and began to lead him towards the road in the distance, knowing it would lead to an easy ford of the stream. Clark fell in beside him without a word.
After a few minutes, Lex stopped and attempted to pull off his riding jacket. "I'll boil inside this and there's no one to see," was his shame-faced excuse. Sodden and heavy with water, the jacket resisted his struggles until Clark assisted him. "I'm in your debt again," Lex quipped as he pulled off his neck-cloth and unbuttoned his shirt collar and cuffs. "Not only have you saved my life, but you've also stood as my valet..." Lex handed over the sodden neck-cloth at Clark's demand and he squatted to bandage the stallion's swelling pastern. "...and farrier, it seems." As Clark rose, Lex made a courtly bow, "A man of many talents, my dear Kent." A sly grin appeared as he swept his eyes over the tall man, lingering on the damply clinging buckskin breeches and linen shirt that concealed little. "I hope to find out how many more talents you have hidden."
"I believe you might have a few *tucked* away yourself, sir." Lex was pleasantly surprised to find himself under careful scrutiny in turn, green eyes flashing up to meet his, winking over a wide saucy grin. Taking the reins from Lex's lax hand, Clark mockingly touched his forelock again and began to lead the stallion away, leaving Lex to follow. He stood for a moment admiring the view before murmuring an amused "bastard" and hurrying to catch up.
// October 1815, Saffron Walden //
"Clark?" Receiving no answer, Lex dismounted and tied his mare to the post by the stable door. Entering the neatly swept interior, he called out again. "Clark, are you here?" A muffled sound drew him further in until a noise made him look up. A dark head poked out of the hayloft and smiled. Lex cocked his head in puzzlement. "What are you doing up there? I thought we were riding?"
"Come on up, I have something to show you."
Shaking his head at country manners, Lex walked to the ladder and began to climb. Uncomfortable with heights, he avoided looking down and was quite happy when he reached the top unscathed. Clark helped him off the ladder and pulled him deeper into the soft mounds of hay. "Over here. I found them this morning."
Still puzzled by Clark's behavior, Lex followed him until they reached the farthest corner of the wooden structure. There, nestled in what looked to be an old shirt, were three fuzzy kittens curled up and sleeping next to their lazily blinking mother. As Clark drew Lex closer, she got up and walked to the door of the haymow, jumped to the top of a stack of crates and made her way to the stable floor. Lex looked at Clark in surprise. "She left them?"
Clark grinned. "She knows I wouldn't hurt them. She's just gone hunting for dinner." Crawling up the hay, he stretched out next to the nest of kittens and smiled up at Lex. The afternoon sun that came through the open hayloft window spilled over him and Lex thought he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Sable-brown waves gleamed with russet highlights in the sun, hanging free to just below shoulders that sometimes found it hard to pass through doorways. No fashionable sideburns for Clark, more often he sported oddly attractive stubble as he detested shaving and had spoken of envying Lex his smooth face. White flowing shirts concealed golden skin without flaw, his habit of doffing them when working in the fields making it simple to be sure of that perfection. His buckskin breeches fit like a second skin, molding to thighs that made Lex jealous of the horses he rode with consummate skill. When not confined to dusty riding boots, his large, well-formed feet wore nothing, Clark preferring to wander barefooted, long toes gripping the ground to aid his amazing sense of balance.
His hands were remarkable, those long thick fingers and broad palms that could hold a rearing horse, wield a scythe in the hayfield and carry hay bales without effort now gently held three mewing kittens to his face where he buried his finely shaped nose in their soft fur. He rubbed high cheekbones against them and his laughing green eyes beckoned to Lex under sweeping dark lashes. "Come here."
Drawn inexorably closer, Lex feared that he could no longer contain his rising desire. He had resisted moving beyond their unspoken attraction, believing that Clark's friendship, like Bruce's, was more important than slaking a temporary craving. They rode together almost daily, meeting at Audley End for chess or billiards when the weather was inclement. Their conversations ranged widely, Lex pleasantly surprised at Clark's interest in botany and geology, while Clark listened eagerly to Lex's stories of his travels on the continent. Under everything, the thread of desire knotted and raveled, both aware, both holding back.
"Come here." Clark had set the kittens back in their nest where they tumbled over each other mock growling and wrestling. He lay on his side in the hay, propped up on one elbow with one knee bent. The other hand beckoned as he grinned lazily and Lex felt need curling warm and low in his belly. Clark's voice was as smooth and golden as his skin. "Come here."
The soles of Lex's boots slipped on the edge of the hay and he went to one knee. He felt a hand under his elbow and then he found himself lifted and tumbled onto Clark's broad chest, which was shaking with suppressed laughter. "What took you so long?" Lex discovered that Clark's eyes held flecks of gold when seen up close and that his breath held the scent of the stalk of sweet hay he would hold between his teeth while working. "Lex?" Clark's brow furrowed in concern when Lex said nothing, simply lying quietly atop Clark, feeling him breathe and memorizing his face.
Smoothing the unnecessary lines away with one pale finger, Lex wondered what Clark would taste like and then he knew. He was sweet like the cakes he would wheedle from the cook and spicy with cinnamon and nutmeg and the sweet hay beneath, green and dark. Lex wondered what he tasted like to Clark and if he was as instantly addicted to the flavor as Lex was of his.
Lex gradually became aware than his riding coat was being removed and he abandoned Clark's mouth long enough to assist. It was thrown carelessly to one side and their shirts soon followed, granting their hands the freedom to explore coveted skin. Lex found himself lifted without effort above Clark's head so that his mouth could suckle and lick across skin he called delicious and beautiful and the sweetest cream. Lex had to be content to caress the planes of the chest he was held suspended above, tweaking nut-brown nipples until Clark hissed and brought him back to plunder his mouth once more. "Lex," he groaned and shifted until their hard lengths were aligned and then thrust upward while holding Lex in place and Lex dropped his head, biting where Clark's shoulder met his taut neck and thrust back, hard. Sliding his hand between their bodies, Lex struggled to reach the buttons on his deerskin breeches until his goal penetrated Clark's lust-hazed brain and he helped by lifting Lex up. Both flaps opened, Lex was able to free their surging lengths and tried to wrap his hand around both with little success. That was soon solved when his hand was replaced by Clark's and the delicious friction made Lex shudder and jerk until he muffled his shout in Clark's shoulder and felt Clark arch beneath him and Lex could not say who pulsed and spilled first in the tunnel of Clark's hand as the world went white.
// December 1815 Saffron Waldon //
"You do realize how utterly ridiculous you look perched on that chair?"
"And you're the man who lives in a house where they made the furniture smaller instead of the room bigger." Clark snickered as his friend rolled his eyes and left the drawing room. It was raining out and they had decided to explore the manor as they had when they were children, making maps and 'discoveries'. That day so far, the only discovery they had made was that the cook liked to take tea with Damian in the fourth drawing room every afternoon at five. "Lex, wait!"
Roaming through the halls did bring back memories, some good, some bad. Clark didn't recall much about the day he had arrived in Saffron Walden, but he did remember finding Lex lying on the ground with his hair and clothes burned off. He'd crouched there whimpering next to the pale boy's body until a man came and covered them, Lex with his shirt and Clark with his coat, and then carried Lex to the manor with Clark following close behind. After that, even though the man became Clark's father and Clark lived in Littlebury, he was drawn back again and again to Audley End, and Lex. The Kents knew that if they couldn't find Clark in the house or on the farm, he would be following Lex about, his faithful shadow.
Clark smiled as he realized that he returned to that role, albeit with a few important additions. He wasn't the same boy who jumped out of trees at Lex's command, although he had been known to follow some interesting instructions in bed. More importantly, he no longer worshipped the boy who knew everything. He loved the man who held his heart. Clark knew he was Lex's equal, just as Lex was his.
Finding the ship had been the turning point. Until then, he believed that Lex could never love him, someone who couldn't match his lightning intellect. His extended absence from Clark's life had left Lex with the powers of a god in Clark's memory. Strength and speed were nothing compared to being able to dream of machines and methods to do the things Clark could easily do with his body. He knew he was different, just as Lex was different, but that just made it more important that they be together, with Lex telling Clark what to do.
A run across the fields next to the old quarry had changed the way Clark saw the world forever. Sixteen years old, he had been running for the sheer joy, drunk on the bright sun after a long cold winter. The sickness had hit him on the edge and he had tumbled headlong into the water that had collected in the quarry over the years. It never went dry, fed by the spring discovered at the bottom, which closed it down a hundred years earlier. Racked with pain, Clark had sunk to the cold bottom before he felt well enough to try to swim.
Peering through the murky water, he glimpsed a shape that called to him and when he touched it, he discovered it was metal, not a rock. Climbing out on the opposite side, to avoid the rocks that made him sick, Clark returned to the farm for block and tackle. He had the shape up on the shore a few hours later and his curiosity still unsatisfied. Clark remembered thinking that Lex would know what to do, just before discovering an indentation along the side. Investigating it with his fingers, he remembered the metal piece his parents claimed he was carrying the day he was found.
Another run to and back and Clark stood next to the shape and held the piece out.
It was another three months before Clark remembered his name. Over time, the memories of growing up in Saffron Waldon had returned, just as the information that his 'ship' had given him began to make sense. It had been a whirling mess of sight and sound that had left him running to London and the friend he knew could help. The problem was, when he arrived he didn't know his own name, let alone who or what he was looking for and so his next life as Callum Jonson began. The only remnant of Clark Kent was the metal key and he'd sent that to his parents before leaving for India. The ship had returned to the depths of the quarry, waiting for him to go home.
Clark wanted to share everything with Lex, but he'd spent too many years hiding now under different names and he wasn't sure how to start to explain. For now, he decided he'd simply enjoy his friend and lover and wait for the right time to arrive.
"Are you going to sit there all night?" A wadded ball of paper sailed through the air to strike Clark between the eyes. Surging to his feet with a mock roar of anger, he scooped up the ammunition and sent Lex running down the hall shouting with laughter.
Clark had frowned at the man who approached him in the stableyard as he and Lex led their horses in. Jerking his head towards the house without a word, he'd sent the stranger off.
"Who was that?" Lex had carried his saddle over to set it next to Clark's, letting his mare rest as usual in a stall while he had Sunday dinner with the Kents.
"Nobody important. I'll take care of it later." Dismissing Lex's question, Clark had kissed him thoroughly before finishing up the horses and leaving the stable for dinner. Night was falling earlier each day and he'd wanted to escort Lex home before it became too dark to ride safely.
Dinner was pleasant and no mention was made of the stranger. Instead, Lex bantered with Squire Kent about the lack of intelligent discourse in the county, present company excepted. That had led to a discussion of the fossils being collected by Mary Anning at Lyme Regis and Clark's wish that he could visit the finds. He teased his mother about finding something on the farm that she could be famous for and she threatened to inform the Royal Society that Clark Jerome Kent was not to be trusted when it came to monographs on saffron because she had taught him everything he knew.
Lex had laughed and assured her that the Royal Society insisted on full and complete disclosure and then brought up the latest monograph on electricity he was attempting to co-author with Michael Faraday. Despite the earlier declared lack of amusement, Lex seemed content enough to be with Clark and his parents and had bidden the Kents a pleasant farewell before he and Clark headed for the manor. He had insisted before that Clark's escort was unnecessary, but there had been enough odd happenings around the county the previous few months, that Clark felt much happier making sure Lex was safe.
They had almost reached the manor when a loud grunting and squealing issued from a grove of trees beside the path. Rearing in fright, Lex's mare struck out at the massive boar that rushed at them from cover. Lex made a valiant attempt to bring the horse under control, but failed when the boar ripped at her hindquarters with razor-sharp tusks. She twisted and fell over backwards, throwing Lex free of the saddle before crashing to the ground. Winded by the fall, Lex attempted to stand, only to find his ankle unable to support him. He narrowly avoided a second rush by the boar only to stumble and fall, striking his head.
Clark, who had been unseated by a second boar, picked Lex up and ran towards the manor, abandoning the screaming horses. He was afraid any time he spent fighting the beasts would only expose an unconscious Lex to further danger. Calling out for Damian as he strode through the house, he carried Lex to his bedchamber and laid him carefully on the bed. Damian, who had come running at his calls, began assembling supplies for treating his master. Clark quickly looked for broken bones and finding none, apologized for leaving Damian with Lex before running back out to see to the horses, and find the beasts that had attacked.
He was too late to save the mare, although his gelding had escaped with just a few superficial slashes. Following the trail left by the large beasts, Clark came upon them in a clearing where they were milling about restlessly. As the moon came up, Clark noticed their eyes glowing green and he realized that they had been changed by the rocks that made him sick, just as other animals and men had been through the years. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor; Clark searched for several fist-sized rocks and dispatched the beasts with rocks thrown faster than any bullet could fly.
"Master Alexander. Master Alexander, can you hear me?" A cool damp cloth and an insistent voice dragged Lex from the quiet, pain-free darkness. "I think he's coming around now, sir." A quiet rumble answered and Lex struggled to open his eyes to see who was there along with his manservant, Damian. "Lay still now, Master Alexander. That's quite a nasty bump on your head."
"Who's there?" Lex could hear how slurred his words were and could only hope they were understandable. His eyelids fluttered open only to wince when they encountered the over-bright flame of the candle held over his face by his concerned servant. He cleared his throat and was pleased to hear that the next sentence sounded more comprehensible. "Move the bloody candle away from my eyes, you idiot!"
A chuckle from the doorway indicated his unknown guest appreciated Lex's ready turn of phrase. "I'm glad to hear you've returned to the land of the living." Footsteps approached his bedside and Lex squinted to try to catch sight of the man who matched the pleasant voice. "I'm also glad to see you've taken no serious damage." The ill-defined shape that emerged from the shadows gave the impression of great height and strength despite the dim light and dark clothing. "I'm sorry I can't say the same for your mare."
Lex sucked in a breath at the sight of golden eyes reflecting the candlelight, deeply set above high cut cheekbones and beautifully mobile lips. He struggled to find the right words to keep the oddly familiar vision at his side, believing he was still unconscious and dreaming. "I'm afraid I have no recollection of what happened." He winced again as the bump and scrape on the back of his head dragged against his pillow as he tried to see his visitor more clearly, the shadows still preventing a full view of his face. "Once again, I believe I owe you thanks in return for saving me after my inept attempts, C...allum."
A gasp and Lex's visitor withdrew to the shadows. "I'm afraid you've..."
"It's all right, Callum. It's not the first time I've fainted like a damsel in distress, right into your arms." Lex's smile turned into a rueful grin as he admitted to his weakness. "I do feel very weary though, so you'll have to excuse me." His eyelids drooped despite his best efforts. "I don't want to lose you again, Callum. Please leave your address with Damian? I'd..." The rest of his sentence was lost to a gentle snore.
A large warm hand passed gently over his bare crown as he slept and caressed his feverish cheek. Clark turned to Damian. "Be sure to wake him every hour until morning. I believe he'll be all right, but it's best to be certain." At Damian's nod, he continued. "I'll be back in the morning to check on him." Shoulders slumped, he left the room and made his way home.
"Sir?"
Clark looked up from his preoccupied staring into the fire and saw his sergeant hovering at the door. "Oh, Benton. I'm so sorry. I'd quite forgotten you'd arrived today." Waving his half-full glass at the sideboard, he issued an invitation, "Please, have some port. It's excellent, the best of the Luttrell cellars." Leaning against the mantle, he resumed his contemplation of the flames.
"Thank you, sir." Benton made no move toward the offered refreshment, instead continuing to fidget in place until Clark looked up quizzically. "Benton?"
"I think you should read this, sir." He handed Clark a large heavy envelope with an official-looking seal.
Looking at the address on the front, Captain Walden raised an eyebrow and glanced at his second. Setting his glass down on the mantle, he broke the seal and extracted several pages. Tipping them to the firelight, he began to read. His hand began to shake and a sobbing laugh left his mouth as he looked up at Benton. "I've been made a bloody Viscount." The hand holding his letter of patent dropped to his side and he picked up his glass. "Here's to Captain Jerome Walden, the new Viscount of Creighton..." he drank the remainder of his port in a single swallow and threw the glass in the fireplace, "...whether he bloody well wants to be or not."
PART THREE
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 24,710
Cover: (Cover #1)
Summary: Three men. One destiny.
PART ONE
// July 1814 Paris //
As the tall, fashionably-dressed man exited the Hotel d'Anlezy, he glanced up at the cloudy sky before checking his filigreed fob watch. Nodding, he tucked the watch back into his vest pocket, straightened his plum-colored morning coat and placed his beaver hat upon his surprisingly bald head. Tucking his Malacca cane under his arm, he set off briskly down the Rue de Bourgogne. He seemed unconcerned about appearances, eschewing the maxim that declared 'one strolls with a walking stick and swaggers with a cane' for the simple pleasure of walking along the streets of Paris. Crossing the Seine via the Pont de la Concorde, he passed the Jardin des Tuileries to enter a side door of the Louvre.
"Ah, Faraday! I see you were able to escape the vile clutches of Madame Apreece." Removing his hat, Lex advanced on the young ill-dressed man waiting in the dark corridor. "I can only hope the chance to view DaVinci's journals is worth facing her wrath on your return."
A shy smile and nod agreed with Lex. "Indeed, it is. I think even Sir Davy might end a trifle jealous of his assistant's good fortune." He gave a short bow. "I can't thank you enough, Mr. Luttrell, for allowing me this opportunity."
"Please, it's Lex to my friends. Come now Michael, I've seen the notes on your experiments with electricity." Lex placed his hand under the younger man's elbow to guide him along the corridor to the open door at the end. "I would be remiss if I failed to assist the cause of science when given a chance like this."
The elderly gentleman waiting for them accepted their hats and Lex's cane before indicating that they should take a seat and that the director would join them shortly. As they waited, they chatted desultorily on a number of scientific monographs they had read, commenting on the feasibility of proposed theories and experimental procedures. Lex extracted a small silver case inlaid with mother of pearl from an interior pocket of his coat and began to make notations on the enclosed tablet with the small matching pencil, occasionally asking Faraday to repeat a particular observation.
"Gentlemen, please excuse the delay. I'm afraid that matters of state sometimes intrude on my time." Lex and Faraday rose to greet the director who bustled importantly into the room. "Now, I'm sure you're impatient to get started." Crossing to a tall armoire, he unlocked it, withdrew a heavy metal case, and placed it on a nearby table. "I'll have to ask you to avoid touching the pages with your fingers, if you please. I have these special page turners for you to use instead." Opening the box, he extracted several leather bound journals and opened them exposing the crackling vellum pages and stood back to allow the two younger men to approach.
"Incredible," whispered Faraday, his eyes wide with disbelief as he read the words Leonardo DaVinci had penned 300 years earlier. His lips moved silently as he translated the Latin, restraining himself with a noticeable effort when he absently reached to turn the page.
Scribbling frantically, Lex paid his companion little attention, his fascination with the journals overwhelming his normally polite behavior. "It's incredible! How could he have even imagined this so long ago?" he muttered, flipping the pages with the provided tool. "How I wish I could have studied under him."
On Lex's return, the hotel's concierge delivered several letters that had arrived in his absence. Carrying them upstairs to his suite, Lex threw them on the bed, determined to finish his notes on DaVinci's journals before opening his correspondence. Tugging at his cravat as Damian removed his coat, Lex decided he would hold back the second letter as a reward for performing his filial duty and responding to his father's weekly demand for his wayward son's return.
Lionel believed a year on the Continent was sufficient grooming for his son and heir and wanted Lex to return for the London Season to begin his search for a titled wife. Lex was unwilling to enter the marriage mart as of yet and insisted that the social and scientific contacts he was making were worth the delay in his return. He hoped to convince Lionel that waiting for the next year's Season would be in Lionel's best interest. He certainly knew it was in his own. Sitting at the secretary in the suite's sitting parlor, Lex drafted several letters before settling on a final copy. He sealed it and set it aside for his manservant to post the next day. Duty fulfilled, he retired to the bedroom and sat propped against the headboard to read Bruce's letter.
Fascinated by the intense and complex training undergone by the Lipizzans at the Spanish Riding School, Bruce had remained behind in Vienna. While he understood it would take years to learn how to perform the "airs above the ground" that the white stallions were noted for, Bruce felt that it was worth attempting the 'campagne' or elementary dressage lessons that the school offered. The idea of guiding a collected horse through all of the required gaits, turns and maneuvers, while maintaining perfect balance, appealed to Bruce's temperament. Combining that with instruction from several noted fencing masters left Bruce as content as Lex had ever seen him before and his letter stated he would be remaining in Austria for at least another six months. Tossing the pages on the bed, Lex sighed, missing his closest friend. He thought that perhaps he'd return to Vienna after the Sir Humphrey Davy left Paris for his next destination, if he couldn't convince Faraday to stay behind with him.
Hands behind his head, Lex slumped lower on the bed and reflected once again on friendship. Michael Faraday, the unkempt son of a butcher, was uncomfortable in society and his sole redeeming quality was his amazing grasp of the sciences. Bruce was charming and loyal and had willing joined Lex in his travels, yet cared little about Lex's scientific pursuits. He could not help but wonder if there was a man alive that could fulfill all of his needs and desires, a companion that could be his equal. The last time he'd felt as if it could be possible was over ten years ago, before he'd been forced to leave the manor at Audley End and the local squire's son he had called friend.
// December 1814 Saffron Walden //
Bringing his rangy big-boned gelding to a dancing halt at the crossroads, Captain Jerome Walden shifted in the saddle and surveyed the countryside he used to call home. The fields were tilled and waiting for spring planting and the road was empty without any carts or cattle heading for market. Winter was a quiet time in Saffron Walden, a time to rest after the short, frantic fall harvest of fragile blooms. Breathing in the crisp, clear air, Walden smiled. He would not miss the hot, heavy air of India and was glad he was back in England for good, although he hadn't resigned his commission yet and was only on a month's leave from his regimental duties.
Two weeks earlier, London had seen Callum Jonson striding through Haymarket to pound on the door of Black Pete's lodgings. The older man had stood in the doorway, staring and speechless, until Callum had swooped down and gathered him into a crushing hug. The rest of the street heard Pete's shouts of joy and had come running to welcome back their local hero. He'd answered their questions until he was hoarse and Pete sent them all away assuring them Callum would be back later. As Pete had prepared a quick supper, he'd explained that Chloe had not been there to greet Callum because she had moved to Bermuda with her new husband the previous year. Although Callum had been pleased about his friend's good fortune, he couldn't help being saddened at her absence.
Two pints and a rare beefsteak later, Callum had pushed back from the table in Pete's kitchen and grinned at his friend. "You remember our plan?" Pete nodded without a word, eyes narrowed as he waited. Removing his bottle-green spencer jacket, Callum had hung it over the back of his chair before unbuttoning his Indian cotton shirt and pulling it over his head. A quilted linen vest was revealed and Callum had slowly unbuttoned it, grinning all the while. Taking it off he'd handed it Pete, who almost dropped it at the unexpected weight. He'd hefted it in both hands before raising a questioning eyebrow. Callum had drawn a penknife from his trousers and taking the vest back from Pete, slit open of the small quilted squares. A flick of his wrist and a stone had fallen onto the table.
Reaching out with a shaking hand, Pete had picked up a blood-red stone as large as the first joint of his thumb. "Is this...?"
Callum had nodded solemnly. "A pigeon's blood ruby from the Mogok Valley." Unable to contain himself any longer he'd grinned. "I'd guess it's about 15 carats and it's not the largest I found."
"How many?"
"Last count? 234 rubies and 47 of them are star rubies."
"Star? Do you have any idea..."
"Yes, I do. I'm not done. There's also 312 sapphires, some yellow, green and violet stones besides the blue. There are stars in a lot of those, too. Some aquamarines, tourmalines and a few I couldn't identify." Callum had shoved the vest back across the table to his awestruck friend.
Swallowing hard, Pete had shaken his head in wonder. "Callum, do you have idea how much these are worth?"
"I'm thinking...a king's ransom, but more importantly, a new life for you, me and a few friends I made in India."
The rest of that night had been spent deciding how Pete would sell the stones and what they would do with the money. Callum had explained how he had taken overnight trips to the Mogok valley using his speed and located the stones with his special way of looking. Pete had known about his speed and strength, but the change in his eyes was new and Pete wanted Callum to show him how it worked. After correctly guessing what Pete kept in the safe under the floorboards in his bedroom and how many stones he had in his hand, Callum had decided it was time to sleep and had dragged a laughing Pete upstairs to show him just how much he'd missed him.
The following day, Callum brought Simms and Benton along to meet Pete and they had handed over the vests they were wearing. Callum explained that Simms had invented the vests to make certain the stones wouldn't be lost or stolen and that both he and Benson had taken care of Jerome Walden and helped conceal his special abilities, just as Pete and Chloe had done for Callum in London. Pete was pleased to meet Callum's new friends and they were soon sharing stories about Walden's adventures in India and Callum's time in London. Pete told about Callum saving Chloe and Benton bragged about Walden saving the Governor-General's life and being promoted to Captain.
It had been decided that while Pete sold the gems, Benton would look for an estate to purchase, and Simms would handle procuring the necessary clothing, servants and household goods. They all knew that it would take months to set up Captain Jerome Walden for his entry into polite society, but being able to share the work would help. While Simms and Benton argued over which section of London to begin looking in, Pete drew Callum aside to tell him that a Mr. Luttrell had been looking for him after he'd sailed, but that he and Chloe had told Luttrell nothing about Callum's new name or destination. Callum nodded, but decided to keep his history with Lex to himself. Pete then told him that he'd delivered the letter to his parents as Callum had asked, and that they had been overjoyed to find out that he was alive and well and had joined the army. Pete had urged Callum to visit them and was finally able to convince him that all would be forgiven.
Now, he'd returned to where it had all started fourteen years ago, in flame, thunder, and fear. Bringing his horse about and giving him his head, Clark galloped down the road to Littlebury and the parents he hadn't seen for three long years.
The sound of a drawer gliding shut greeted the tall graying man as he walked into the sitting room. He sighed and walked to the secretary by the window where a flame-haired woman pretended to write in a journal. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You don't have to hide the letter, Martha. I know you like to read it when you're missing him."
Martha set her pencil down and looked up into her husband's face, blinking back her tears. "Thank you for understanding, Jonathan. It's just been so long since he wrote it and there's never been another one." Her lip trembled as she tried to stay calm. "I can't help feeling something's happened to him, even though he's never been sick or hurt before."
Jonathan nodded before looking out the window across the extensive gardens. "That man who brought the letter, Mr. Black, he said Clark was well when he left and that the only problem he'd had was his memory, and that was just in the beginning. I'm sure he's fine Martha and just too busy to write." He turned away from the window long enough to smile down at her. "You know how Clark always needed to help people. That's most likely what he's doing right now, taking care of his men." He glimpsed a movement outside from the corner of his eye and turned his head back in time to see a horseman galloping up the drive. "Someone's just arrived in a hurry. I'd better see if something's happened and they need a magistrate." Bending down, he bestowed another kiss on her cheek before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
Martha picked up her pencil once more and began to write. She had only set down a few words before she heard shouts from the front hall and she rose from her chair in concern. Suddenly, the door was flung open and a tall, raven-haired man in a greatcoat bounded into the room, filling it with his presence. Martha looked at his tanned face and gasped in disbelief. "Clark?" The tears she'd held back before began to fall in earnest. "Is it really you?" and then she was caught up in his arms and her face was covered with his kisses and his tears and she heard his whispers of love and mama and forgive me and she thought her heart would burst with joy.
Seated in her son's lap, Martha could not stop running her fingers through the long, wavy hair that Clark had released from its old-fashioned queue. She listened contentedly as Jonathan quizzed Clark about his career in the army as well as how he had risen from lieutenant to captain so quickly. When Jonathan began to press for Clark's reasons for leaving, Martha jumped up and insisted that her son must be famished. She chivvied him out of the sitting room, telling him that he needed to freshen up before sitting down for dinner and that his room had always been ready and waiting for his return. After the door closed behind him, she whirled about with her hands on her hips and frowned at her husband. "Jonathan, leave the boy alone. I won't have you driving him away again with your questions!"
"But Martha..."
"No!" Martha's vehemence took Jonathan aback. "He's back and that's all that matters. My beautiful boy is back and that is all I care for, not why he left, nor what he's been doing. Leave him be!"
Unwilling to distress his beloved wife any further, Jonathan bowed his head in agreement. "As you wish, my dear. No more questions."
"...that young Viscount Fordham from out Hempstead is a captain too. Did you meet him by chance?" Martha had chattered about the births, deaths and marriages among the local farmers and tradesmen through dinner and continued after they had withdrawn to the sitting room once more. "I know there are a great many people in the army, but I thought perhaps...?"
Clark smiled indulgently at his excited mother. "Mama, there are certainly more people than I'd ever seen before. I did meet him once, though he didn't recognize me." Clark neglected to explain to his parents that he was under a different name at the time. "I daresay it was because we were both a great deal younger when we first met."
"Ah well, such a handsome young man, too. So well-mannered, and not the tiniest bit above himself when we met at Lana's birthday celebration."
Jonathan cleared his throat before interjecting, "We had a good discussion on crop rotation and he had some interesting ideas on cattle feed, too."
"You should visit the Langford's while you're here. Lana asks after you often after the church services. Such a sweet-tempered young lady." Martha patted her son's hand and smiled as she plotted how to arrange a meeting between the two young people.
Clark smiled absently as he tried to remember something about the 'sweet-tempered young lady'. A vague recollection of escorting a slip of a girl with the eyes of a fawn through the cemetery to visit her parents' graves was all he could summon. The years he spent playing with Lex in the rooms and gardens at Audley End were clear and sharp in comparison. He had been nine years old and Lex twelve when they were parted, but the four years they spent as constant companions had been the happiest days of Clark's life.
Clark supposed he couldn't blame Lex for not recognizing him nine years later. After all, growing an additional two feet and adding five or six stone would change how anyone would look. Anyone, that is, except Lex. He was unmistakable. It wasn't just his baldness, although that was certainly an important part, it was how he carried himself. It was a cool disregard for how the rest of the world viewed him; a tall, lean, and pale figure with piercing blue eyes that had persisted into his later years.
Lex's intelligence been almost frightening, easily remembering everything he'd read and applying it to 'experiments' that sometimes had interesting consequences. If Lex hadn't healed so quickly or Clark had been able to be cut or bruised, they would have spent a great deal of time being punished for setting off explosives or building mechanisms that threatened to sever limbs. There were also the meticulous records Lex kept of how long Clark could hold his breath underwater, how tall a tree Clark could jump out of without injury and whether Clark could outrun an angry badger.
"So, you'll accompany me to Waltham Manor the day after next?" Martha's question brought Clark's attention back to the present and he found that he'd agreed to visit the Honorable Lana Langford and her guardian, the Honorable Ellen Langford for tea in two day's time. He wondered if war could possibly be declared before then, to save him.
// June 1815 London //
"Lady Spencer, if I might have the honor?"
The raven-haired matron blushed and tapped her fan on back of Lex's wrist as he rose from his deep bow over her hand. "La, Mr. Luttrell, you know how people will talk as you've already led me out twice this evening."
Lex leaned forward with a sly smile to whisper in her delicate ear, "Do you and I truly care a fig about how people will talk?" Stepping back, he executed another deep bow. "You've dealt my heart a severe blow, madam. I fear I must retire from the fray. Good evening." Making his way around the perimeter of the assembly room, Lex greeted acquaintances and shared the latest on-dits with the cream of the ton.
Although Lex's birth was outside the peerage, his father's title and money granted him recognition as one of the young lions of the Season. This in turn, allowed him to absent himself on occasion without censure, excused by the virtue of wealth. His sharp wit had earned him a place among the up-and-coming who were willing to overlook his odd appearance for the sake of his patronage. The elders found no fault in his address or clothing, which was often held up as an example against the extremes pursued by many young bucks.
Deciding that he had stayed long enough to satisfy appearances, Lex began to make his way out of the hot, crowded room. He wished to end the evening at his club, discussing the latest meeting of the Royal Society. Contrary to Lionel's wishes, Lex's real attention was on the pursuit of a Fellowship, not a bride. He had submitted several monographs co-authored by Faraday and had presented his observations on the DaVinci journals in front of Joseph Banks and the council at Somerset House. In all, Lex would prefer being known as a gentleman scientist rather than a tulip of fashion.
He had almost succeeded in reaching the exit when there was a stir. A stripling pushed his way to the center of the floor and waited until the music died before shouting, "Napoleon has been defeated! Wellington has taken him at Waterloo!" A cheer went up as London society applauded the man who had saved them from the 'Beast of Elba'. Lex took advantage of the lull and escaped, joining his scientific peers at his club where they promptly investigated the expected outcome of imbibing far too many bottles of champagne.
Much later that evening, Lex complained bitterly to Damian that although he'd swaggered the length and breadth of Haymarket, no one, not one single person had accosted him. His long-suffering manservant merely nodded and sympathized as he continued to pry Lex out of his clothing in preparation for bed. As he helped his grumbling master under the sheets, Damian agreed it was utterly unfair that Callum Jonson had not been there to save Lex from the murderers and thieves that had not attacked him.
// June 1815 Brussels //
Walden rinsed the threadbare cloth again before using it to bathe the sweat from Captain Fordham's face and neck. It had been two long days and Walden feared that if his fever didn't break soon, he would end by burying his friend alongside too many other brave men that had fallen at Waterloo. Fordham mumbled and thrashed against Walden's restraining arms until he struck his wound and the pain left him unconscious and quiet once more. Walden looked through the bandages that covered what remained of the young man's right arm, relieved to see that despite his fever, no infection had set in and it seemed to be healing well.
The two men had met again a few weeks before, both having been promoted to Wellington's personal corps. Walden was prized for his facility in languages as well as his renowned stamina in the field while Fordham excelled in comprehending battle strategy and troop placement. Thrown together by necessity as the army advanced through Belgium in pursuit of Napoleon, they had become friends despite the persistent weakness and nausea Walden suffered when Fordham wore his signet ring. The fair-haired man had proudly pointed out the family crest engraved on the setting below the green stone he claimed had been found on his family's estate in Essex. Staying as far away as possible, Walden had admired the ring before claiming he was needed for a prisoner interrogation, leaving Fordham and his ring behind with the latest set of maps and orders.
He had lost sight of Fordham after the French were engaged at Waterloo, only seeing him once in the distance urging his men to hold against a flanking action. Walden had been shepherding his own men through the hail of cannon fire and bullets, seeing boys and men fall around him while he remained unscathed. He'd carried the fallen to the waiting wagons, his strength sustaining him through the horror of torn bodies and missing faces. The hours wore on, the noise unceasing, the blood and gore creating a gruesome mud that sucked greedily at his boots. Emotions deadened by the horror, Walden had no longer looked at faces, he simply picked up the next wounded man he found alive and carried him out of the field.
No faces that is, until his name was called out and he had turned to see Fordham under an overturned cannon. Unable to pull him free, Walden had placed his back against the two-ton cannon and carriage and forced it back upright. Fordham had fainted at the first movement and Walden had picked him up easily to carry him out. After only a few strides, it had struck him that he hadn't felt weakened and that he should not have been able to shift the cannon with Fordham there. Puzzled, he'd looked down to discover that the ring was missing along with most of Fordham's arm. The horror finally breaking through, he'd managed to deliver the wounded man safely before dropping to his knees in the vile mud, throwing back his head and screaming.
// August 1815, Saffron Walden //
Leaving the carriage and luggage cart behind, Lex let his new stallion have his head, letting the breeze cool his heated face. He was still smarting from his father's voluble and creative cursing when he arrived in London to take his insolent scion in hand. Lex had managed to stir up a scandal in the closing months of the Season by allowing himself to be caught leaving Lady Spencer's bedchamber as her husband was arriving. Only Lord Spencer's advanced age saved Lex from the necessity of defending his non-existent honor in a duel. Instead, Sir Luttrell had ordered Lex to rusticate and sent him to Audley End as his punishment. Lex felt quite fortunate that his father had not insisted he join him at the mines to learn the business.
Slowing to a canter, Lex rode along the bank of a deep, fast-flowing stream. Interested in a rock formation ahead, he slowed the stallion still further, the horse requiring a firm hand when it protested the new pace. Debating on whether to dismount and examine the outcropping more closely, his attention was caught by splashing a short distance upstream. Urging the stallion forward to the edge of the steep bank, Lex watched intently as a young man pulled himself out of the water and shook back the water-darkened hair that brushed his shoulders. He caught his breath as he admired the clean lines of the nude figure, golden skin gleaming in the sun. Turning around, he stood still long enough to display a nicely-sized member, framed by a dense mat of black curls, before diving back into the stream. Reluctantly, Lex brought the stallion around, deciding against dismounting and possibly disturbing the young man's swim.
Holding the stallion to a dancing walk, Lex continued upstream, the swimmer no longer in sight. Sighing in disappointment, Lex loosened the reins just as a hare burst out directly under the stallion's feet. Startled, the stallion yanked the loosened reins free and bolted a short distance before Lex was able to regain control. Soothing the trembling horse with a few pats on his sweat-drenched shoulder, Lex walked him back downstream in an effort to cool him down. Turning the stallion around again, Lex was preparing to send the horse into a trot when the young man appeared on the bank, just a few feet away. Reining the overexcited stallion in hard, Lex was horrified when it reared and struck the man in the chest before going over backwards on the bank and rolling into the water. Striking his head on a large rock, Lex never felt the water close over his head.
Lungs burning with the need for air, Lex opened his eyes to a worried face above him, his lips tingling from the hard press of the other's in his attempts to force Lex to breathe. Water dripped from the ends of tangled dark locks onto Lex's face, but he had no desire to push the man with the leaf-green eyes away. Frowning, Lex took in the man's unclothed state and the absence of any cuts and bruises. "I would have taken an oath that my horse struck you!"
Answering with a slow shake of the head, the worried eyes never left his. "If he had, I would most likely be dead and so would you."
Sitting up at that declaration, Lex looked towards the nearby stream. "The stallion?"
Looking over his broad shoulder, his rescuer pointed to the edge of a nearby copse where Lex could just make out the horse's form, head down and cropping grass. "He was up and moving before I thought to look." The face that turned back to Lex held a sheepish grin, "I fear I was too busy making sure you were breathing air instead of Slade Brook."
Lex raised a hand to his head as his injuries began to make themselves felt. "Quite obviously, I was incapable of managing that on my own." A large hand reached out to steady Lex as he swayed from dizziness. "You have my heartfelt gratitude, Mr...?"
Eyes wide as he recognized his rudeness, the young man scrambled to his feet. "I'm sorry, Mr. Luttrell, sir." He touched a dripping forelock in respect. "I'm..." Lex wondered at the pause. "I'm Clark Kent."
Staring up at the golden expanse presented for his enjoyment, Lex looked his fill, planning to plead a head injury if his perusal was taken amiss. The man had obviously forgotten his state of undress in his eagerness to amend the lack of introduction. Lex was treated to the sight of sculpted muscle and carved lines that would make Michelangelo's David weep in envy. The cold water did not seem to have disturbed his pleasant proportions and as Lex watched, interest began to stir within the wiry black nest. Lex's gaze swept back up to a face stricken with embarrassment that deepened when Lex remarked with a quirk of his lips and a droll tone, "The squire's son? My sincerest compliments, Mr. Kent, how you have grown since last I saw you."
With a choked sound, two large hands descended to deny Lex the sight of any further interesting developments, while a blush spread so far over Clark's body that Lex feared there would be no blood left for his brain. He backed to the bank of the stream before turning and diving into the water. Lex was surprised at how quickly he reappeared on the farther bank and then laughed as Clark held his breeches up and stared at them, obviously in a dilemma. He could don his garments and swim back or try to bundle them up and carry them over to dress after he arrived. After glancing once more at Lex, Clark shrugged and pulled on his breeches and shirt. He did compromise and held his knee-high boots above the water as he made his way back across the deep stream, wetting himself to the center of his chest. Clambering up the bank, he stood over Lex and dripped, flashing a smile in chagrin. "I decided it wouldn't be fair if I was dry and you were...wet."
Offering his hand, he helped Lex up from the ground before retrieving the stallion, not stopping to put his boots on. He led the tired horse back to Lex, who frowned as he noticed him favoring his right hind leg. Clark handed the reins to Lex before running his hand along the stallion's flank and then down his leg. He squatted to examine his pastern squinting before standing again with a pat to the dusty haunch. "It's just a strain. A few days' rest and he'll be fit as a fiddle."
Lex nodded. "Then it's shank's mare for me since my carriage is miles behind us." He glanced down in chagrin. "If I had known I'd be afoot, I would have chosen a more comfortable pair of boots." With a shrug, he tugged at the stallion's reins and began to lead him towards the road in the distance, knowing it would lead to an easy ford of the stream. Clark fell in beside him without a word.
After a few minutes, Lex stopped and attempted to pull off his riding jacket. "I'll boil inside this and there's no one to see," was his shame-faced excuse. Sodden and heavy with water, the jacket resisted his struggles until Clark assisted him. "I'm in your debt again," Lex quipped as he pulled off his neck-cloth and unbuttoned his shirt collar and cuffs. "Not only have you saved my life, but you've also stood as my valet..." Lex handed over the sodden neck-cloth at Clark's demand and he squatted to bandage the stallion's swelling pastern. "...and farrier, it seems." As Clark rose, Lex made a courtly bow, "A man of many talents, my dear Kent." A sly grin appeared as he swept his eyes over the tall man, lingering on the damply clinging buckskin breeches and linen shirt that concealed little. "I hope to find out how many more talents you have hidden."
"I believe you might have a few *tucked* away yourself, sir." Lex was pleasantly surprised to find himself under careful scrutiny in turn, green eyes flashing up to meet his, winking over a wide saucy grin. Taking the reins from Lex's lax hand, Clark mockingly touched his forelock again and began to lead the stallion away, leaving Lex to follow. He stood for a moment admiring the view before murmuring an amused "bastard" and hurrying to catch up.
// October 1815, Saffron Walden //
"Clark?" Receiving no answer, Lex dismounted and tied his mare to the post by the stable door. Entering the neatly swept interior, he called out again. "Clark, are you here?" A muffled sound drew him further in until a noise made him look up. A dark head poked out of the hayloft and smiled. Lex cocked his head in puzzlement. "What are you doing up there? I thought we were riding?"
"Come on up, I have something to show you."
Shaking his head at country manners, Lex walked to the ladder and began to climb. Uncomfortable with heights, he avoided looking down and was quite happy when he reached the top unscathed. Clark helped him off the ladder and pulled him deeper into the soft mounds of hay. "Over here. I found them this morning."
Still puzzled by Clark's behavior, Lex followed him until they reached the farthest corner of the wooden structure. There, nestled in what looked to be an old shirt, were three fuzzy kittens curled up and sleeping next to their lazily blinking mother. As Clark drew Lex closer, she got up and walked to the door of the haymow, jumped to the top of a stack of crates and made her way to the stable floor. Lex looked at Clark in surprise. "She left them?"
Clark grinned. "She knows I wouldn't hurt them. She's just gone hunting for dinner." Crawling up the hay, he stretched out next to the nest of kittens and smiled up at Lex. The afternoon sun that came through the open hayloft window spilled over him and Lex thought he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Sable-brown waves gleamed with russet highlights in the sun, hanging free to just below shoulders that sometimes found it hard to pass through doorways. No fashionable sideburns for Clark, more often he sported oddly attractive stubble as he detested shaving and had spoken of envying Lex his smooth face. White flowing shirts concealed golden skin without flaw, his habit of doffing them when working in the fields making it simple to be sure of that perfection. His buckskin breeches fit like a second skin, molding to thighs that made Lex jealous of the horses he rode with consummate skill. When not confined to dusty riding boots, his large, well-formed feet wore nothing, Clark preferring to wander barefooted, long toes gripping the ground to aid his amazing sense of balance.
His hands were remarkable, those long thick fingers and broad palms that could hold a rearing horse, wield a scythe in the hayfield and carry hay bales without effort now gently held three mewing kittens to his face where he buried his finely shaped nose in their soft fur. He rubbed high cheekbones against them and his laughing green eyes beckoned to Lex under sweeping dark lashes. "Come here."
Drawn inexorably closer, Lex feared that he could no longer contain his rising desire. He had resisted moving beyond their unspoken attraction, believing that Clark's friendship, like Bruce's, was more important than slaking a temporary craving. They rode together almost daily, meeting at Audley End for chess or billiards when the weather was inclement. Their conversations ranged widely, Lex pleasantly surprised at Clark's interest in botany and geology, while Clark listened eagerly to Lex's stories of his travels on the continent. Under everything, the thread of desire knotted and raveled, both aware, both holding back.
"Come here." Clark had set the kittens back in their nest where they tumbled over each other mock growling and wrestling. He lay on his side in the hay, propped up on one elbow with one knee bent. The other hand beckoned as he grinned lazily and Lex felt need curling warm and low in his belly. Clark's voice was as smooth and golden as his skin. "Come here."
The soles of Lex's boots slipped on the edge of the hay and he went to one knee. He felt a hand under his elbow and then he found himself lifted and tumbled onto Clark's broad chest, which was shaking with suppressed laughter. "What took you so long?" Lex discovered that Clark's eyes held flecks of gold when seen up close and that his breath held the scent of the stalk of sweet hay he would hold between his teeth while working. "Lex?" Clark's brow furrowed in concern when Lex said nothing, simply lying quietly atop Clark, feeling him breathe and memorizing his face.
Smoothing the unnecessary lines away with one pale finger, Lex wondered what Clark would taste like and then he knew. He was sweet like the cakes he would wheedle from the cook and spicy with cinnamon and nutmeg and the sweet hay beneath, green and dark. Lex wondered what he tasted like to Clark and if he was as instantly addicted to the flavor as Lex was of his.
Lex gradually became aware than his riding coat was being removed and he abandoned Clark's mouth long enough to assist. It was thrown carelessly to one side and their shirts soon followed, granting their hands the freedom to explore coveted skin. Lex found himself lifted without effort above Clark's head so that his mouth could suckle and lick across skin he called delicious and beautiful and the sweetest cream. Lex had to be content to caress the planes of the chest he was held suspended above, tweaking nut-brown nipples until Clark hissed and brought him back to plunder his mouth once more. "Lex," he groaned and shifted until their hard lengths were aligned and then thrust upward while holding Lex in place and Lex dropped his head, biting where Clark's shoulder met his taut neck and thrust back, hard. Sliding his hand between their bodies, Lex struggled to reach the buttons on his deerskin breeches until his goal penetrated Clark's lust-hazed brain and he helped by lifting Lex up. Both flaps opened, Lex was able to free their surging lengths and tried to wrap his hand around both with little success. That was soon solved when his hand was replaced by Clark's and the delicious friction made Lex shudder and jerk until he muffled his shout in Clark's shoulder and felt Clark arch beneath him and Lex could not say who pulsed and spilled first in the tunnel of Clark's hand as the world went white.
// December 1815 Saffron Waldon //
"You do realize how utterly ridiculous you look perched on that chair?"
"And you're the man who lives in a house where they made the furniture smaller instead of the room bigger." Clark snickered as his friend rolled his eyes and left the drawing room. It was raining out and they had decided to explore the manor as they had when they were children, making maps and 'discoveries'. That day so far, the only discovery they had made was that the cook liked to take tea with Damian in the fourth drawing room every afternoon at five. "Lex, wait!"
Roaming through the halls did bring back memories, some good, some bad. Clark didn't recall much about the day he had arrived in Saffron Walden, but he did remember finding Lex lying on the ground with his hair and clothes burned off. He'd crouched there whimpering next to the pale boy's body until a man came and covered them, Lex with his shirt and Clark with his coat, and then carried Lex to the manor with Clark following close behind. After that, even though the man became Clark's father and Clark lived in Littlebury, he was drawn back again and again to Audley End, and Lex. The Kents knew that if they couldn't find Clark in the house or on the farm, he would be following Lex about, his faithful shadow.
Clark smiled as he realized that he returned to that role, albeit with a few important additions. He wasn't the same boy who jumped out of trees at Lex's command, although he had been known to follow some interesting instructions in bed. More importantly, he no longer worshipped the boy who knew everything. He loved the man who held his heart. Clark knew he was Lex's equal, just as Lex was his.
Finding the ship had been the turning point. Until then, he believed that Lex could never love him, someone who couldn't match his lightning intellect. His extended absence from Clark's life had left Lex with the powers of a god in Clark's memory. Strength and speed were nothing compared to being able to dream of machines and methods to do the things Clark could easily do with his body. He knew he was different, just as Lex was different, but that just made it more important that they be together, with Lex telling Clark what to do.
A run across the fields next to the old quarry had changed the way Clark saw the world forever. Sixteen years old, he had been running for the sheer joy, drunk on the bright sun after a long cold winter. The sickness had hit him on the edge and he had tumbled headlong into the water that had collected in the quarry over the years. It never went dry, fed by the spring discovered at the bottom, which closed it down a hundred years earlier. Racked with pain, Clark had sunk to the cold bottom before he felt well enough to try to swim.
Peering through the murky water, he glimpsed a shape that called to him and when he touched it, he discovered it was metal, not a rock. Climbing out on the opposite side, to avoid the rocks that made him sick, Clark returned to the farm for block and tackle. He had the shape up on the shore a few hours later and his curiosity still unsatisfied. Clark remembered thinking that Lex would know what to do, just before discovering an indentation along the side. Investigating it with his fingers, he remembered the metal piece his parents claimed he was carrying the day he was found.
Another run to and back and Clark stood next to the shape and held the piece out.
It was another three months before Clark remembered his name. Over time, the memories of growing up in Saffron Waldon had returned, just as the information that his 'ship' had given him began to make sense. It had been a whirling mess of sight and sound that had left him running to London and the friend he knew could help. The problem was, when he arrived he didn't know his own name, let alone who or what he was looking for and so his next life as Callum Jonson began. The only remnant of Clark Kent was the metal key and he'd sent that to his parents before leaving for India. The ship had returned to the depths of the quarry, waiting for him to go home.
Clark wanted to share everything with Lex, but he'd spent too many years hiding now under different names and he wasn't sure how to start to explain. For now, he decided he'd simply enjoy his friend and lover and wait for the right time to arrive.
"Are you going to sit there all night?" A wadded ball of paper sailed through the air to strike Clark between the eyes. Surging to his feet with a mock roar of anger, he scooped up the ammunition and sent Lex running down the hall shouting with laughter.
Clark had frowned at the man who approached him in the stableyard as he and Lex led their horses in. Jerking his head towards the house without a word, he'd sent the stranger off.
"Who was that?" Lex had carried his saddle over to set it next to Clark's, letting his mare rest as usual in a stall while he had Sunday dinner with the Kents.
"Nobody important. I'll take care of it later." Dismissing Lex's question, Clark had kissed him thoroughly before finishing up the horses and leaving the stable for dinner. Night was falling earlier each day and he'd wanted to escort Lex home before it became too dark to ride safely.
Dinner was pleasant and no mention was made of the stranger. Instead, Lex bantered with Squire Kent about the lack of intelligent discourse in the county, present company excepted. That had led to a discussion of the fossils being collected by Mary Anning at Lyme Regis and Clark's wish that he could visit the finds. He teased his mother about finding something on the farm that she could be famous for and she threatened to inform the Royal Society that Clark Jerome Kent was not to be trusted when it came to monographs on saffron because she had taught him everything he knew.
Lex had laughed and assured her that the Royal Society insisted on full and complete disclosure and then brought up the latest monograph on electricity he was attempting to co-author with Michael Faraday. Despite the earlier declared lack of amusement, Lex seemed content enough to be with Clark and his parents and had bidden the Kents a pleasant farewell before he and Clark headed for the manor. He had insisted before that Clark's escort was unnecessary, but there had been enough odd happenings around the county the previous few months, that Clark felt much happier making sure Lex was safe.
They had almost reached the manor when a loud grunting and squealing issued from a grove of trees beside the path. Rearing in fright, Lex's mare struck out at the massive boar that rushed at them from cover. Lex made a valiant attempt to bring the horse under control, but failed when the boar ripped at her hindquarters with razor-sharp tusks. She twisted and fell over backwards, throwing Lex free of the saddle before crashing to the ground. Winded by the fall, Lex attempted to stand, only to find his ankle unable to support him. He narrowly avoided a second rush by the boar only to stumble and fall, striking his head.
Clark, who had been unseated by a second boar, picked Lex up and ran towards the manor, abandoning the screaming horses. He was afraid any time he spent fighting the beasts would only expose an unconscious Lex to further danger. Calling out for Damian as he strode through the house, he carried Lex to his bedchamber and laid him carefully on the bed. Damian, who had come running at his calls, began assembling supplies for treating his master. Clark quickly looked for broken bones and finding none, apologized for leaving Damian with Lex before running back out to see to the horses, and find the beasts that had attacked.
He was too late to save the mare, although his gelding had escaped with just a few superficial slashes. Following the trail left by the large beasts, Clark came upon them in a clearing where they were milling about restlessly. As the moon came up, Clark noticed their eyes glowing green and he realized that they had been changed by the rocks that made him sick, just as other animals and men had been through the years. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor; Clark searched for several fist-sized rocks and dispatched the beasts with rocks thrown faster than any bullet could fly.
"Master Alexander. Master Alexander, can you hear me?" A cool damp cloth and an insistent voice dragged Lex from the quiet, pain-free darkness. "I think he's coming around now, sir." A quiet rumble answered and Lex struggled to open his eyes to see who was there along with his manservant, Damian. "Lay still now, Master Alexander. That's quite a nasty bump on your head."
"Who's there?" Lex could hear how slurred his words were and could only hope they were understandable. His eyelids fluttered open only to wince when they encountered the over-bright flame of the candle held over his face by his concerned servant. He cleared his throat and was pleased to hear that the next sentence sounded more comprehensible. "Move the bloody candle away from my eyes, you idiot!"
A chuckle from the doorway indicated his unknown guest appreciated Lex's ready turn of phrase. "I'm glad to hear you've returned to the land of the living." Footsteps approached his bedside and Lex squinted to try to catch sight of the man who matched the pleasant voice. "I'm also glad to see you've taken no serious damage." The ill-defined shape that emerged from the shadows gave the impression of great height and strength despite the dim light and dark clothing. "I'm sorry I can't say the same for your mare."
Lex sucked in a breath at the sight of golden eyes reflecting the candlelight, deeply set above high cut cheekbones and beautifully mobile lips. He struggled to find the right words to keep the oddly familiar vision at his side, believing he was still unconscious and dreaming. "I'm afraid I have no recollection of what happened." He winced again as the bump and scrape on the back of his head dragged against his pillow as he tried to see his visitor more clearly, the shadows still preventing a full view of his face. "Once again, I believe I owe you thanks in return for saving me after my inept attempts, C...allum."
A gasp and Lex's visitor withdrew to the shadows. "I'm afraid you've..."
"It's all right, Callum. It's not the first time I've fainted like a damsel in distress, right into your arms." Lex's smile turned into a rueful grin as he admitted to his weakness. "I do feel very weary though, so you'll have to excuse me." His eyelids drooped despite his best efforts. "I don't want to lose you again, Callum. Please leave your address with Damian? I'd..." The rest of his sentence was lost to a gentle snore.
A large warm hand passed gently over his bare crown as he slept and caressed his feverish cheek. Clark turned to Damian. "Be sure to wake him every hour until morning. I believe he'll be all right, but it's best to be certain." At Damian's nod, he continued. "I'll be back in the morning to check on him." Shoulders slumped, he left the room and made his way home.
"Sir?"
Clark looked up from his preoccupied staring into the fire and saw his sergeant hovering at the door. "Oh, Benton. I'm so sorry. I'd quite forgotten you'd arrived today." Waving his half-full glass at the sideboard, he issued an invitation, "Please, have some port. It's excellent, the best of the Luttrell cellars." Leaning against the mantle, he resumed his contemplation of the flames.
"Thank you, sir." Benton made no move toward the offered refreshment, instead continuing to fidget in place until Clark looked up quizzically. "Benton?"
"I think you should read this, sir." He handed Clark a large heavy envelope with an official-looking seal.
Looking at the address on the front, Captain Walden raised an eyebrow and glanced at his second. Setting his glass down on the mantle, he broke the seal and extracted several pages. Tipping them to the firelight, he began to read. His hand began to shake and a sobbing laugh left his mouth as he looked up at Benton. "I've been made a bloody Viscount." The hand holding his letter of patent dropped to his side and he picked up his glass. "Here's to Captain Jerome Walden, the new Viscount of Creighton..." he drank the remainder of his port in a single swallow and threw the glass in the fireplace, "...whether he bloody well wants to be or not."
PART THREE