SPN Fic: The Heart Must Yield (3/5)
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*****
It was almost a relief that Jared spent the entire rest of that day and into the night in the castle’s library, barely even emerging to eat. He made an exception for an hour or so as he held unofficial court in the servants’ dining hall, listening to castlefolk’s complaints and discussing with Mitch and Allison certain plans for the surrounding lands’ upkeep that had been postponed by his father’s death. But afterward, it was back to the library for him.
Jensen thought it was possible he stayed the night in the library-Jensen himself had slept ill and never heard Jared pass his door-but by daybreak Jared was up, waiting for Jensen in the courtyard. Their restocked saddlebags were packed with the addition of Jared’s new court wardrobe, and their escort prepared to go.
The speed with which they’d all assembled took Jensen by surprise and he gulped down the last of his breakfast and spiced ale. But as he hurried out to join them, Mitchell stopped him in the doorway.
“Take care of him. Bring him back here safe.”
“I know not whether I will return in his company,” Jensen said, “but I’ll do everything in my power to see that he returns.”
Mitchell tapped Jensen’s shoulder affectionately, like an uncle or a veteran knight from the Guards’ ranks might. “You will be back. I guarantee it.”
He nodded farewell and turned to see Jared watching him from across the courtyard where he was already mounted atop Faith. The horse stamped and wrestled at Jared’s tight hand on the reins, two lazy days in the stables had plainly tried his temper.
Jensen smiled up at him as he approached, willing nothing to show in his face but optimism and support. “Tell me,” he said, as Shadow was brought around and he swung up into the saddle, “Are you nervous about going to Morgan? Or are you eager to be on the way?”
“Both,” Jared said. “The sooner I go, the sooner I can return, and legitimately.” But he said the word with a wry grin, as if it stung less now that he’d had this time to relearn the feel of home. His home.
Jensen looked back at the crowd of servants waving goodbye. You already rule here, he thought. But aloud he said, “Let us go then.”
This part of their journey had gone almost too easily, Jensen mused. He couldn’t help but be anxious over what might await Jared ahead.
*****
The road leading away southwest from Saint Anthony was not a graded thing, wide enough for several carts like the Royal Highways closer to Morgan. It was a track worn over hills and through narrow passes by the hooves of hundreds of mules and ponies and the wiry, wild-coated goats that the farmers of Padalecki herded for milk. Unlike the thick-trunked forests they’d travelled through on the way to Jared’s keep, the diagonal path back to the capital wended through rock-strewn hills, making for slower time as the horses labored up and down the slopes, placing their hooves carefully.
Every evening upon halting for the night, after the camp was laid and their escort settled to dinner, Jensen would untie the wooden swords from his saddle, and he and Jared would spar.
After a day in the saddle, Jensen knew it was a good way to stretch sore muscles, but at the same time, tired as they were, he felt guilty for subjecting Jared to it. Only the fact that Jared gave no complaint-simply walked away from campsite to find a suitable place to draw a training circle when Jensen went for the swords-gave Jensen the discipline to keep them at it.
Which was not to say Jared was a patient student.
The third time that night Jensen struck the sword from his hand, Jared cursed. Not something he was wont to do, from Jensen’s short knowledge of him.
“I thought you told me once that any fool could learn swordplay?” Jared grumbled.
“Then you must be quite an uncommon fool, my lord.”
“Oh,” Jared said picking up the play-weapon again and flipping the pommel in his palm for a better grip. “Don’t you ‘my lord’ me now.” Jensen could see the improvement in his stance.
“Again,” Jensen commanded. “Once more.” Later, with just enough light in the sky to see by, Jared finally landed a blow. He threw his sword into the air with a crow of triumph and let himself fall back into a soft tuffet of grass outside the ring.
“Well done. That was an indisputable hit,” Jensen said, grinning. “Now up, and try ten more times.”
Jared did not land another blow that night, nor in any of the times they practiced as they neared Morgan. After one particularly grueling session, Jared nearly crawled back to the fireside, panting. Jensen fetched him water.
“I think I’ll marry a warrior,” Jared said, “so I can lounge in the library at Saint Anthony and they can worry about swordwork and leading armies and the rest of this nonsense.”
After watching him drink his fill, throat working over the long swallows, Jensen placed the bowl of pottage he held into Jared’s lap.
“Eat up,” he said, and for the first time in days, his smile felt forced. “This is the last of road food you’ll enjoy. Tomorrow we will arrive to Morgan. See if you can find a champion there.”
*****
Morgan was the largest city in the kingdom by far, a vast sprawling concentration of humanity-commoners and nobles, Brothers and Sisters, knights and tradespeople and whores and pickpockets-all cheek-to-jowl in the over-built, winding streets that led up to the huge iron-grey hulk of the palace keep.
Jensen’s party entered the palace through an arch beneath two great conical towers, passing under them into an immense courtyard with an accumulation and interconnection of what were initially separate buildings. It was a confusion of jutting wings and architectural styles, with peaks and turrets where the original builders had probably intended nothing more than rooftops. It was familiar to Jensen, but one glimpse of the amazement on Jared’s face made him reconsider how wondrously grand and daunting it truly was.
Jensen realized there must have been lookouts stationed on the road into town, because he spotted Lord Lehne striding across the courtyard to meet them before their horses even came to a halt in front of the stables. Lehne’s daughter, Nicole, trailed along behind him, her long skirts preventing her from keeping up with his quick pace.
Jensen had always been amused by Lady Nicole for her caustic wit and a tendency to stir up trouble between members of the court for her own entertainment. However, now that he considered her as a partner for Jared, these traits morphed into drawbacks in Jensen’s mind. Though she might be vexing at times, however, she was also loyal to her house, and that would be something Jared would value.
“My Lord Padalecki,” Lehne called to Jared, walking right past Jensen without a glance. “Welcome to Morgan Castle. I am Frederick of Lehne, one of your father’s-gods grant him peace-closest friends. I’m sure he mentioned me to you, yes? And was your journey an easy one? Let me introduce my daughter to you, for she has been very eager to meet you. You two are related through my wife’s parents, you know.”
Jared shot a glance at Jensen over Lehne, looking suddenly just as shy and ill-at-ease as he’d been the day of their first meeting. Jensen responded with a noncommittal tilt of his head. Jared chose to sling himself out of the saddle, exchanging a few pleasant words with the obsequious fool and only hesitating a second before executing an awkward bow over Nicole’s hand.
It was painful to watch, but Jensen had to be honest. This would not be the worst family for Jared to ally himself with. Lehne had gold aplenty, did as the King asked, and made as few enemies as possible. Jensen was not even sure why he was in such a hurry to be first in line to snap Jared up, but he held his tongue, ignoring the snub to himself. He turned Shadow to direct the disposition of guard and gear, busying himself as long as he could before dismounting and standing a few feet distant from the trio.
Before he decided whether and how to liberate Jared, rescue came in the form of Lady Divine. The plump, deceptively sweet-faced Chamberlain swooped in, swiftly tucking one of her arms into Jared’s, the other into Jensen’s. She drew them away with a perfunctory “m’lord, m’lady” and, before the Lehnes could say a word in protest, off they went.
Jensen looked down at Loretta as they wove their way through the crowd into the keep. “We owe you thanks, I believe. Unless you are stealing my Ward away to court him yourself?” Jensen teased.
“No, child,” she laughed. “And don’t be disrespectful. I’ve been tasked with guiding young Jared around Morgan Castle. You’re just joining us because I like you too much to leave you behind.”
“Ah, she likes me,” he said over her head to Jared. “It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
Without breaking stride, Loretta elbowed Jensen in the side-hard enough to alert him that his ribs were no longer quite so sore-and he realized that while joking was well and good, he needed to resuscitate his court manners now that he was back in Morgan. “Jared, this is Loretta, His Majesty’s Chamberlain and Lady Divine. She is one of the seneschals of the castle proper. My lady, as I’m sure you know, this is the future Lord Padalecki, Jared.”
“My pleasure, Lady Divine,” Jared said and, despite their quick pace, executed a bow twice as smooth as the one he’d given Nicole.
“Indeed,” she smiled, and glanced slyly back at Jensen. “Perhaps I should rethink the courting after all.”
They all laughed at that, and not a word was hinted about illegitimacy or the rush to marriage. Jensen could not have asked for a more auspicious start to Jared’s stay at the palace.
The Chamberlain took them through the corridors of the main keep, showing Jared the open courts with elaborate manicured gardens, the public galleries where groups of nobles whiled away the hours in game and song. They walked under the huge vaulted arches in the great Hearth Hall-three times the size of the hall at Saint Anthony-where all the court gathered in the evenings to dine and make merry. Then up a flight of wide stone stairs they went, into the North Tower, toward Jared’s assigned rooms. On the way, they passed the secluded Room of Shelves where ancient books were kept, dim and musty.
Loretta would have passed right by, but Jared caught one glance and begged to stop for a moment. Jensen tried to recall if he’d ever been inside, but he could not remember a time. He let Jared and Loretta precede him through the low archway, and the moment Jensen stepped inside the room, he saw it was nothing like Jared’s light-filled library in Padalecki.
Here, most of the shelving was disordered, hodge-podge tumbles and stacks of spines. Some in calf, morocco, or binders’ cloth, some flashing with gilt, a few with paper labels so old and yellowed that they looked like dead leaves. There were scrolls and tablets, and the entire room smelled of glue and old leather and mold.
Jared turned to Loretta excitedly. “Who is responsible for these books, my lady?”
“No one that I know of,” she said, looking around with distaste. “Feel free to make use of anything you like. It’s as muddled as a madman’s brain, I’m afraid.” She pointed back out into the hall. “But first let’s get you settled into your rooms, and I will summon attendants to help you prepare for dinner.”
“But afterward, I can return here?” Jared beseeched.
“Certainly?” she replied, casting Jensen a baffled look.
“Don’t mind Jared,” he told her. “He is book-mad already. He and the madman’s brain are quite suited.”
Jensen saw a look of determination glint in Jared’s eye. “Yes, we are.”
*****
Jared made his formal introduction to the Court that night. And while Lehne may have been the first noble to importune him, he was certainly not the last. The presumptive brides and grooms came flocking to Jared as he made his way to the head table.
The King was in attendance-the first time since his near-mortal injuries-and the court was particularly festive in response. The air in the hall was summer thick and over-warm, the light from the wall sconces emphasizing the faint glisten of sweat that dotted the diners’ temples and brows. Jensen was seated, as was his usual place, at one of the lower tables among the other unmarried courtiers and attendants. Sometimes he ate in the back with the King’s Guard, but tonight he wanted to sit as close as possible to the head of the room, his eyes glued to the scene up on the dais.
Jared was seated at the Queen’s right hand, and the swarm of hangers-on clustering around him nearly matched the one around Princess Alona on her father’s other side. Jensen had hardly recognized him at first, so different he looked in his formal dress: silks and brocade in jewel-toned blues and green the colors of the deep sea at midday, silver-limned and fitted to flatter his strong, lithe body. It was no wonder he attracted such admiration.
Trumpets gave forth a great blast, sounding the arrival of the first course into the hall, breads crafted in fantastic shapes of ships and castles and a pastry stag that bled claret wine when the gilt arrow was plucked from its side.
Jensen saw Lady Genevieve, of the house of Pellegrino, slender and young, her black hair crowned in opals, approach Jared with a gold-encrusted goblet, taking a sip herself before handing it over. It was a pretty way to assure against poison, and also for the maid to show herself off, her tongue darting out to lick the wine from her lips. Jared’s eyes followed the movement. Jensen’s stayed on him.
He harkened back to Jared’s tentative drink at their first campfire together, and felt a sore ache in his chest as he watched Jared drink easily, liberally of Genevieve’s wine.
Just then a blue-clad courtier swayed into Jensen’s space at the table, propping her chin on his shoulder as if an old friend or lover. But he didn’t recognize her. He thought perhaps she was one of the Cohen clan. He knew Matthew well, but he never learned to tell his cousins apart.
“Is that the Padalecki heir?” she whispered into his ear. “You brought him here, didn’t you, Sir Jensen?” She squeezed onto the bench beside him.
“I did, Lady-?”
“Lauren.” she grinned, unabashed.
Jensen took a sip of his own wine, waiting to see what Lauren wanted.
She gaily stole the cup from his hands and drank, eyeing him over the lip. If she was targeting him for seduction, Jensen thought, her aim was sadly off.
“I’ve heard,” she leaned in with a murmur, “that he must marry to inherit.”
“That’s true,” Jensen said mildly.
“Is it just because he’s a bastard?” she said, craning her neck to gawk at the high table, where two of Lady Connell’s kin-Lord Mark of Sheppard and a young blond knight by name of Eric-were vying for Jared’s attention. “I’ve never met a bastard before.”
That ended all conversation with Lauren, as Jensen pointedly turned his back to her to make small-talk with the shallow young gallant on his right. He was sure that similar words were being spoken all around the Hall tonight, but that didn’t mean he would suffer to hear them himself.
More food arrived with pomp and glitter, a procession wending endlessly among the tables. It took four attendants each to carry the platters of giant roasts- whole roe-deer, beef and pig, lamb and kid goat. Behind came gilt-plate dishes containing swans, peacocks and pheasants readorned with their feathers, whole sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar and covered with powdered ginger, intricate meat pies and colored jellies and plums stewed in rose-water and more, all unloaded onto cloths of pure linen already stained with the carelessness of nobility.
Lauren moved away, bored by Jensen’s lack of attention, and someone more familiar took her place.
“Whitfield,” Jensen said in greeting, his eyes darting up to the dais again, seeing Alaina, once a knight in the King’s Guard herself and now Countess of Huffman, plucking a sweet in the shape of a flower that decorated a platter and feeding it between Jared’s lips with her fingers. Everyone was getting bolder as the feasting wore on. “How are you, my friend?”
There was a smile in Sir Charles’ voice, more genuine than most in the hall. “Quite well, and better for finding you back at court.”
Charles put his hand on Jensen’s leg. Jensen shifted slightly away, hardly enough to notice, just enough to make his point. “I’m afraid I’m somewhat-preoccupied at the moment.”
“Ahh. I’d heard you’d been given the role of Warden. I didn’t realize-” Charles trailed off. Jensen cursed himself for letting anything show on his face. He knew better, was subtler than this. Or he had been, until he met Jared.
Charles continued, more gently, “He’ll be married by mid-summer, yes?”
Knife to the gut, salt in the wound, the question pierced him. And damned if that wasn’t Charles, needling right down to the hard core of the matter.
“Yes,” Jensen replied tersely.
“Ahh,” Charles breathed again. Jensen met his dark, knowing gaze. It would be smarter, Jensen told himself, to go with Charles tonight, lose himself in the casual familiarity of his body. But no. Even the mere thought felt absurdly like infidelity.
Charles silently refilled Jensen’s cup from the jug on the table, and Jensen drank deeply.
*****
Hours later, after the meal was finally finished and as servants were clearing the tables away, Jared sought Jensen out.
Jensen scrutinized his Ward for signs that all the wine he’d been drinking was going to his head, but Jared seemed fine, clear-eyed and steady. Jensen almost made a snide remark about the parade of marriage candidates throwing themselves at Jared, and how welcome Jared seemed to make them, but reined his jealousy in. This was what they were here for after all. Jensen should-he must-want it just so.
Instead he asked Jared, “Will you dance?”
He tilted his head to indicate the troupe of musicians in the corner-several lutes and a drum, psaltery and bombard and pipes-just as they started to play. The first notes bounced and rollicked, and many of the younger courtiers made an undignified rush into the space where the tables had been moved away and that now served as a dance floor, their hands clasping and feet skipping time.
“I don’t know how,” Jared admitted. “Will you?”
“No, I’m too old for prancing around.”
Jared raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Sheppard, eagerly stepping out with a young blonde half his age.
Jensen snorted, “That’s proof, not counter,” but his sour mood started to ease somewhat.
That was, until Lady Genevieve and her cousin Katherine came to drag Jared, awkwardly protesting but not refusing, out into the set.
Jensen had never been much for dancing, so the fact that he stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed, would not be particularly noteworthy. And him watching Jared as he danced would give no fodder to would-be gossips, either. Strange though it may seem to some at Court, Jared was his Ward and Jensen had legitimate interest in getting him paired off.
The Pellegrino girls patiently taught Jared the basic figures and steps, and Jensen had to admit to being slightly charmed in spite of himself at Jared’s progress from stumbling about like a blind newborn colt to, if not skill, at least competence. The same grace and quick-study Jared brought to his sparring lessons with Jensen seemed to serve him well on the dance floor.
Other dancers in the patterns stared, several refused to take hands with Jared in passing. But outright slurs seemed to be confined to behind Jared’s back, and Jensen was relieved that most were pretending to be too jaded to gawk at the extraordinary, new-minted noble in their midst.
Eventually, Sheppard stepped in for a turn with Jared, and then Sir Eric, and even Lady Alaina, who typically felt court dances beneath her dignity.
Each time after a change of partners, Jared would seek out Jensen where he stood, asking him again to dance. But Jensen was not such a fool as to agree, in public no less, to touch Jared’s hand, his hip, to press close when the patterns called for it.
“For the last time, I’m not dancing.”
“Good,” Jared replied brightly. “If that’s your last refusal, you’ll have to say yes when next I ask.”
But before Jared could cajole him more, Lord Heyerdahl appeared, drawn up before the two of them with a fierce scowl on his face. His family’s title was an old one but their small holdings were squeezed between Padalecki and Pellegrino, the poorest and most poorly-managed of the three. He had no eligible heir to dangle before Jared. And it appeared that he wanted none.
“You have no right to consort among the gentlefolk of this court.” He sneered at Jared. “Filthy bastard. Whoreson.” Heyerdahl said it with a thick hiss like it was something dragged through mud.
There were gasps from surrounding courtiers who began to draw near to witness the spectacle. Many had whispered the same words behind their hands this night, but none had gone so far as to fling it in Jared’s face.
Jensen surged forward, ready to plant his fist across the man’s jaw, lord or no. Jared gripped his arm to hold him back. Jensen could feel him tremble slightly, but no one else could see anything but unperturbed calm in his visage.
“My lord Heyerdahl ,” Jared replied evenly, but making it sound like as foul an epithet as the one thrown at him. “I have no quarrel with you. And I know Their Majesties would not want to see a brawl in their feasting hall tonight.
“And no one wants to see you here,” the man spat back. “Your father was wise to hide his shame away with the holy men. And yet you dare crawl out to show your face among us?”
“For the people of Padalecki and for King Jeffrey, I would dare much more than that.”
It almost made Jensen double take, the steel in Jared’s voice.
He moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his Ward. Just as a safeguard, since he was no longer threatening violence. At least, not for the moment. Jensen couldn’t say what he might do if Heyerdahl continued to abuse Jared before the Court, just when it had appeared Jared’s presence might be accepted without too much difficulty.
Jensen was not put to the test, however. Princess Alona was pushing her way through the gathered throng and took Lord Christopher by the arm. “My lord,” she said smoothly, acknowledging the bows of the group with a brief nod of the head, “I fear our feast is not the best place for a discussion of this delicate nature. My father is weary and preparing to retire, perhaps you would join me in wishing him good night, and we can talk more of this in private?”
She phrased it as a question, but was already leading Heyerdahl away, not sparing a glance over her shoulder at Jared, who continued to hold himself tall and motionless at Jensen’s side.
At last, as the curious onlookers began to drift away, Jared let himself sink back against the wall.
“Are you alright?” Jensen asked.
“I suppose that was to be expected.” Jared turned to give him a small smile, but Jensen could see the strain lingering in the corners of his eyes.
“Perhaps,” Jensen said. Lauren’s impertinent comments had come as no surprise, but he kicked himself for ignoring the likelihood of more violent objections from certain quarters. Some, like Heyerdahl, would hate Jared simply for what he was. But others would see Jared’s advancement as their loss. And they could be dangerous.
Clearly, the royal family was going to stand by Jared and his claims to Padalecki. But Jensen also reminded himself that ‘warden’ fundamentally meant ‘protector.’
“I believe,” Jared said, as several of his suitors advanced on them once more, “that it would be best to resolve this question of marriage quickly.”
“Perhaps,” Jensen said again, having no better reply.
*****
The next morning Jensen woke to full sun shining through the slit window of his tiny cell. No featherbeds for such as he here at Morgan. He counted himself lucky to have a room of his own. As had clearly become a habit, before his eyes were barely open, his first thought was to find Jared. He stretched, used the pot, dressed, and set off.
He checked initially in Jared’s rooms, where there were none but a pair of castle servants, strewing fresh rushes on the floor and cleaning ashes from the hearth. Next, he wandered to the main hall to see if Jared was breaking fast, but Jensen could not find him among the few clusters of early risers. Unlike when they were staying on Padalecki estates, no one was particularly keeping track of one young courtier, infamous or not, and there were none to tell him Jared’s direction.
Then it hit him. Of course he knew where Jared must be.
Jensen found himself leaning against the doorway into the Room of Shelves, taking in the sight of Jared, a dozen books fanned out around him, the writing on the pages small and strange, overwritten and interlined by many careful hands, many of those hands likely dust by now.
“Will there ever be a time I don’t find you with your head in a book?”
“Doubtful,” Jared replied, gifting him with a wide grin of welcome that made Jensen’s heart swell like a boat cresting a wave. “And good morn to you, too.”
Jensen was glad to see Jared’s spirits recovered after the disturbance of the night before.
Jared held up a folded piece of parchment with his seal set upon it. “Do you know where I can find our company? I mean-that is, the guard who brought us from Tall Timber? I have need of a messenger.”
Jensen’s curiosity was piqued, and he wanted to ask to what purpose. But if Jared didn’t offer it up unasked, it felt amiss to interrogate him about it. Jensen already felt a gap beginning to widen between them, Jared getting pulled into the orbit of the higher echelons of the court, Jensen left circling on the periphery where he belonged.
And yet. He couldn’t help himself.
“Sending notes to secret admirers already?” He prayed it came out as purely lighthearted teasing.
Jared answered with a snort of derision. “Hardly.” His lips flattened together in a thin, frustrated line. “I found I dare not give any of them the slightest encouragement until I am ready to speak with the Queen in earnest. I knew but-but I did not truly understand that I would be treating with such powerful forces. Lehne, Huffman, Pellegrino. Any of them might feel slighted once this is over and they are not the ones chosen.”
“I suppose it is difficult,” Jensen said, “on the evidence of first acquaintance to start making your decision. Unless you do have some sense already?” By gods, what had come over him? If he wanted to ask Jared if he’s attracted to the suitors he’d met, he should just do it. This roundabout fishing was embarrassing.
Jared ducked his head, looking down at the book in front of him, fiddling with the pages. “I-I’m hoping for a bit more time.” His gaze cut over to the sealed message where he’d set it at his left hand, and then he glanced up at Jensen through a lock of his long hair that fell over his face. “How long do you think I have before I will be pressed to answer?”
“Who knows? The Court is abuzz with the Princess’s own courtship and the King’s health. Normally you and your affairs would be given much more scrutiny, but I’d say for now you have some breathing room. But,” he cautioned, “remember, too, men like Heyerdahl.”
Jared nodded and slumped back in his chair, then reached his arms over his head to arch and stretch his back, fingers extended toward the far wall. The posture emphasized his size-which Jensen sometimes forgot, always trying to convince himself to think of Jared as a youth-that broad chest and his big hands, those long, long legs. He felt his pulse skip and forced his mind to mundane things, like wondering where Allison had found a cobbler at short notice with boots to fit Jared’s feet.
“There’s no point in delay, even if you are being circumspect,” Jensen said, recalling himself to duty. “The more you know, the easier you can make your choice. I suggest we go out into the Great Hall right now and spend more time with your cousins.”
Jared made a face.
Jensen raised his eyebrows.
“What if instead,” Jared countered, “we went to the courtyard to practice swordwork?”
*****
In the days that followed, Jared had a more difficult time avoiding the courtship competition. Still, Jensen noticed that he rarely allowed himself to be separated from the crowd, beckoning to Eric to join them in the gardens if Katherine invited him to walk there together, assembling a party as escort when Alaina suggested he ride out with her along the riverfront. It helped that the rivals appeared to be as jealous of Jared’s person as he could wish, happily thwarting each other’s attempts at taking the lead in the race for his hand.
It seemed to Jensen that Jared might be enjoying the game of pitting them against each other more than the company of any one. And if the sight of Genevieve’s tiny hand in Jared’s as they danced, or Sheppard’s arm around his waist as he tried to lure him into a darkened corner, made Jensen’s heart clench like a fist of ice, that was no one’s business but his own.
The entire court was up early one morning after Alona called for companions to join her on a Royal Hunt. A great boar had been sighted in the woods, the Princess had announced at dinner, and she’d pledged her favor at the next tournament to whomever could bring it down.
“Unless I take the beast myself,” she’d announced, twirling her small eating knife between her fingers for show. The suitors around her had laughed aloud, thinking it a jest. However, when word passed down the tables of what she’d said, Jensen just smiled to himself. He’d thought she might have a better chance if wild boars didn’t outweigh her by ten stone or more, but he wouldn’t advise counting her out.
In the dimness of the stable, he saddled Shadow himself, as the grooms were busy with dozens of other mounts. He didn’t need much, didn’t plan on actually participating in the hunt, so Jensen simply secured some basic trappings, then led Shadow out into the courtyard throng and swung up into the saddle. It was unusual to see so many courtiers in the rosy light of dawn, and Jensen wondered how many of them had simply stayed awake all night to continue their revelries here.
There was a festive mood, with the dogs yelping excitedly, straining at their leashes. Lesser servants wandered among the milling riders, distributing mugs of steaming ale and soft leather skins of mulled cider. Huntsmen were moving through the crowd, too, handing out long boar spears to impatient hunters.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
Faith pulled up beside Shadow, and he saw Jared holding up a spear. It had a crossbar affixed about a foot from the head.
“Well, if a boar turns and attacks, as they are wont, stick the pointy end toward it. You’ll be grateful for the weapon,” Jensen let his smile turn slightly wicked, “and for the stopper that keeps it from running all the way up the shaft to get you.”
Jared looked at the spear doubtfully, then back at Jensen. “Perhaps I’ll skip the hunt after all.”
“Or perhaps you’ll be the prey instead,” Jensen said, nodding behind Jared to where Sheppard and the younger Lehne converged upon them through the crowd from different directions.
“Ride with us?” Jared begged Jensen with a sigh of resignation.
“We’ll see.” He ought to stay out of the way, encourage Jared to pay full attention to his prospective partners. He shouldn’t keep letting Jared use him as a shield.
Then again, Jensen thought about how fun it would be to actually hunt with Jared. Not this ridiculous social pageant, but just the two of them out alone with hawks or hounds, chasing down dinner on a cold autumn afternoon. They would debate various tracking techniques, probably ones Jared read about in some olden manual. Jared would laugh at Jensen when they lost their way because Jensen was paying too much attention to how the light caught in the wispy tips of Jared’s hair and…
Jensen snapped out of his reverie as the reconnaissance hunters hallooed back to the main body that the boar had been scented. Horses jostled and bumped, harness jangled, as the more enthusiastic riders leapt to the call. Once the rest of the company sorted itself out and got on the move, Jensen lagged back, letting Jared’s suitors jockey for position near him.
That earned Jensen a glare, but he let it bounce off. This was necessary. This was wise.
Jensen rode along by himself for a few minutes, but then someone trotted up beside him. It was Lord Pellegrino himself. They had never formally met, and Jensen was taken aback at his unexpected approach. Also, there was little in the world that Jensen feared, but something about this man made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“He’d be happier with me,” Pellegrino said in measured tones after a moment’s silence, as if continuing a conversation mid-thread, as if discussing something of no more moment than the fitness of the King’s hounds. “I understand him. I remember what it was like, finding my way after I left the Brotherhood.”
After they kicked you out, I believe you mean, Jensen thought. No one was clear on just what transgression had led Lord Mark to be ushered out of the Order in disgrace years before. But Jensen could only imagine it was something dreadful, given what he considered the overly-forgiving nature of most of the Church hierarchy. Furthermore, based on Mark’s subsequent ruthless and rapid ascension to power within Pellegrino after leaving the Brotherhood, Jensen was wary of encouraging Jared to have anything to do with him.
“I have no say over Jared’s choice in marriage partner,” Jensen said firmly. “You must appeal to him yourself.”
“And yet I would hate to step on my nieces’ toes that way,” Mark lilted. “Katherine and Genevieve have quite the competition going.” Jensen could feel Mark’s piercing gaze upon him, but he pretended to be watching the riders ahead. “Yet perhaps,” Mark continued, “Lord Jared is more interested in a husband than a wife? I understand that, too. I imagine I can be of great service there.”
“I’m not one for repeating court gossip,” Jensen said, seeming to ignore Lord Mark’s remarks. “But there are rumors at Court that you have moved troops to your southern border.”
“What if Jared chooses Huffman, my dear boy? The two together could easily move against me, once their forces are consolidated.”
“So you will attack Padalecki preemptively?” Jensen’s gut twisted. He had not travelled so far with Jared as to visit the lands that abutted Pellegrino’s. But even so, the thought of war coming to Jared’s people, of green fields burnt to black ash, was awful.
“No, of course not.” Mark laughed, but it was humorless and cold. “Particularly if Jared chooses to wed one of my nieces. Or even, if he would deny them, should he accept an offer from a loftier source.”
Jared would not get within ten feet of this man, if Jensen had any say in it.
Of course, Jared might be convinced to choose Pellegrino without seeking Jensen’s approval. He was a relatively attractive man, if that mattered to Jared. And although Lord Mark had never shown any inclination toward marriage-possibly a vestige of his days in the Brotherhood- it appeared that he might put aside that preference for the chance to snatch up the great prize of Padalecki lands. Unfortunately, he was renowned for his cunning and persuasiveness.
Not that Jensen considered Jared to be a victim or a pushover-at least not since he’d seen the mettle beneath Jared’s initial diffidence-but once he let Pellegrino in, Jensen feared it would crush Jared’s very soul.
Jensen glanced sidelong at the man who rode so calmly next to him, like they weren’t discussing coercion and threats of invasion. Then he looked around.
He realized he couldn’t spy Jared anywhere ahead among the hunting party. It might just be the stress of Mark’s company, but Jensen felt alarms go off in his brain.
“You’ve given me much to think upon, my lord,” Jensen murmured politely. “And now please excuse me, there’s something else I must attend.”
Jensen kicked Shadow to a canter and made his way up alongside the staggered column of men and women, none of whom seemed particularly interested in boar, but none of whom were Jared. He spotted Nicole riding in a different group now, with McKeon and Richings and some others Jensen didn’t recognize. Ahead of them was Sheppard, exchanging barbs with Huffman like two fishwives. Jensen was reluctant to ask after Jared-he didn’t want Jared’s Warden to seem like an old cow with only one calf-but it suddenly felt imperative to find him.
It was then his heart rose in his throat when he saw, off to his right, a riderless silver-white stallion stumbling now and again on his dangling reins. Jensen turned Shadow and rushed on an intercept course. As they neared, Faith came toward him, whinnying a frightened greeting.
The horse appeared unhurt, his breath unlabored, there was no sheen on his shoulders suggesting an arduous run. Jared could not be far-but how to find him, one youth in a brown tunic, somewhere in a green forest?
Leaving Faith behind, hoping someone else would collect him, but too frantic now to pause, Jensen clapped heels to Shadow and took off. He sped through the clearing Faith had crossed, and into the thicker woods beyond. There he was slowed by the underbrush, and he started shouted Jared’s name.
When Jensen first heard a hallooing reply that wasn’t Jared’s voice, he thought it merely part of the hunting party, and welcomed the help in searching. He turned Shadow toward the sound, roweling him fiercely because his mind’s eye had begun to flash him pictures of Jared, bones broken from a fall or, worse, silently bleeding out from some horrible wound. He was indeed so immersed in this mental image that even when the riders he hoped would aid him were in sight, he didn’t at once perceive anything odd.
However, the truth burst upon him when he saw the glitter of a lifted sword. Jensen himself had no sword or armor, for no one wore such things on a casual Court hunt. But he didn’t hesitate, automatically reaching for the long, double-edged dirk used for gutting game that was affixed to his saddlebow. He drew it forth. Then two men were upon him.
He barely warded off the first attacker’s initial stroke. But he swiftly reversed his swing and was able to catch the second full upon the sword arm, forcing him to drop the blade as his mount stumbled back.
Before Jensen could consider his next move, he heard a familiar voice cry out. It was Jared, calling his name, calling for help.
Jensen didn’t think, just acted. The sick, wet sound of blade through flesh and the thud of a man’s fall when it was jerked away were sweet music. The other rider was on him again, with a swipe that cut Jensen’s surcoat and drove into his skin. But Jensen hardly felt the blow, his whole being focused on winning through to Jared. He struck again, Shadow rearing up to harass his opponent’s mount. As the beast shied, Jensen took the man with a mortal thrust to the gut, and then he charged past without looking back.
He did not yet see Jared, but was determined to follow the line of that last call. He dug into Shadow’s sides and they leapt forward, breasting a thinned spot in a thorny hedge. Down beyond, Jensen spotted him at last.
Two more assailants had Jared at bay, his back against a tree.
Jared had nothing to defend himself but a thick branch, holding it two-handed before him as Jensen had taught him to when pressed on defense. Jensen saw one man’s sword flash bright and heard it scrape the length of Jared’s defense, a metallic slithering, like a steel serpent gliding across a log.
The flanking attacker feinted toward Jared with her blade, but Jared’s branch yet held firm. The other drove forward again, missing him by a thumb’s width as he dodged away, the attacker’s sword burying itself in the trunk of the tree behind. Jared swung at him, catching him on the side of the head, while the second circled to get a clear stroke.
Jensen descended upon the scene like a feral hawk starving for its prey. At full gallop he swung his short blade with such force it nearly decapitated the first attacker, a great gout of blood spurting forth in a fountain from the wound in her neck. But instead of whipping past and leaving Jared defenseless, Jensen found himself leaping from Shadow’s saddle to sink his dirk’s sharp point deep in the other man’s chest.
Jensen shoved the body to the ground and caught Jared to him, gasping between rage and fear.
“Let me go,” Jared cried, struggling.
“Jared, you’re safe. No one will harm you now.” He had Jared in a grip so tight there would surely be bruises on his arms. “By the Two, when I find out who ordered this, I will slay them with bare hands if need be.”
“No, no, it’s not me, it’s you,” Jared exclaimed, hands on Jensen’s face. “You’re covered in blood! Where are you hurt?”
“Nowhere, it’s nothing.” Jensen seemed to remember taking a hit, but it didn’t matter now. Didn’t matter as long as Jared was alive and unharmed.
And then Jared kissed him.
Jensen was already on edge from adrenaline still arrowing through him, his terror for Jared, the pain that was beginning to bear down on him. But overriding it all when Jared touched him came a wave of unthinking passion. He tightened his grip even more and his mouth responded to Jared’s, hard and dry at first with the thirst of battle, then softening as his blood answered to this new demand and left the fighting muscles to course through groin and lips.
He let go of Jared just long enough to throw off his foul and blood-soaked gloves and then clasped him again, hard against his chest.
Jared kept kissing him frantically, clumsily, driving Jensen back until he collided with the tree trunk behind him. Jensen responded by pressing his mouth tighter against Jared’s until it was right on the edge of pain. He felt dizzy with the taste of Jared, heady from need. His fingers balled in the back of Jared’s tunic, searching for entry, desperate for the feel of skin.
Jensen rucked up the fabric keeping him from Jared and managed to slide under his clothes to discover soft skin. Jensen’s hands were cold-a mix of fear, combat, desire-and Jared burned to his touch, a heat that melted into him where his hands splayed across Jared’s lower back. Jared inched closer, spreading his legs, and Jensen’s thigh automatically shoved between them, snugging up against Jared’s balls and the hard line of his cock. To Jensen it felt like they were two pieces designed to be one, finally locking together.
Jared’s hair was splayed out every which way, sticking to his temples with sweat that shone in the dappled sunlight streaking through the leaves overhead. Sweat that Jensen wanted to lick, so he did. Licked and bit, under his ear and down the line of Jared’s jaw. He thought about leaving his mark right here on Jared’s neck, but had just enough wit left to resist, sinking lower instead to push his tongue hard against the fluttering pulse in Jared’s throat.
With every scrape of teeth and long, wet suck, Jared writhed and let loose some kind of sound, something surprised and hitched, sweet and desperate. Each noise he made lashed at Jensen, wound him tighter, his lust tearing him apart, making him grind his thigh up into Jared just to hear him gasp once more at the pressure.
Jensen had often dreamed of how he would touch Jared, had he been allowed. But this wasn’t careful or slow or tender, or anything he’d imagined.
Jared’s hands were pawing at him now, clawing at him, struggling at the tie of Jensen’s leather breeches. There was a rough gritty drag against Jensen’s aching cock as it was freed of confinement, and then a jag of bliss as Jared wrapped it in the soft, hot skin of his palm.
Jensen was blind with it, with the heat rolling inside of him, half mad with a throbbing blaze like his guts had turned to flames and they were burning up inside him every time he pushed up into Jared’s too-loose grip or when Jared rutted down onto his leg. He was consumed, completed, like he’d been waiting his whole life for this, like this was the reason he had been made.
He dug both hands into the meat of Jared’s ass and lifted, shifting him over, closer so that his cock was aligned with Jensen’s, his hand trapped between them. Through the cloth of Jared’s chausses, Jensen could feel him, long and hard and ready. Words, words he had no right to say bubbled up in the back of Jensen’s throat. But he swallowed them down, silencing himself by devouring Jared’s mouth, nipping and kissing hungrily at it before diving inside, timing the thrusts of his tongue with the roll of his hips as the two of them found a rhythm and shoved against each other, over and over.
Suddenly he felt the flex of the muscles in Jared’s ass stop, seize, clench. Saw Jared’s eyes squeeze shut, his mouth sling open, his head tipping back as his body arched helplessly into Jensen’s. Jared's first pleasure from another's touch.
And when Jensen felt the pulse of fluid heat bleeding through the front of Jared’s clothes, his own orgasm struck him like lightning, searing him to cinders.
Uncontrollably, he hunched over, biting into Jared’s shoulder to stop the shout that welled up in him. His balls tightened and his cock leapt and he spilled his seed in long, ragged surges into Jared’s hand, shockwaves of pleasure shivering out from that point of contact over his entire body.
Jensen’s grip fell away and Jared collapsed into him, the tree the only thing left supporting them both. Their chests heaved in time against each other as they panted, fighting for breath. Jensen’s legs trembled and nearly gave out beneath him.
“Beloved, beloved,” he heard Jared murmur, “sit down. My gods, you are hurt.”
Jensen opened his eyes to the sight of Jared’s anxious face, his ruined, red-bitten lips. A sense of terrible trespass filled him with dread.
“What have I done?” he said faintly.
“Jensen-”
He struggled to keep his feet, the pain in his side nothing to the sickness in his heart. The thick, cloying evidence of his passion stained Jared’s clothes, and the smell of blood made bile rise in Jensen’s throat. He had just taken advantage of Jared’s fear, violated Jared’s trust. He’d tossed his duty aside to give in to his illicit lust, turned Jared’s first experience with sex into an act of haste and violence.
Jensen felt as if he’d done Jared as much wrong as the villains who’d tried to murder him.
He wiped a hand across his mouth, as if he could wipe away the taste of his offense. He saw Jared glance over to where the dead bodies of his attackers lay cooling in the open air. How unhinged he was to lay hands upon Jared, here of all places.
“Come away from this abattoir,” Jensen said brusquely, his voice raw. “We should have sought protection long ago, in case there are more to set upon us.”
He ignored Jared’s shocked, hurt look at the cold tone and quickly stepped away, fumbling to do up his breeches and calling Shadow to them from where he’d settled nearby. He pressed a hand to the throbbing wound on his side in an attempt to stave off new bleeding as he mounted. He had to get Jared someplace safe.
But there was no need for them to flee, as, just then, help arrived.
Into the glade where they stood stormed several men on horseback. Brothers in grey-Kurt and Richard and Demore-and several courtiers followed, too. Nicole and Eric were among the group, sliding from their mounts to fuss over Jared, who looked lost and exhausted. They explained someone had seen Jensen’s encounter with Faith and rounded up a search party.
Jensen thanked the Twins above none had come upon them moments earlier. He cursed himself for his weakness and betrayal. For accepting Jared’s panicked kiss and then turning it against him, using him like some three-coin trull in the night.
The sound of Jared’s ‘beloved’ echoed forebodingly in Jensen’s ears. No good could come of this.
“Oh gods, what have I done?” he muttered again.
But Jared must’ve heard him, because he stalked away from where Nicole was dabbing her kerchief at a bruise on his knuckles to where Jensen leaned against Shadow.
“No,” Jared whispered, furious and low so the others couldn’t hear. “You are not allowed to blame yourself for this. If you must blame someone, blame me.”
“The Crown put you in my charge, under my protection!” Jensen hissed.
“And you have protected me,” Jared insisted, gesturing to the pair of bodies felled in the glade like slaughtered meat.
Jensen looked away, away from Jared’s fierce face, his beautiful body, out through the bramble of trees toward the milling mounts of even more members of the hunting party come to find them.
“I deeply regret the insult I offered you here this morn, my lord,” he said at last. And let that stand as his only response.
*****
| Part 4 |